Police in Blunderland

By Bibhuti Dash

Telling it like it is. By a cop, about cops and Policing – and a few other things. So, is the book all about a brave new world or fire and- brimstone? Is it all bravery or cowardice-and corruption? Is it a tell-all? Is it glorifying the service or lampooning it? Maybe, it’s all that, in parts ... but, it’s also about finding something to laugh at in the direst situations and the grimmest events. And compassion. And a certain detached nonchalance while “looking death in the eye” – on the professional and the personal front.

• Language: English
• Publisher: 16Leaves
• Release date: Mar 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9789395986748

Bibhuti Dash

BIBHUTI DASH graduated from HinduCollege, Delhi and went on to do an MBA from Indian Institute of Management, Bangalore before joining the Indian Police Service after a few years in the corporate sector. Later, he also completed Master in Public Management split between National University of Singapore and Harvard University and Master of Philosophy from Indian Institute of Public Administration, Delhi. Dash superannuated as Director General of Police. He writes about his life experiences, incidents and experiences gathered in his jobs which included Policing, corporate career and United Nations deputations, social and societal issues and anything which lends itself to a lighter take within a serious or not-so-serious paradigm. His articles have been published in leading newspaper op-eds.

Book preview

It has been a joy to read the blogs of Bibhuti Dash. When one sees a cop, one wants him at the neighbour’s door rather than one’s own. In this compilation, written in his unique style, the cop has become a human being with human virtues, problems and frailties and has come home in a welcome fashion.

Rajendra Nargundkar

Vice Chancellor, Prestige University

Former Marketing Professor at IIM Indore, IIM Lucknow and IIM Kozhikode

Author of Marketing Research and My Experiments with Half-truths

One of the best writings on the Police life. Under the penmanship of Bibhuti Dash, serious policing is never dull.

Anil Raturi

Commissioner, Right to Service Commission, Uttarakhand and

Former DGP, Uttarakhand

Author of भंवर: एक ेम कहानी

With his sharp sense of the incongruous, Bibhuti Dash gives a hilarious take on something that concerns us daily but we wish to keep away from – Policing. While the tenor is tongue-in-cheek, some of the episodes are edge-of-the-seat stuff while some others tackle serious issues. Extremely readable and a page-turner.

Shakti Ghosal

MD, India & Gulf, Empathinko Worldwide

Author of The Chronicler of the Hooghly and other stories and কালের পহরী ও অন্য গল্প

Bibhuti Dash

First Edition, 2023

Copyright © Bibhuti Dash, 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the address below.

This book can be exported from India only by the publishers or by the authorized suppliers. Infringement of this condition of sale will lead to Civil and Criminal prosecution.

Paperback ISBN: 978-93-95986-65-6

eBook ISBN: 978-93-95986-74-8

WebPDF ISBN: 978-93-95986-72-4

Note: Due care and diligence has been taken while editing and printing the book; neither the author nor the publishers of the book hold any responsibility for any mistake that may have inadvertently crept in.

The publishers shall not be liable for any direct, consequential, or incidental damages arising out of the use of the book. In case of binding mistakes, misprints, missing pages, etc., the publishers’ entire liability, and your exclusive remedy, is replacement of the book within one month of purchase by similar edition/reprint of the book.

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Foreword

1Proud to be a Hindu

2Gulliver among the giants

3A state of mind

4It’s raining guns and bullets

5It’s raining guns and bullets – the continuance

6It’s raining guns and bullets – the conclusion

7A question of loyalty

8Naram garam

9An IPS officer and his wife

10Who runs the country?

11Demand and supply

12Fathers and sons

13Dial-a-cop

14Oh! Calcutta

15I’m always there

16The cop and the bribe

17Return of the cop and the bribe

18What the cop and the bribe did next

19The cop and the bribe go one step up

20KK

21You are what you eat (and drink!)

