You can't con the copper

Cool breeze. Cloudy weather. Appears to be a perfect day. We stand at a road side sipping a hot cup of tea. The jeep parked alongside the kerb. The wireless sets crackle incessantly dishing out instructions. The traffic inspector holds his manpack close to his ear even while chitchatting.

Vroom...vroom. The Honda CBZ approaches fast, and one of the constables springs into action, feverishly signalling to the youngster driving the Honda to pull over. The bike screeches to a halt and an animated argument continues with the constable. We cannot here the argument, but the police officer sighs: ``Here comes another difficult case,'' and he reaches for the challan book.

The moment the inspector opens the challan, the demeanour of the motorcyclist changes. The fuming voice gives way to a more pleading one. ``Uncle... please,'' that's all he can mutter even as the officer asks nonchalantly about his name, father's name. Then comes the final punch line. ``Sir, my uncle is an IAS officer.'' The conversation turns interesting now. ``So what?'' The query from the burly police officer somewhat unnerves the youngman.

Even before the motorcyclist could further extend his conversation, the challan is written and now there is an element of steeliness in the voice. Pay the challan or we will have to seize the vehicle as it does not have registration documents. Grudgingly, the youngster reaches for his purse, pays up and kickstarts the mobike again. Well! The brief encounter with the cop is not all that pleasant. And it's well exemplified as the guy mutters to himself.

``You are all looting people. I will certainly take up this issue with newspapers. I will see to it that you will not harass people again...'' the harangue continues, but the policeman ignores him with a wave of his hand. By then another car has been stopped and this time the number plate is broken. The middle-aged man straight away enters into an argument. His claim is that someone broke the number plate in the morning. ``At least you should give me time to get it fixed?''

The police officer is in a dilemma as the car driver continues to ramble. Technically it's a violation. ``Okay. Get it fixed immediately. Next time I see your car, I will challan you.'' The middle aged man, probably a bank officer, grins and even shakes hands with the police officer profusely thanking him. ``Perhaps he was right. I am sure he will get the number plate fixed immediately,'' the officer explains.

And then comes this autorickshaw. On the face of it there appears to be no mistake. The number plate is in order. There are only three passengers sitting. ``Haven't you noticed? That vehicle does not have the horn bulb.'' The auto driver does not have a licence also. He pleads and pleads and ultimately convinces the officer to impose minimum amount of fine. But then the thankfulness vanishes as soon as he starts his auto. Using choicest Hyderabadi expletives, he explains to his passengers that police are out to harass people.

``Well! We are used to hear such abuses. We do feel pity for them to impose such hefty fines. But what can we do. They can as well carry the required documents. Just because someone is the son of someone, I can not let them go.''

How does the police tackle such cantankerous motorists. The officer smiles it off. ``I wouldn't like to argue. I would suggest them to go and meet my DCP if they have any grievance. My boss would take care of them.'' Surely, DCP M.V. Dinakar Prasad has the knack of turning down requests for either reducing the fine amount or to issue a warning and waive the total amount.

By K. Srinivas Reddy

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