THE SETTING
Now and then, these questions pop up in my mind:
What happened to the Bofors kick-backs charges? Mr. Rajiv Gandhi's Congress government had colapsed because of these corruption charges. What happened to the former Central Minister, Mr. Sukh Ram, after he was arrested with crores of rupees cash in his house? What happened to the huge suitcase, which Mr. Ram Jethmalani, late Mr. Harshad Mehta's advocate, had shown us on a TV press conference, alleging that the cash was given to the then PM Mr. Narshimha Rao? What happens to all those IAS and IPS Officers once they are caught in the ACB raids? To those ministers once they are exposed by the TV sting operations?
What happens to the corruption system?
About thirty years ago, for a brief period of three months, I had worked in the Fort area of our city. I was new here, and hadn't travelled by local trains before. On my uncle's advice, one morning, I bought a monthly second-class pass, and pushed myself into the 8.00 a.m. packed VT-bound Local. After throwing myself out of the compartment, as the train came to a halt at VT, I tried to elbow myself out through the crowd. I was already late for work, and I was on a temporary pay roll. Suddenly, someone tapped me on my shoulders. I saw a Mumbai train-T.C. for the first time!
"Show me the ticket," the man in black coat ordered.
I pulled the freshly bought pass out, confidently.
After quickly flipping through it, he asked me to come to a corner. I wondered why. Once there, he questioned me,"Are you educated?"
Well, I knew that I wasn't there before him for a Railway-TC interview. Still, nervously I mumbled, "Yes."
"Then, can you read this, young man?" he showed the rear side of the pass:
"INVALID UNLESS SIGNED!"
I almost fainted.
"Sorry sir," I said hoping to get the pass back from him, so that I could quickly sign it and rush to my office.
"Remove ten rupees fifty paise," he commanded.
I looked at him horror-struck.
"Fine," he shouted.
"Please sir, I am already late. I know it was my mistake; the next time, I shall be careful."
"If you are already late, then, take out your money fast," he had decided to ruin my day.
"Sir, I really do not have money." At least, on sympathy ground, I thought he would let me go. I really did not have the money.
"Put your hands in your pockets," he thought I was lying.
I showed him all my pockets - of shirt, pant ... except of the underwear!
"Paanch deke bhaag ja," he tried to strike a 'mandovli'.
"Saab, kuch bhi nahin hai mere paas; aap dekho chaayiye to." I volunteered for the lie-test.
"Chal, bhaag," he shooed me off.
"Saab, mera pass."
"Paisa lekhe aa."
In the office, I narrated this story to one of my colleagues. I needed money to go back home, and I needed money to release my pass. My friend lent me the money.
In the evening, I tried desperately to trace the guy who had ruined my morning. But, in vain.
I had to buy a new pass for the next morning. But, I remembered, immediately, that I was an 'educated' young man, and quickly signed!
A year ago, a family I know had gone to attend a wedding at Navy Club at Colaba. It was a grand reception party on that Saturday night. As it was late, a young man, a guest, whom they knew, offered to ferry them back to our suburb. On the way, the cops on duty stopped the car. The young man, who was driving the car, had taken a few drinks; the booz-machine detected it. It was a special check, and the cops were reluctant to let them go, even after paying the fine. No one else knew driving. The young man requested others to take a cab and proceed. But, nobody liked that idea. Finally, all of them got into seperate cabs and headed towards home. The car headed the next afternoon.
By then, the young man was all sober!
Why I mentioned this episode is: even the head of that family, despite his sworn aversion towards corruption, that night, did try to change the Officers' minds with a few hundreds ... just to get away from that late-night inconvenience. Yes, as a matter of convenience. But, then, that night, the cops were in a different mood, altogether!
Yesterday, I had been to a Government office. We had claimed certain expenses in our audited accounts as 'Educational' and sought to be deducted. They had called us to give the detailed explanation. Our CA had to be out of station for some days, and the date for our presence had already expired. Mysteriously, the letter had reached us after the date! Being free, and equipped with all the explanations, I decided to see the junior officer myself. My CA, seasoned with all such matters, had foretold me the outcome: "They had called you just before Diwali. It is a straight and petty matter. Try to explain them. If you can't, cut a cheque for the additional demand amount and come out. It won't be more than a few thousand." He added, "They are simply trying to extract something for their Diwali. If you have no probem with that, say 'Happy Diwali' with a few hundred and close the chapter. But, never allow it to drag." (Once, he had told me, that the lawyers always loved to drag the matter, while the CAs loved to close the matter as quickly as possible.)
When I landed near the junior officer's table, two men were already sitting there to 'negotiate' their matter. Sighting me near his table, the officer asked, "Kya hai?"
I showed him the letter.
"Date pass ho ga ya, iska," I heard the obvious.
I gave the reason.
"Rukh na padega," he told, pulling a chair for me.
I sat there, witnessing the ongoing 'negotiations'.
The officer dialed a certain number and said, "Saab, Ramakant baita hai mere saamne. Lekhin, aapne balance nahin paunchaya."
No idea what the other man said.
"Dus mila hai, aur, dus balance hai," the officer continued.
No idea what the other man said.