22HEWK

23Something about West Bengal cadre

24Something (more) about West Bengal cadre

25Marriage and morals

26Durga Pujo

27Thugs and the goddess

28HimToo

29It nearly happened one night

30Those 90 minutes

31Pray, do not mock me …

32Lies, damned lies

33Be careful what you wish for

34Be (very) careful what you wish for

35Cat and mouse

36Almost a personal Water-loo

37The caged parrot

38A happier tryst with 9/11

39When you hear hoofbeats…

40Gratefully yours, gracefully yours

This book comprises a collection of blogs/ published articles written between 2022 and 2023 and posted on my blog site, Whatever it is, I’m against it at https://b-b-dash.blogspot.com/. They deal with life experiences, incidents and experiences gathered in my jobs which included Policing, corporate career and two United Nations deputations in Africa, social and societal issues and shenanigans which have lent themselves to a lighter take within a serious or not-so-serious paradigm.

The articles are written as a somewhat detached observer of incidents and situations even while participating in them and meant as a foreground for the reader’s own conclusions. They seek to make a few points but do not wish to pontificate and impose those points. Many of the articles portray some not-too-well-known aspects and incidents of Policing while the other articles are about life and society in general.

The idea is to observe and participate in life’s vicissitudes without being too serious all the time. It is easy to criticise people and professions but immensely difficult to put oneself in others’ shoes and even more difficult to do something about the situations and the system.

Although some kind of chronology is maintained in terms of college experience, first job and Police career, the articles do not follow any particular order and have been put down as and when they have come to crystallise in one’s mind in an unpremeditated manner. To that extent, they follow the general pattern of life itself.

Most of the articles pertain to the 33 years I spent as a cop. Policing in India is considered very opaque, stern and brutal. In these articles, I have tried to say that there is a human side to Policing and not all of it is dry and taciturn, although it has its flaws.

Bibhuti Dash

Kolkata

January 28, 2023

In today’s India, there is a lot of discussion around Hindu. Shashi Tharoor has written a book titled, Why I am a Hindu. This has left me stunned, startled, aghast, stupefied, confused, shocked, rattled, paralysed, dazed, bewildered, surprised, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, confounded, astonished and numbed. How dare he?

To be a proper Hindu, you have to go to Hindu. Like I did.

I was all of sixteen and, as Mr. Hardeep Puri, hon’ble Minister said about himself in the self-same situation, with nothing more than a school certificate and an application form in my hand. It was the best of times as the crazy cut-offs had not kicked in then; it was the worst of times for a small-town boy overawed by the bright city lights, barely able to speak English and dreading the ragging in the hostel.

Soon after entering the hostel, we were marched in before the seniors. And the indoctrination started. First, we had to introduce ourselves and then spell our names – in CAPITAL LETTERS! Then, we had to learn and recite the Hindu namaz. Only after adequate proficiency in this, we were introduced to the virgin tree. I think, during my first year, Protima Bedi who visited for a show was chosen as Damdami Mai for the Valentine Day obeisance. Then we had to go to Miranda House to lose the gaali exchange with the girls and come back sheepishly. Only after two months of this baptism by fire and ice would we graduate to Freshers’ Night and be bestowed the notional keys to the Lovers’ Lane, that mysterious place unknown to singles and the faculty.

In Delhi University, all gents’ hostels were out of bounds for girls except in Hindu where girls were (unofficially) allowed up to 8 PM. Whether they were actually allowed after that, well, don’t ask and I will not tell.

In the hostel, there was an institution called Dhan Singh. Nothing escaped his gimlet eye. At the beginning of the month, each hosteller had to declare whether he would have veg or non-veg dish for the month. That dish was controlled. Any extra helping was charged. A veg optee having a non-veg dish or vice versa was charged extra. So, in proper Hindu tradition, the attempts to beat the system were many and varied. But old Dhan Singh, in just one cursory glance, could always, ALWAYS, unerringly make out who was doing what funny business and swoop down with a register to sign. After some time, we all gave up trying to outsmart him. We feared him but he was also the best part of our lives. He was our winter of despair; he was also our spring of hope.

