Pinto smiled to himself. If people were stealing police property, whose property was safe?
She charged him 355 rupees. Another man came to the truck for the same ‘offence’. In time-honoured fashion, he offered the lady constable a bribe. She was furious, ‘Take that back! A few people like you spoil the reputation of the entire police force’. Never ever try that again. I can get you arrested for it.’ The guy looked embarrassed, paid the fine and left.
Pinto was immensely impressed, thinking that if there were more people like her in the police force, the country would change for the better. To add to his surprise, she returned the exact change to Pinto from his 500-rupee note. He thought of writing an article in the papers about the honesty and politeness of the policewoman.
While walking to the car Pinto realized he’d been given two receipts: one for a hundred-rupee fine and another for a towing charge of 255 rupees. Now Pinto realized what was going on. The receipts were legal, the charges weren’t. He went back to the police truck and asked, ‘Why did you charge for towing?’ The helper inside responded, ‘Cars get damaged and scratched in towing so we don’t haul them away unless it is necessary.’
‘Then you shouldn’t have charged me. My car didn’t have to be towed.’
‘That’s by law, sir. If you really insist, I can tow it right now but any scratches will be your responsibility. We in fact do you a favour by standing here so that your cars don’t get damaged.’
Now it was clear. There was a nexus between the contractor of the towing vehicle and the policewoman. They’d give tickets to at least 200 cars in a day at that spot as everybody who parked their car assumed the parking guy had gone to the restroom or for a quick bite. If they towed a car away, it’d have taken them an hour for each car. Towing a vehicle on paper was saving fuel, as well as giving them the opportunity to ‘show’ multiple trips.
They must have documented that several towing vehicles were deployed there to cover 200 tows. Pinto was pretty sure the towing contractor had paid a hefty sum to the policewoman and the higher-ups. Pinto concluded that there are two types of cops, those who are corrupt and then those who are corrupt and polite.
He went home to complain again to Lavanya, but she wouldn’t change her mind. No matter what injustice happened around them, she wouldn’t let Pinto deal with government-appointed officials. ‘The honesty in government begins with the top person,’ she told Pinto. ‘Say, the Prime Minister of India. If he or she wants to fix the problem, it won’t take much time. Let them handle it.’
Pinto quibbled, ‘Most of the Indian Prime Ministers have been personally honest, even if there were big scams during their tenure. Those PMs missed the willpower and follow-through to curb corruption. Many of the Members of Parliament were corrupt. If a Prime Minister started a drive against corruption, he’d need to clean his own house first. It’d really become a tricky situation.’
Lavanya kept lobbing counter-arguments—even if she was not convinced herself. ‘You have to admit the system is improving slowly. There were days in India when high-profile people could do anything they wanted and it’d go unnoticed. But now, more and more citizens have developed awareness and started raising voices against injustice. Media is also playing a positive role. Some politicians and tycoons have been sent to jails for their crimes.’
‘Very convenient!’ Pinto couldn’t believe why Lavanya was talking as if she didn’t know she had been a victim of corruption herself many times over, and that most of her countrymen were even more vulnerable to it. ‘Jail is not considered that bad now among high-class people. A lot of politicians have contested elections from jail and won. They try to get bail as soon as they can and then, resume their dirty tricks.’
‘What’s on your mind?’ Lavanya forced herself to ask patiently.
Pinto also calmed down. ‘All I’m going to do is submit a proposal,’ he reassured Lavanya.
‘To whom? Why? Saying what—?’ began Lavanya, and then she gave up. ‘Never mind. Do what you want. Just remember, I don’t want you to be involved with any kind of movement or politics.’
‘Let me call Imran to discuss this.’
‘He is not interested in any idea through which he cannot make money. Why don’t you discuss it with me?’ asked Lavanya, swiftly changing her mind because she was afraid that, left to his own devices, Pinto would write some incendiary article or do something to bring down the wrath of interested parties on their heads.