"Ek minute hold karo, saab se baat karta hoon."
He pulled his 'sexy' mobile for further consultations with his 'big boss'.
"Bolta hai, do din ke baad dega," the junior gave the message to his big boss.
No idea what the big boss said.
"Teek hai; lekhin, aur time nahin milega bola saab ne," the junior officer warned the other 'saab'. The representatives, got up from their seats, shook hands with the officer, and left.
My turn. The junior officer began on a strict note, as expected. I kept my cool and gave all the explanations. Ten minutes passed, he couldn't make any break through, nor could he sense any thing worth pursuing in my case. It was a small matter, after all.
"Aao mere saat," he led me through some dark,shabby and empty corridors to present me before his 'saab', the big boss.
Another ten minutes, there. "Okay, this time, we will allow the matter to go by; I can't tell you about the future," the big boss let me off.
"Who has seen the future?" I mumbled in my mind, as I left the office of the 'big boss'... of course, profusely thanking for being merciful. The prodigy stayed back for further consultations and settlements.
I felt quite satisfied about the fact that I could successfully prove them that our expenses were, in deed, 'Educational' in nature. I also found the whole experience, there, very 'educational'!
Only, once before, I had been to that office. That was the time, I did not have to do any talking; the CA did. I still remember, what my CA had put into my ears, that day, showing me the the work culture in that office, as we waited for our turn to see an officer. "Even if any of these 'Johneys' volunteer 'to work free for me for life', I will never, ever keep them."
Why would they volunteer? I thought!
We, then, had discussed about the subject of corruption. Can it be wiped out from the system? He had no such romantic idealism. "My own profession, like lawyers, has earned a bad reputation. Some call us the 'White-caller Pimps'!"
I saw the suppressed frustration venting its way out through his eyes. "If we can not be free from corruption, individually, then, we have no business to expect so in the Society, collectively," he put it bluntly. "The system thrives on our collective human weakness ... All of us are a party to it; all of us are guilty."
"How could that junior Johney be so shameless? How could he speak in the office so openly, and so fearlessly, about the bribe?" I still did not understand.
"Because, he knew your weakness: you won't do anything about it," my CA said cryptly.
And, he was right. My only concern, last afternoon, was, to get out of that place as quickly as possible. Maybe, with a hole in my pocket as small as possible, too!
Though I have a nano-bit of Gandhiji in me, I surely know, that Bapu's India is not - and can not be - free from the afflictions of corruption and violence. And, I also know this: It is because of weak men like me, my CA and, of course, that 'small Johney' and 'big Johney' ...
We all did 'setting'!
GERALD D'CUNHA
What happened to the Bofors kick-backs charges? Mr. Rajiv Gandhi's Congress government had colapsed because of these corruption charges. What happened to the former Central Minister, Mr. Sukh Ram, after he was arrested with crores of rupees cash in his house? What happened to the huge suitcase, which Mr. Ram Jethmalani, late Mr. Harshad Mehta's advocate, had shown us on a TV press conference, alleging that the cash was given to the then PM Mr. Narshimha Rao? What happens to all those IAS and IPS Officers once they are caught in the ACB raids? To those ministers once they are exposed by the TV sting operations?
What happens to the corruption system?
About thirty years ago, for a brief period of three months, I had worked in the Fort area of our city. I was new here, and hadn't travelled by local trains before. On my uncle's advice, one morning, I bought a monthly second-class pass, and pushed myself into the 8.00 a.m. packed VT-bound Local. After throwing myself out of the compartment, as the train came to a halt at VT, I tried to elbow myself out through the crowd. I was already late for work, and I was on a temporary pay roll. Suddenly, someone tapped me on my shoulders. I saw a Mumbai train-T.C. for the first time!
"Show me the ticket," the man in black coat ordered.
I pulled the freshly bought pass out, confidently.
After quickly flipping through it, he asked me to come to a corner. I wondered why. Once there, he questioned me,"Are you educated?"
Well, I knew that I wasn't there before him for a Railway-TC interview. Still, nervously I mumbled, "Yes."
"Then, can you read this, young man?" he showed the rear side of the pass:
"INVALID UNLESS SIGNED!"
I almost fainted.
"Sorry sir," I said hoping to get the pass back from him, so that I could quickly sign it and rush to my office.
"Remove ten rupees fifty paise," he commanded.
I looked at him horror-struck.
"Fine," he shouted.
"Please sir, I am already late. I know it was my mistake; the next time, I shall be careful."
"If you are already late, then, take out your money fast," he had decided to ruin my day.
"Sir, I really do not have money." At least, on sympathy ground, I thought he would let me go. I really did not have the money.
"Put your hands in your pockets," he thought I was lying.
I showed him all my pockets - of shirt, pant ... except of the underwear!
"Paanch deke bhaag ja," he tried to strike a 'mandovli'.
"Saab, kuch bhi nahin hai mere paas; aap dekho chaayiye to." I volunteered for the lie-test.
"Chal, bhaag," he shooed me off.
"Saab, mera pass."
"Paisa lekhe aa."
In the office, I narrated this story to one of my colleagues. I needed money to go back home, and I needed money to release my pass. My friend lent me the money.
