300

"Come again tomorrow", said the clerk.

"Okay sir, but are you sure..."

"Dont tell me anything. It is you who came late today. Sahab has many other important works.. He wont stay late because of some outsider like you"

"Hmm... Okay sir, I'll come on time tomorrow"

I looked again at the faded walls of the police station and started moving towards the exit. Away from the silicon charm of Bangalore, this district police station was merely a small one floor house located in the middle in a not-so-clean lawn. Policemen were moving in and out, sitting on chairs in the lawn or chit-chatting at the nearby pan-shop. In short, they were everywhere except their desks. The copywriter clerk once again looked at me and gave an impression of mumbling something to himself in Kannada. I looked back at him, felt a now-familiar heat inside my body and continued to exit.

It all started seven months ago when local postoffice staff organised a passport campaign at our college. Being an engineering non-Karnataka student, it seemed to us as a convenient way to apply for passports. For a third-year student like me, passport looked as another document to be added in my resume, a trial attempt of seeking attention of companies during the upcoming placements. Our government suddenly appeared as a high-tech corporate when the post-office people told us that the passport will be hand-delivered to us within next three months.



As mentioned earlier.... That was seven months ago.



Six months after I had submitted all the required documents someone called me up one fine day. As a typical summer afternoon would be, that day gave sleepy sensations to us all in the class. To make the situation worst, it was a post-lunch session of thermodynamics by an equally boring lecturer. As any normal living organism would do, I was responding to the lecture by half-sleeping at the second bench among others. The vibrations coming from my pocket almost jolted my head under a virtual hammer and forced me to come back to the reality.

I made some typical class excuse and came out of the room to answer the phone.

"Hello!!!" I said.

"#%*^# %^(&) $@%&*)%%$@(#" Someone was speaking in Kannada at the other end.

"Saar, Kannada gottilla" (Sir, I dont know Kannada), I answered.

"Ohh... Is this Saket there?" Said a voice as if he was being tortured by a bollywood villain to call atleast 5000 people in a day.

"Yes, Saket speaking.." A sudden heat ran through my body.

"Look, I am Mr. so-and-so from police station. I assume that you had applied for a passport on (he gave some historical date coinciding the end of jurassic age). You have to come to police station today at 5 pm. Sahab wants to make a visit to your home with you for residence verification."

"Hmm.... okay sir, I'll be there at 5. Thank you sir" I said, Adding a lot of "sir" in a want to impress him to an extent that he gets ready to call me for a meal at his home.

"________" Phone was dead as if the hot summer had its effect on it too.

That was the second time I was entering a police station. In the midst of toilet stench, sweat odor, smell of old files, poor men with paan or gutkha I could feel an unmistakable fear in form of coldness in myself. Although I had no reason to get afraid something inside my stomach was making me feel nauseated. I approach the uniformed man sitting at the reception and explained my reason of being here. My reason had to be told to him loudly so that others do not mistake me as a regular visitor. The person then guided me to the copywriter sahab on the opposite end of the room.

Sahab in any government office is a 40+ man with dense moustache and weighing 80 something kilograms. They are generally found between two towers of dust ridden files and talking about national politics. Two chairs will always welcome the visitors but one needs courage to sit on them without seeking their permission.

This Sahab was perfectly fitting on the above definition.

I cannot forget that day because that was a starting of my regular visits to police station. I learnt that Sahab preferred the nearby bakery because it gave him an opportunity to take breaks from gossiping and come back to his seat. It became his regular routine to deny me from meeting the Station Head Officer on some or the other pretext. Sometime the SHO was busy, if not then he was absent, if not then he was late. Whatever the reason be, I was unsuccessful in meeting him.

History gets repeated in future. I failed to meet the SHO today too. It was a new pretext this time. That I came late. Somehow I remebered the clerk asking me to come at 4.30 pm today. I was there at 4. Anyways, there must be some confusion, I tried to reduce my dissonance by speaking to myself. Somewhere deep inside, I could easily feel frustration building up against the system. Thanks to my army upbringing, I managed to keep cool and disciplined.

Next day when I came to meet clerk sahab again, the guard at reception called me up.

"So you are back again?" He asked.

I wanted to say that it was not me but my clone here but my voice came out as "Yes sir"

"Good news for you. SHO saar signed your papers. They are with me" He said.

I could say nothing. A sudden splash of relief covered me from head to toe. It seemed as if my unfulfilled dream of clearing IIT-JEE entrance exam had been fulfilled. Probably, this sensation felt more dearer.

I followed him to his desk and saw my papers. Somehow SHO had made a very pleasant mistake. He had verified that I lived at so-and-so address without actually visiting my house. Moreover, it came as a surprise because that small town considered students and singles as next to some Mr. Osama. Overwhelmed with the charity that SHO had unknowingly done, I signed on my papers and handed it over to the recpetionist so that they could be posted back to the passport office. I greeted him and swore of not coming back, turned back towards the exit.

"Hey wait!!!" The guard said.

"Yes sir?", I looked at him and asked politely.

"What about the fees?"

"What fees?"

"500 Rupees" He demanded.

The experience of watching Hindi films helped me understand the situation but this was the first time I was facing it in reality.

I made an innocent face (or probably it was natural) and explained in a most kiddish manner... "Sir, I have just Rs. 300 with me"

........long pause.........

I said again "Sir, if you could wait then I can go and collect the money from ATM"

"No, leave it. Give me whatever you have" He demanded.

Suddenly, I found myself confident as if I have just come out of a temple to do public service (read as encouraging begging system). I handed over to him all I had.... Three hundred rupees. He looked sideways and kept the money in his pocket and smiled at me. I smiled back and left for exit.

While on my way, I turned back to have one last look at the building which had almost become my second home. Then I looked at the far end corner of the room. The clerk was absent today.

I crossed the lawn and came out of the station campus and felt an unknown shiver in my body.


Summer heat was gone. This was December.