‘That’s even better. Let me start with a punishment system.’
‘Government will start the system only if they want to; you are merely writing an article.’
‘Okay, now focus,’ commanded Pinto. ‘Do you know, that in the beginning of the freedom struggle movement, our political leaders and workers would often be sent to jail by the British? They’d get the same unit, facilities and food irrespective of their status.’
‘What’s so wonderful about that?’ asked Lavanya. ‘There should always be equal punishment for the same crime. Whether the freedom fighters were leaders or workers, they had broken the same British law and were getting the same punishment. We were not a free country then.’
‘And how did just a handful of Britishers come to rule such a vast and populous country as India? Because they kept inventing new tactics.’
‘You are beating around the bush.’
Pinto smiled, ‘Have some patience. They started giving additional facilities in jails to political leaders, to create a rift between them and the political workers.’
‘Did it work?’
‘Not really. Most of the leaders didn’t accept the extra facilities.’
‘How did they justify this action under British law?’
‘They came up with a bizarre logic. A person who was well off, stayed in a luxurious home, had servants to take care of him, and a stable income, would suffer much more if he went to a dirty jail, compared to a person who lived in a slum, who didn’t wear clean clothes and had no certainty about his next meal. So, in effect, the punishment levelled out.’
‘What a pity,’ said Lavanya, ‘that our present-day rulers brought in the VIP and VVIP culture’.
‘Exactly, that’s the point. VIPs get special security and other facilities at the expense of taxpayers. Have you seen any VIP paying toll or parking fees?’ Pinto asked.
Now Lavanya was warming to the topic. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it, that all VIPs are politicians and bureaucrats, because they control our lives? Scientists, engineers, doctors and social workers are hardly offered any VIP status.’
Pinto was delighted that Lavanya was coming on board. ‘I am of the opinion that the VIP status should be limited only to a handful of people for whom security is critical for performing their duties. I realize, of course, that the VIP culture is now so ingrained into our lives that it cannot be eliminated just by creating some criteria in regard to who should be a VIP and who should not.’
‘Why?’
‘The existing VIPs are too powerful; they’d be able to prove how their VIP status—and its attendant security cover—is important to carry out normal duties when all they’re doing with all those trimmings is flexing their muscles at opponents.’
‘Are you saying that security is not needed?’ Lavanya was curious.
Pinto explained himself, ‘No, I didn’t say that. Security should be provided to only a few high-profile dignitaries whose lives may be at stake for some unpopular decisions they make for the good of the nation as a whole.’
‘But when the whole system is corrupt, there is no way to choose the really worthy people,’ said Lavanya, returning to the debate. ‘Criminals are getting security cover simply because they are in power. There is no way you can solve this. You are biting off more than you can chew.’
Pinto laughed off his wife’s protectiveness. ‘This problem can be solved easily if we attach some sort of responsibility to the VIP status, to make the system self-controllable.’
Lavanya was at sea again. ‘Yo
u are being cryptic,’ she repeated, retreating to her old defence.
Pinto tried to simplify things for her: ‘We should have a point-based system for deciding VIP status. Ordinary people would have 1 point. VIPs to VVIPs would score 2 to 4 points respectively. A criterion would be set up to define other points based on several things such as, let’s say, the individual’s contribution to the national cause. The most important part would be that the system would define the maximum number of points to devolve upon a VIP. After that would be upto the VIP how many points he or she wants to accept out of that maximum number.’
Lavanya was losing it all over again. ‘If higher points meant better VIP status, of course people would opt for higher points. Why would they give up their points? Have you finally gone off your head?’
Pinto smiled the superior kind of smile that sometimes infuriated his wife. ‘Suppose,’ he resumed his tutorial, ‘based on the criteria, you are entitled to a maximum 3 points. As per the government manual, 3 points would give you X class security, preferred seats on the train, and priority in all government offices. You’d get preferred seats on the trains even if you had only 2 points but you’d lose the X-class security and preferred status in government offices. Your question is valid: why would people give up their points? Well, the first but rather tenuous argument is some of the VIPs would have high moral values. They’d not like to misuse precious resources so would take only what they really required.’
