8.4 Vir
I didn't know what to say to the cop at first. He remained standing, waiting for my answer. It was obvious that he was more than a little hostile. I couldn't understand why, but over the years I've come to understand that a certain breed of policeman considers all citizens guilty until proved innocent--even if they haven't actually been accused of a crime.
I'd read an article recently about ACP Bhandarkar and how he was as tough on ordinary citizens as on criminals. Because, in his view, the two were often one and the same, especially with the proliferation of white-collar and tech crimes.
I resisted my impulse to tell him to get out of here and leave me alone and said, "ACP Bhandarkar, I never called the police. What made you come here?"
He nodded as if this was a perfectly reasonable question. "Mr Vatsal, sir, in our line of work we see all kinds of strange situations. Husbands murdering wives, wives murdering husbands, even parents killing their children, in-laws attacking daughters-in-law...Yahan Mumbai sheher mein kuchh bhi hota hai, kabhi bhi. There is no guarantee."
"I see," I said, not seeing at all. "But that doesn't answer my question."
"The answer to your question, sir, is that your neighbour called us. The lady was very concerned for your wife's health. And as the ACP in charge of the area, it was my duty to investigate further."
I didn't know whether to feel angry with Mrs Mudgal--I assumed she was the "neighbour" he was talking about--or to tell the ACP to go to hell. I settled for irony.
"I didn't realize that the ACP of Pali Hill area investigates every chotta-motta complaint from a second-hand party," I said, letting just a little bit of sarcasm show.
He smiled coldly at my comment. He looked like a hard man, and from what I'd read of him in the papers, he seemed to be a very good cop.
"This is not a chotta-motta complaint, sir," he said calmly, unruffled by my sarcasm. "This is a very serious police matter. Even if you do not wish to cooperate with us, we will still go ahead with the case on our own initiative. Hum issey cognizable offense samaj sakte hain. But since you are a very respected citizen and the problem originated in your own family, I thought you might wish to give us some help in the matter."
I frowned. Now he was going over my head. I had obviously missed some important part of this conversation.
"How can a little incident like this be a very serious police matter?" I asked. "It's true my wife is badly injured, but the attack--"
He cut me off.
"We are not here to talk about your wife, Mr Vatsal. I am talking about the three other men that your daughter attacked and killed today after she left your house."
I'd read an article recently about ACP Bhandarkar and how he was as tough on ordinary citizens as on criminals. Because, in his view, the two were often one and the same, especially with the proliferation of white-collar and tech crimes.
I resisted my impulse to tell him to get out of here and leave me alone and said, "ACP Bhandarkar, I never called the police. What made you come here?"
He nodded as if this was a perfectly reasonable question. "Mr Vatsal, sir, in our line of work we see all kinds of strange situations. Husbands murdering wives, wives murdering husbands, even parents killing their children, in-laws attacking daughters-in-law...Yahan Mumbai sheher mein kuchh bhi hota hai, kabhi bhi. There is no guarantee."
"I see," I said, not seeing at all. "But that doesn't answer my question."
"The answer to your question, sir, is that your neighbour called us. The lady was very concerned for your wife's health. And as the ACP in charge of the area, it was my duty to investigate further."
I didn't know whether to feel angry with Mrs Mudgal--I assumed she was the "neighbour" he was talking about--or to tell the ACP to go to hell. I settled for irony.
"I didn't realize that the ACP of Pali Hill area investigates every chotta-motta complaint from a second-hand party," I said, letting just a little bit of sarcasm show.
He smiled coldly at my comment. He looked like a hard man, and from what I'd read of him in the papers, he seemed to be a very good cop.
"This is not a chotta-motta complaint, sir," he said calmly, unruffled by my sarcasm. "This is a very serious police matter. Even if you do not wish to cooperate with us, we will still go ahead with the case on our own initiative. Hum issey cognizable offense samaj sakte hain. But since you are a very respected citizen and the problem originated in your own family, I thought you might wish to give us some help in the matter."
I frowned. Now he was going over my head. I had obviously missed some important part of this conversation.
"How can a little incident like this be a very serious police matter?" I asked. "It's true my wife is badly injured, but the attack--"
He cut me off.
"We are not here to talk about your wife, Mr Vatsal. I am talking about the three other men that your daughter attacked and killed today after she left your house."
posted by Ashok K. Banker at 12.10.05
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