Cop Fear
By Deepankar
Published by Deepankar at Smashwords
Copyright © 2012 Deepankar
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the author.
‘What the hell is cop fear?’ a friend once asked me. I tried to explain to him that cops gave me the shivers but he scoffed at me. It does seem a bizarre concept to the uninitiated but for people like me it was a living, breathing reality, something I had to struggle against and get the better of every time I saw a cop. I feared cops like I was some common criminal at fault about whom they knew everything and had complete power over. Looking at them, I felt they’d catch me any moment and put me behind bars. There is no mention of such a phenomenon in the medical dictionary. I looked it up to see if it was a syndrome which has been scientifically examined and qualified and if there were any cures. I was not a mental or anything. I was a perfectly normal individual with a condition which many wouldn’t believe because it was rare they had not commonly heard of. However, the internet, the place to find everything, revealed a word called ‘policophobia’ which implied I was not the only one to be stricken with this disease. There were others in the world who shared my fate.
What else could I call this condition of mine if not a disease? It directly affected my brain making it come to a standstill. I would experience near paralysis if a cop came near me. All blood supply to my brain would be cut off and I would become a blubbering idiot. I wouldn’t faint, but there would hardly be much of a difference between me and a corpse. I felt it was high time scientists studied ‘cop phobia’ formally and recognized its importance. I was sure one day they’d discover, it was a medical condition quite similar to the fear of snakes or spiders, and the discoverer might even get the Nobel Prize.
My friends came to know about it over a period of time and made abundant fun of me. I forgave them for their short-sightedness. For myself, I could hardly see any humor in taking the law lightly. I tried to explain to them what a force the cops were and why we should always be very careful around them, they had the power to ruin our lives. Surprisingly my friends were quite assured around this authoritarian figure. I could only wish I had their level of comfort around cops. Their assumption was police couldn’t interfere in their lives unless they were doing something wrong and that was exactly my point, we were constantly doing wrong things. Any moment the cops could come and tear apart our lives, if they wished. The fact that the cops had bigger problems to solve was what saved us from going behind bars. The idea of being closeted with dirty, uncouth criminals made my blood pressure drop like the mercury in Alaska. My friends believed the law was meant to follow a process in which they could exercise some control but I knew, deep inside, they too wouldn’t want to land in a situation where they would have to deal with the cops. I had suggested they read Kafka’s The Trial but the chaps were not into books. The power cops yielded was terrifying and the highly bureaucratic way in which they operated was even scarier. It gave me nightmares thinking what would happen to me if I ever landed in their clutches and it didn’t matter if they were in khaki or in white. The effect was the same. They were the law and I didn’t like them around me.
A few years back I used to stay in Bandra. A cop moved in to stay in the same building. The first time I saw him, I thought he might be a visitor. A few days later, I met him again in the elevator. Stuck in an iron cage with a man in uniform, I nearly had an attack of asphyxia. It was the worst experience of my life. I kept seeing him for the next couple of months which made me conclude he must be living in my building. A causal enquiry from the watchman revealed that the cop indeed lived there and his apartment was just above mine. From that day sleep became a rarity. The thought of a cop staying in the flat above me made my skin crawl with disgust. Once in a while, I smoke pot, whenever I could get my hands on it. I began imagining it was just a matter of time before smoke would find its way up and the cop would discover I was engaging in unlawful activities. I woke up at nights, drenched in cold sweat, afraid my door would be broken down and cops would come barging in to arrest me. The thought of discovery and confrontation became so unbearable that I fell sick. I left the apartment, once I got a little better and moved to Andheri.
During the time I was changing apartments, I was also changing jobs, not prompted by any fear but for better opportunities. The new job, however, turned to be far from satisfactory. Although the pay was good, the work was boring. I was soon filled with misgivings on having changed my job, enticed by a better compensation. It was a lesson, in retrospection, not to do something like this in future, but for the time being I was stuck. I met Zinv and Bunta at office and their friendship was the only saving grace. They helped me survive those torturous eight hours at work.