‘Not going to happen,’ sang out Lavanya with conviction. ‘Birds of a feather flock together.’
‘You can laugh, but it is true, some people are high-thinking souls. Don’t you and I try to be? But let’s put that aside and move onto another plane of thought.’ He stopped to draw a deep breath.
‘The second part of the process is very important. The Parliament would pass a law so if anybody was involved in any kind of crime, their punishment would be directly proportional to their points. For example, a particular corruption case brought successfully against a common man would fetch him three years of imprisonment; a politician with 2 points would get six years of punishment for the same crime. The speed of court judgments would also be increased in proportion to the points held, thus averting misuse of the justice system. There would be an upper limit set to carry out the judgment for cases involving VIPs, say four years as the maximum limit for the whole lifecycle of a judgment including appeals to higher courts.’
‘Now that makes sense,’ Lavanya looked finally pleased at the way things were going.
‘The logic is simple. If you are a VIP, you should be a man, carry your responsibility well and own up to your misdeeds. You are expected to act more sensibly than the common man in society, and that’s why you should be ready to face more punishment, as well. “With great power comes great responsibility”,’ Pinto wound up quoting.
Lavanya was thrilled by now. ‘That’s like my man, Pinto! If all this is implemented, may be 90 percent of our VIP slots will vanish into the air. As you say, darling, big problems have small solutions.’
It was important to Pinto to keep Lavanya thinking along the lines of his proposal. ‘Another important point would be,’ he said, watching her reaction, ‘the recovery of the money which the national exchequer lost to corruption. Currently the recovery is treated very leniently. In fact the main motive for a person to be corrupt is to make money. The thing which is going to impact him the most is when the government recovers more than they made. From VIPs the recovery should be multiplied by the points they had. So if a politician who had 2 points and was found guilty of embezzling 100 crore rupees, he should pay back 200 crore in addition to other punishment decided by a court.’
‘The idea is good,’ commented Lavanya hesitantly, ‘but what if the person does not have 200 crore?’
Pinto had a ruthless solution to that as well. ‘The idea is that we have to make their lives miserable. The chances are that he is already a rich guy so his other properties could be seized to recover the first 100 crore. If it’s his first involvement in corruption and he does not have that kind of money from previous acts of corruption or by inheritance, he should be put on a monthly instalment plan to recover the additional 100 crore. And if he is unable to pay the extra money in his lifetime, that’s fine.’
‘I think that’ll help.’
‘We just need to make sure,’ said Pinto, softening his stand a bit, ‘that the repayment plan should be designed in such a way that he is left with the means to follow a very basic lifestyle. If that kind of healthy fear of the law is instilled in our people, they will not readily give into corruption.’
Lavanya nodded appreciatively. ‘You cracked the code, Pinto love. Go ahead and circulate the proposal. But, the problem is, who’ll bell the cat?’
Pinto contacted a number of likely organizations and finally met a passionate and dedicated social activist cum lawyer of national acclaim, Manna Javedkar. Javedkar liked the idea and promised to support Pinto, ‘I’ll fight for the cause but you have to work with me. I cannot handle it alone.’
Lavanya hated the idea. ‘I don’t want your active involvement. You’ll begin by participating in dharnas and protests, and slowly will move to actual politicking. You know very well how I hate politics. I hate politicians.’
Pinto wanted to set her right on his motives. ‘I have no intention of getting into politics but I do want to fight for a social cause: changing the system. I don’t mind joining it if destiny takes me there. It’s like a start-up company. You start with an idea and deliver something totally different. Who knows? Maybe mere social movements don’t succeed. Maybe only politics turns out to be the only way to achieve that goal.’