In the evening, I tried desperately to trace the guy who had ruined my morning. But, in vain.
I had to buy a new pass for the next morning. But, I remembered, immediately, that I was an 'educated' young man, and quickly signed!
A year ago, a family I know had gone to attend a wedding at Navy Club at Colaba. It was a grand reception party on that Saturday night. As it was late, a young man, a guest, whom they knew, offered to ferry them back to our suburb. On the way, the cops on duty stopped the car. The young man, who was driving the car, had taken a few drinks; the booz-machine detected it. It was a special check, and the cops were reluctant to let them go, even after paying the fine. No one else knew driving. The young man requested others to take a cab and proceed. But, nobody liked that idea. Finally, all of them got into seperate cabs and headed towards home. The car headed the next afternoon.
By then, the young man was all sober!
Why I mentioned this episode is: even the head of that family, despite his sworn aversion towards corruption, that night, did try to change the Officers' minds with a few hundreds ... just to get away from that late-night inconvenience. Yes, as a matter of convenience. But, then, that night, the cops were in a different mood, altogether!
Yesterday, I had been to a Government office. We had claimed certain expenses in our audited accounts as 'Educational' and sought to be deducted. They had called us to give the detailed explanation. Our CA had to be out of station for some days, and the date for our presence had already expired. Mysteriously, the letter had reached us after the date! Being free, and equipped with all the explanations, I decided to see the junior officer myself. My CA, seasoned with all such matters, had foretold me the outcome: "They had called you just before Diwali. It is a straight and petty matter. Try to explain them. If you can't, cut a cheque for the additional demand amount and come out. It won't be more than a few thousand." He added, "They are simply trying to extract something for their Diwali. If you have no probem with that, say 'Happy Diwali' with a few hundred and close the chapter. But, never allow it to drag." (Once, he had told me, that the lawyers always loved to drag the matter, while the CAs loved to close the matter as quickly as possible.)
When I landed near the junior officer's table, two men were already sitting there to 'negotiate' their matter. Sighting me near his table, the officer asked, "Kya hai?"
I showed him the letter.
"Date pass ho ga ya, iska," I heard the obvious.
I gave the reason.
"Rukh na padega," he told, pulling a chair for me.
I sat there, witnessing the ongoing 'negotiations'.
The officer dialed a certain number and said, "Saab, Ramakant baita hai mere saamne. Lekhin, aapne balance nahin paunchaya."
No idea what the other man said.
"Dus mila hai, aur, dus balance hai," the officer continued.
No idea what the other man said.
"Ek minute hold karo, saab se baat karta hoon."
He pulled his 'sexy' mobile for further consultations with his 'big boss'.
"Bolta hai, do din ke baad dega," the junior gave the message to his big boss.
No idea what the big boss said.
"Teek hai; lekhin, aur time nahin milega bola saab ne," the junior officer warned the other 'saab'. The representatives, got up from their seats, shook hands with the officer, and left.
My turn. The junior officer began on a strict note, as expected. I kept my cool and gave all the explanations. Ten minutes passed, he couldn't make any break through, nor could he sense any thing worth pursuing in my case. It was a small matter, after all.
"Aao mere saat," he led me through some dark,shabby and empty corridors to present me before his 'saab', the big boss.
Another ten minutes, there. "Okay, this time, we will allow the matter to go by; I can't tell you about the future," the big boss let me off.
"Who has seen the future?" I mumbled in my mind, as I left the office of the 'big boss'... of course, profusely thanking for being merciful. The prodigy stayed back for further consultations and settlements.
I felt quite satisfied about the fact that I could successfully prove them that our expenses were, in deed, 'Educational' in nature. I also found the whole experience, there, very 'educational'!
Only, once before, I had been to that office. That was the time, I did not have to do any talking; the CA did. I still remember, what my CA had put into my ears, that day, showing me the the work culture in that office, as we waited for our turn to see an officer. "Even if any of these 'Johneys' volunteer 'to work free for me for life', I will never, ever keep them."
Why would they volunteer? I thought!
We, then, had discussed about the subject of corruption. Can it be wiped out from the system? He had no such romantic idealism. "My own profession, like lawyers, has earned a bad reputation. Some call us the 'White-caller Pimps'!"
I saw the suppressed frustration venting its way out through his eyes. "If we can not be free from corruption, individually, then, we have no business to expect so in the Society, collectively," he put it bluntly. "The system thrives on our collective human weakness ... All of us are a party to it; all of us are guilty."
"How could that junior Johney be so shameless? How could he speak in the office so openly, and so fearlessly, about the bribe?" I still did not understand.
"Because, he knew your weakness: you won't do anything about it," my CA said cryptly.
And, he was right. My only concern, last afternoon, was, to get out of that place as quickly as possible. Maybe, with a hole in my pocket as small as possible, too!
Though I have a nano-bit of Gandhiji in me, I surely know, that Bapu's India is not - and can not be - free from the afflictions of corruption and violence. And, I also know this: It is because of weak men like me, my CA and, of course, that 'small Johney' and 'big Johney' ...
We all did 'setting'!
GERALD D'CUNHA
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