Bunta was a kid really, twenty two years old, a college graduate who was in his first job. Zinv was touching thirty and I wasn’t far behind. What was strange between the three of us was Bunta’s leadership. Whenever we took a break for a smoke or a snack, Bunta would drive the conversation. He held the opinions and the initiatives. He was of medium height and stout build and looked much older than his age. Always full of enthusiasm, he had something to say on every topic under the sky. He was full of gossip, knew everything that was going on with our fellow colleagues and didn’t mind filling us in with the latest developments in the absence of a proper topic.
Zinv on the other hand was the calming influence in the group who rationalized each discussion and tried to incorporate everybody’s viewpoints in his summaries. His observations were sensible and reflected a keen practicality. He was short and thin and had a weathered face. Lack of height, unless compensated by substantial girth, often leads to loss of authority and Zinv definitely wasn’t the kind who is heard immediately. Not that it was ever in his agenda. He was the least imposing person I had ever known. He influenced discussions in a subtle manner, without bringing any kind of dominance that had to be acknowledged first. His suggestions were always the most simple, peaceful and acceptable ones. Whenever there was a deadlock of opinions, Zinv had the key to dissipate egos which allowed the conversation to flow again. He was a peace-loving, flexible person who could never be drawn into an inextricable position from which a compromise wasn’t possible. He loved humankind, all of it, in its huge variety and unpardonable forms. He never grumbled about atrocious behavior of people or their unfairness. It was expected and he was ready to forgive when such instances occurred.
Our initial conversations were quite casual and superficial. I didn’t realize I was being evaluated by the two of them. They were careful about letting people in their inner circle. The young one and the not so young were vetting me during those idle chats. Theirs was a society with far ranging membership but completely shrouded in secret. Membership was by invitation only. It was not easy to enter their circle but once in, a member was accepted by one and all. Once it was established that my ideologies were sufficiently liberal and had enough tolerance in them, they threw open the palace doors to me.
It was three months before I was invited to join Bunta and Zinv, in their daily after work ritual, which was smoking a joint. Even though I was new to the group, I was made to feel at home. Zinv and Bunta were the silent pillars of the group and they took me under their wings. Their group was like a vast carpet with complex patterns where each member was a unique thread who brought his or her own color to the overall fabric. It was the most harmonious assembly I had ever seen. Everyone was nice, tolerant and accepting. Judgments were few and rarely made. I came to know different people and came to like many of them. They too accepted me and welcomed me into their folds. Hash was the common link. People from different offices congregated after work for a communal smoke. Zinv and Bunta were the constant factors of the group while everybody else, including me, came and went according to their convenience. I loved the freemasonry that existed amongst the fellows.
My work became more boring and predictable with the passage of time and consequently my appearance at Bunta and Zinv’s group became more regular. I smoked up with them and forgot my worries. The weight of the day was dropped and the transition from ordinary to extraordinary was easily attained. It was all in the imagination. Once a few drags were inhaled and were sufficiently absorbed by the bloodstream, royalty was there for the taking. One rose above the dreary life around and became a prince. No one can take away the throne from the smoker. In life, one could either forget or accept. Having aspirations was part of being human, part of the weakness of being human and being let down on those was part of life. I learnt to handle my frustrations in that select society.
Different people joined us on different days. It didn’t matter if members were meeting for the first time. The agenda was pre-established. A common purpose of getting high brought all seekers together. The vetting process, during which members sufficiently demonstrated tolerance and acceptability, helped maintain harmony. People came, smoked, and left thanking each other for the wonderfully silent company. Words were superfluous in that society. They were used judiciously to elicit laughter when a joke or a funny incident had to be told. Humor was a valued and much appreciated though never bandied about. I met some really groovy people, people who had made their peace on the planet and were happy to rotate and age with mother earth. I would start smiling within a few minutes of meeting them. A smile was the best reward of smoking up. At other occasions, words were used to vent frustrations which the trip was not able to entirely take care of. The group offered unlimited empathy. The adversaries were common. The establishments, managers, bad work, appraisals, negligible increments, troublesome girlfriends, unrequited love, were things everyone had suffered from at some point in their lives.