‘No, no, a hundred times no.’
‘Why do you hate politics so much?’
‘You want to know the truth?’ Lavanya’s voice trembled. ‘I told you that my father died in an accident.’
‘Why, was that not true?’ an intrigued Pinto asked.
‘He died in an accident but it was not a genuine one. A local politician who wanted to get some nasty work done by my father, engineered it, because my father refused to be part of a racket.’
‘I see. That’s sad.’ Pinto was saddened for her, but not surprised by the revelation.
‘That’s how I lost my father. I don’t want to lose you the same way. It’s a dirty game.’ Lavanya’s terror rose. ‘I’ll leave you if you join politics.’
Pinto could have used this opportunity to turn things around. He could have said, ‘Don’t you want to punish those who killed your father? Then support me.’ But he was not a ‘politician’ deep inside. He had to be straight with her, no matter how much that hurt her. ‘You do what you feel right,’ he said in a shaking voice, ‘and I’ll do what I think is best.’
While they were still debating with each other, bad news came to them. There was an earthquake in Nepal and parts of northern India. Lavanya was worried as her former in-laws lived in Kanpur. She deeply respected them for what they’d done for her—giving her a home and security although she had divorced their son—an almost unheard of act of fairness.
She didn’t forget to call them every Indian festival. Somehow, they were not very comfortable coming to Pinto’s house in Pune though both of them had invited them to Kanpur several times. The main reason was they had a sort of odd relationship. They had Lavanya married to Pinto as if she were their daughter but, of course, Lavanya had her own mother, as well. They didn’t want to make the whole thing too complicated, for Lavanya, or for her mother, and certainly not for Pinto.
When the earthquake’s after-tremors were felt in Kanpur as well, Lavanya decided to call them. She already knew from TV channels that no casualties nor major damage had been reported there but she wanted to find out for sure from her former mother-in-law directly.
It so happened that her divorced husband, Asim, picked up the phone. It was a bit of a shock for her hearing his voice out of the blue. In the last fifteen years, his parents had never brought
up the subject of Asim. Lavanya also never asked after him, out of consideration for their feelings about their son and their broken relationship.
She hung up immediately. Asim called her back saying, ‘Hi, Lavanya, I know you don’t want to talk to me. And I understand that nobody would like to talk to me after what I have done to you. Please accept my apologies. Papa is critically ill and that’s why I have returned here from Dubai.’
Lavanya didn’t care about Asim or his apology but the news about Asim’s father gave her a big shock. Without giving voice to any expression, she stayed silent on the line.
Asim continued, ‘Papa talks about you all the time but we didn’t want to worry you.’
‘What an odd situation,’ thought Lavanya. ‘What would Pinto think if he knew that I was talking to Asim?’ She was not sure what to say. All she could come up with was, ‘Can I talk to Mummyji?’
‘Papa is pretty much on his deathbed at the hospital, in the ICU. Mummy is with him and is not in a position to talk to anybody at this time. I beg you to please come, for my father’s sake. If you feel uncomfortable, I’ll move somewhere else temporarily while you are here.’
Lavanya later told Pinto, ‘I felt a bit guilty. But I could not have avoided Asim.’
Pinto was casual, ‘Come on, big deal! It’s only in India where you are supposed to completely forget your exes. In the US, my white neighbour, Steve’s, parents were divorced. Whenever he called them for some party, his mother would show up with her boyfriend and the father would bring his girlfriend. In the party they’d talk to each other so nicely as if they were great family friends. In fact, even ex-husband and wife would also spend some time together talking.’
‘That’s kind of odd.’
‘I was very impressed with that. Steve told me without bitterness that his parents were not made for each other, and that it was good that they divorced, otherwise so many lives would have been spoiled.’
Lavanya had an attachment to her ex in-laws so Pinto encouraged her to go there. He booked tickets for her and Harsha. Lavanya awkwardly asked Pinto to accompany them.
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