When Rocky, the son of a notorious history sheeter was arrested in Bihar recently for the alleged murder of a 19-year-old, one saw the police drag their feet. It took them approximately 54 hours to get him. Common sense says that delay in arrest also meant possibility of the disappearance of vital evidence necessary for the investigations. The state also responded casually. One politician stated that this was just an issue of road rage, whereas the Chief Minister announced nonchalantly, “How far will Rocky run, he will be ultimately arrested”, instead of expressing a strong resolve that he will be booked at the earliest.
These responses display an attitude that reveals the mental state of the Police force. Low on numbers and completely politicised across the country, one is lucky if s/he gets any justice following a complaint. The minds, bodies and souls of the Indian cops are stretched by long hours of work, battered by dubious phone calls from the powers-that-be, and viewed by the general public as corrupt and inefficient. There is little sympathy for the Constable who stands on the streets guiding the traffic while inhaling all the dust and soot, thereby ensuring that we all reach our homes on time.
Insensitive and dehumanised?
A morgue attendant, for instance, treats the human body as an object for disposal, he displays no emotion; on the other hand, he looks for a bribe to hand over the bodies to next of kin and we get angry and disgusted. If one bothers to look beneath these behaviors the stories unfold slowly. Here is a man who has been working in the dingy morgue handling the dead for years, just like the workers who manage sewer drains. Ignored and distanced by the world around, he works without recognition, appreciation, and amidst difficult conditions, where foul smell and mutilated bodies surround him day in and day out. Never have we bothered to view such groups with compassion or through a prism of responsibility and reform. Ignored and sidelined, such professionals are bitter and alcohol helps them to numb their minds as they go about doing their work day in and day out. The plight of our Constables, who manage our towns and cities, is the same. Festivals keep them on the streets and V.I.Ps make them run for bandobast duties as they arrive in hordes, be it at a calamity or an event. The more they see pain and conflict without a break, the worse they get. The feelings dry up, the thought box in the brain moves like a machine, viewing every event as a burden, and every human being connected with it as a liability.
If the cops have to maintain sanity, they need numbers, decent working hours and better salaries. Unless structural changes are initiated, cosmetic rejuvenating workshops by professionals like us makes no difference. The Police Act of 1861 still guides and governs our police system. The colonial mindset of the police, the distrust people had for the police in British India, has continued to date. Starting from the second Police Commission in 1902 headed by A.H.L. Fraser, there have been many commissions and committees formed to look into reforming the police in India. Prominent among them are: Gore Committee on Police Training, the National Police Commission, the Ribeiro Committee on Police Reforms, the Padmanabhaiah Committee on Police Reforms (summary), Prakash Singh Vs Union of India – SC directives for Police Reforms, and Soli Sorabjee Committee. The 22 September, 2006 verdict of the Supreme Court (SC) in the Prakash Singh vs. Union of India case was the landmark in the fight for police reforms in India. Unfortunately, even the directions of SC have not been implemented by the states.
The Encounter Specialist
In my lifetime I have met many so called famed ‘Encounter Specialists’ across the country, informally and professionally. One of them used to always sport his revolver thrust under his belt (not in the regular holster). I wondered why, as most of those shot in encounters are killed in cold blood. Most of these cops have been transformed into hardened human beings, and there is little difference in the mental states of the hunters and those hunted.
It was in the late 70’s when notorious gangsters were shot dead by the cops rather than arrested in Mumbai. This was begun by a cop who reached the ‘hall of fame’ after his exploits against terrorists across the country. Many such police men suffer from anxiety and depression and cannot sleep without medications. I still remember one cop who narrated this story. When he was asked to shoot a gangster in cold blood, the latter screamed after the first bullet hit him, “I want more bullets, fire at me, fire at me.” As the cop emptied his magazine into him, the ‘reel’ of the event is stuck in his mind and he stated getting up with nightmares. Suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, this cop will be on treatment for life.
Some years back I met a mother who was very depressed after her 21-year-old boy was shot dead by cops after being picked up from his home. He was stealing bikes when he met a gangster in the jail. Enrolled by him for carrying weapons for shooters, he was later killed in a so-called encounter (See box).
