7 minutes of Fame

स्कन्दः स्कन्दधरो धुर्यो वरदो वायुवाहनः।
वासुदेवो बृहद्भानुरादिदेवः पुरन्दरः ॥

November 2000
17:15 hrs

For a first few seconds I thought I must have been dreaming. I sat down leaning against the wall at my back. I pondered - "This has happened to many great personalities". I didn't knew how Vasudeva and Devaki felt when King Kamsa ordered his men to do this act. But I certainly knew how Mohanlal reacted in "Saza-E-Kala Pani". Right from my childhood, I have developed this disease of living in a state of filmdom irrespective of the situation.

The cell had a shit smelling foul that I cannot imagine. Or perhaps, I do not want to! The walls were old and dirty. It was pitch dark inside. The only little ventilation came from a shimmering light which passed through a hole of the wall. Far away, there was a toilet which seemed like ankle deep in shit. The awful smell of urinal overflowed. A stinking swamp oozed out of somewhere from the end of that cell. I cursed myself being a human because I had to breathe to survive. My emotions were mixed with a feeling of extreme fear, hatred, guilt, anxious and very very little excitement.

I closed my eyes and switched on the "Rewind" button of my nervous system to recollect what happened half an hour ago.

Our hero constable ordered me to get down from the auto rickshaw and asked me to pay the driver. We had reached the police station named after a powerful Hindu Goddess. I said I do not have any money. He hit me hard on my neck and yakked in Telugu" Paisalu lekunda police station ki vasthava bey?"( Translation: Rascal, How dare you come to Police Station without any money with you?)

While he was bringing me into the Police station, a passing constable asked what the matter was. Our hero exaggerated the incident in such a way as if I was guilty of raping a woman, or murdering someone, or indulging in child abuse and other nefarious crimes. After he finished narrating the incident, this passing cop welcomed me to the police station by smacking me hard on my neck. He did that as if it was his birth right to hit me whenever he wants.

An unknown cop appeared from nowhere and he commanded me to squat. I didn't obey him because I was sure he doesn't know why I was brought here in the first place. We stared at each other in silence. It was a silence which I could smell and taste. It was silence I felt on my skin in that noisy place at the back of my head. He gave his fiercest look and the next moment when I trembled and was about to obey his order, he burst out laughing.

Cruelty is a kind of cowardice. Cruel laughter is the way cowards cry when they are not alone. He did just that. It was a terrible situation. I felt that these cops would do anything to make me feel ashamed.

Every 20 seconds, I heard fiery hate speeches peppered with choicest of abuses being used by the station staff.

Our hero reached the desk of another bald constable and asked him to write my details. The bald cop was in mid fifties. His hair and head resembled a crescent moon (I addressed him as Aadha Chaand) in my mind) He was busy with another man who was writing a complaint letter for a lost gold chain. Aadha Chaand was in charge of FIR activity. He spoke in a flawless rich old city Hyderabadi Hindi. And I was surprised to see him dictating the letter content ( complaint) in an extremely poor and grammatically incorrect English! By his dictation I realized that the letter was full of canned responses.

During that occasion Aadha Chaand lost his temper on the victim and shouted" Aapko bole tho samajh mein nahi aata kya yaaron? Kab se pukaar roon main idhar. "Jaldi Likho- he dictated again- "I sarching and sarching for my Gold chain, bat it vaaas in Wine." I amazingly understood which word he actually meant. It was the word 'Vain'. How and why does he know that word?

My turn arrived. Our hero cop kept holding my Tee as if I was a small time thug. I him asked to let go my T-shirt and I will not run anywhere. When I sensed that they are about to write an FIR, my heart sank. I thought of my career and my parents for a moment. But Aadha Chaand carelessly took out a dirty plain white paper. I sighed relief.

Poora naam bataao- He asked

"Abhishek Naini"- I said in a low tone.

"Abhishek Naidu"Hmmm.... He muttered and continued to write.

Sir- It's Abhishek Naini, not Naidu - I corrected him timidly.

"Tu apna mooh bandh kar. Aawaaz kiya tho phod dunga." He roared and reacted as if all his children have failed in their final examinations. I shut my mouth and felt its best to leave him alone. He continued to scribble in that paper. Even though the surname which he wrote was close to my ancestry origin, deep in my heart I also felt that its good for me to register with an incorrect name in Police Records.

When he finished writing he spoke to his men as if I wasn't there.
"Isko Khoob maaro. Agli baar gaadi chalaane ka naam nahi lega" Andar Daalo Saale ko. He pointed them to a cell.

"Sir- Please. Don't do this. I didn't do this intentionally". "I had to rush to the Municipal Office to submit my Voters ID application and I didn't see the traffic Signal. Otherwise I always obey it. "Please Sir." Let me go" ( Read: Begged)

I thought me speaking in English would come to my rescue as I'd come across as an educated person and eventually win the situation in my favor. I realized how stupid and how horribly wrong I was when the next moment they smacked me thrice on my neck ( again!!) and pushed me into that cell.

When I opened my eyes after 6 minutes, I realized that I had to do something to get out of that place. I got a positive vibe when I saw that the cell was not locked. I got up peeped from inside. I saw that buxom woman who I accidentally hit with my bike while trying to jump a traffic signal. At the time of accident she just fell aside was not at all hurt, not even a minor bruise. But to all the common people on that road, her figure and that feminine moan was sexy enough to stimulate the onlookers and a brawny constable who caught me after a filmy chase. Next thing I knew, he became her hero. And this hero dragged me to the police station.

She was sitting in the Senior Inspector's cabin. To my delight, I saw my Uncle and my cousin negotiating with them. I wasn't able to hear what they spoke. Thoughts were running in my mind. Being a woman favored her completely. And I bet, had I bumped into any other average man (Read: Fool), I'd have never felt the need to write this.

The Senior Inspector asked his sub ordinates to release me after a condition, set by the woman to which my Uncle had agreed.

Finally, I achieved redemption from my 7 minute stint in the cell.

While coming home, I asked my uncle "What was that woman's condition and why did she withdrew her complaint?

My uncle replied- "Oh Nothing! She wanted us to compensate for the little damage caused to her new dress and we agreed to pay her 750 rupees!"

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