Beneath that no-nonsense exterior, Dhan Singh had a hidden font of generosity, helpfulness, diligence and care. Somehow, he knew all the problems of all the 200 hostellers and would act as friend, philosopher and guide. I was trying to work my way through the fees and bills and would be sometimes late rushing back from my part-time job/s in the evening. Despite the mess hours being strict and Dhan Singh enforcing them strictly, he would make sure that a plate was kept for me, hidden. I had never asked him for the favour nor told him about my financial situation. When we applied for the IIMs and some other places, we had to send stamped self-addressed envelopes so that the institutes could inform us about the interview call. This was critical communication but the call letters came by ordinary, non-registered post and used to get misplaced sometimes. It was Dhan Singh who advised us to send unstamped envelopes so that the postman would chase us with the letters to collect the penalty. That way, all of us lucky ones never missed an interview call.

Many of the wall magazine write-ups and limericks immortalised Dhan Singh in lyrical prose and lively poetry. There was a mixer with Miranda girls. The notice gave the date, time, other details and concluded, Come one, come all; there will be music and Dhan Singh.

There was strict sorting of the students, based on their hip quotient. The usual categories were Sheetal Billi, Sampoorna Billi, Moti Billi and Raheesh Billi, meaning Cool Cat, Total Cat, Fat Cat and Ash Can Cat. Inter-‘cat’egory migration was possible, but after great effort.

In my final year, we were once rudely woken up at 2 AM in the night with a lot of commotion, shouting and fisticuffs. All of us went to investigate. We found that some of the students were bashing up the mess supplier. Apparently, for all those years when we were happy to opt for non-veg, the supplier had been palming off dog meat as goat meat. Some of the students had found out and had hauled him in for a punch-up. No wonder, batch after batch of the pass-outs turned out to be so dog-matic.

There was the famous Jai Singh dhaba which has been the key component of much of the country’s post-Independence governance. Sustained by its nourishing Bun-Andaa, hundreds of students from three institutions went on to crack the civil services. If ever a proper survey of the premier government service holders is conducted, it will be seen that a disproportionately large percentage of those brains were nurtured in their formative years by a healthy diet of the Jai Singh dhaba Bun-Andaas. There was the chargesheeted Sher Singh, with a rumoured 12 murders to his credit. He somehow managed an admission in Hindu and terrorized the whole university for a while. Then he fell in love and tried to be a lady-killer, with tragic consequences.

With so much of rich, assiduously ingrained experience under my belt, I am proud to be a Hindu(ite). Shashi Tharoor can’t be. He went to some other college. Stephen’s or something. So, how dare he?

We were the lords and ladies of all we surveyed. A campus emerging, Sphinx like, from the ruminating remnants of prehistoric stones, an open-air mess with cloistered smoke inside and a green nursery without, hundred percent compulsory attendance, a fragmented library providing excuses for bus journeys to the city, all this presaged a two year sojourn that ends with quadrangled card games and bucket-bashes. It was a time for venturesome dreams, gigantic castles in the air, generous undercurrents of apprehension and excitement, for exchanging names and qualifications and identification details with a hundred others, remembering some, forgetting some, and then trying to remember some more. A time for forays into skits and songs. Talks about the Inter-IIM. And first, tentative attempts at beating the system.

Thus begins our yearbook for the 1982-84 batch of MBA students at IIM, Bangalore. There were only three IIMs then. What the pass-outs lacked in numbers, they made up in arrogance. However, not all were arrogant. It’s fascinating to see what happened to the least arrogant or the meekest of them all. Did they inherit the earth?

Possibly the most vela guy was Das Narayan Das. Any kind of serious endeavour like studies, projects, etc. and he were as remote from each other as possible. Last time I saw him in India before he went to US was him doing some mysterious things in a swimming pool in Bombay. He was so energetic and vigorous that there was less water in the pool than outside when he finally came out. Out of curiosity I asked him what that was all about and he said, Didn’t you know, I was swimming? But before that, we were both in Bombay for our summer training. I was with McDowell and Co. and he was with TCS. One afternoon, the receptionist buzzed me to tell me that Narayan Das was waiting for me at the reception. However, when I went there, Narayan was nowhere to be seen. I was intrigued. Later when I rang him up to ask what happened, he said, "Actually, the receptionist was very good-looking so I thought I would come back and go tomorrow in a better (i.e., less crumpled) dress and after a shave. We used to play the word games where there