“As the bullets left the barrel of the gun
The fingers that pressed the trigger were having some fun
As the young man collapsed in the drizzling rains
The guys around were sure of the future gains
A successful encounter screamed the morning news
The common man felt safe as he gleefully expressed his views
The family was shocked as they wiped their tears with so much fear
Tight lipped and in silence, the mother stared at the body of her son so dear
Fun loving and joyous he loved fast bikes
Stealing them for fun he picked them with lightning strikes
Was jailed at 18 for the wheels he ran
And in prison he met an interesting man
‘Stop your juvenile acts hey boy’ he shared
Can you carry weapons instead to the shooters’, he dared
‘You will get a salary for the task so small
And can buy your own bike and have a great ball’
The boy felt like a man as he was filled with joy
The weapons he carried to the shooters felt like a toy
And his salary boomed after every long trip
He wanted to go with his mother for a cruise in a ship
But this was cut short as the men knocked the door
They picked up the man and took him near the shore
That was the last time the mother saw her son breathing
She knew it all…standing in silence with her heart seething
Opening her palms she collected the belongings from his pockets
As she saw a photo, her eyes almost bounced off from their sockets
It was their GOD and surely it was crumpled and torn
With something scribbled behind on the paper so worn
‘I am tired mom and I want to leave all this’ it read
Honestly I want to earn my small little bread’
She sat in front of me with eyes so lost
The medals they will earn as the mum pays the cost
I sit on my chair as the storm builds in my blood
Helpless I felt as every cell experienced an emotional flood
As a small child I have heard of encounters so fake
‘There is no choice’, I accepted and that was my take
‘They are cleaning the air’ was the constant rational refrain
As the moms so invisible buried their grief and pain
The medal gluttons never went near the dons so strong and big
Licking their wealth, so many danced a dirty long jig
Wealthy and rich they own big mansions and cars
The ‘prizes ‘they display and they also own so many bars
The gangsters are finished, shouts the common man
Never realising that the real ones are the ‘encounter specialists’ who never faced a ban
Shooting is cheaper but an investigation goes deeper are the voices so sane
We don’t want these killings on any street or even a small lane!
As the mother leaves, her appearance so frail
‘My son was also wrong’ she mumbles as the guns he gave left a murder trail
But it all began in the small little jail
The boy became a man before he got his bail
And I leave my rooms with my heart heavy and sad
With definitions and meaning so confusing of what is good or bad
But I am sure about the fact: That no one can shoot anyone to clean the air
The medal hunter is the guy whose acts we need to expose thread bare
As the day slowly comes to an end
One does not know which vehicle is turning the difficult bend
To dump a body on an unknown street
As the media vehicles rush to report in a fleet
One more headline and some words or bytes splashed here and there
We are all part of this great show and the ‘cop-criminal’ fair
Let us all raise our voices against the bullets and the gun
That destroys the peace of this earth so beautiful and full of fun
Prayers to all souls on both sides of the line
Let the guns rest…..for ever and all of us enjoy a life full of wine.”
The symptoms seen among criminals and the cops are no different. Many cannot sleep, are irritable, depressed and also abuse alcohol and substances. You lose your peace and the soul is transformed into an iron ball once you shoot someone in cold blood, and not in a real encounter.
Conclusion
After the spurt of terrorist activities in recent times, families check on the cops more often; the wives are worried about the well-being of their husbands. Fear, anxiety and lack of sleep are common symptoms. Recently, suicides have also been on the rise. Some years back I saw the 14-year-old son of a cop very depressed. I erred by attributing this to study stress but realised that it was a value crisis. He saw unaccounted cash lying in his house and the bundles of currency disturbed him. The constabulary is the worst affected. With low salaries and long hours of work their neuro-endocrinological systems are damaged. The end product is a zombie who is indifferent or violently aggressive. An officer was shot dead recently in Mumbai by a Constable and such instances are not rare.
The profession needs a makeover and not sermons, it needs to be looked at with compassion and not hate, and last but not the least, it needs to be made independent and accountable.