Police Encounter

It’s so fucking weird this country. You get trouble from police when you’re sober and you get away when you’re actually drunk.

4 a.m.

I was driving back home after dropping my uncle to his house in Gulberg, when a man clad in white clothes, top to toe, frantically waved his hands at me – serial killer hitchhiker, I thought. Needless to say, I drove past him but still itched to know his fate before he would completely disappear into the mist. As I glanced onto the rear-view mirror, I saw the all-clad-in-white man run into a police car, parked at the side of the road. He sat in the driver’s seat, switched on the police siren and started chasing me.

Huh? What the fuck…

I stopped. Rolled down my window. Planted my chin in my hand and rested my elbow on the door. I wasn’t guilty. Why should I run?

Screech. His car stood parallel to mine. An ugly cop popped his head out of the window and screamed.

“Aap ko roka tha, Aap rukay kyoon naheen!!”

I shrugged my shoulders, “array, eik tou tum log apnee wardee naheen pehantay, oopar say poochtay ho roka kyoon naheen”

Somehow, I mustered the strength to question them before they questioned me.

“Safayd track suit kyoon pehna hua hai?”

The driver stepped out and said, “Sardee lag rahee hai”

Sounded like a reasonable bunch. They think rationally. Cold weather, must wear warm clothes. They’ll probably just smell my mouth, realize I haven’t had any booze and let me leave in one peace.

“Garee say bahir utrein”

“kyoon”

“Talashee lainee hai”

“Tou lay lo”

As we talked the driver’s hand quietly sneaked behind the steering wheel and gently plucked the car keys out. With the keys dangling in his hand, he said, “Aap bahir utrein please”

I had no choice but to comply. I just wanted to get over with the standard protocol.

He searched me first. Then my car. Then me. Then my car.

In the middle of all this he repeated questions. Accused me of drinking. Accused me of smoking up. Accused me of impatience. Accused me indefinitely, until, ofcourse, I exploded into an ugly rhapsody of how unjust the world is.

“Yeh kya bakwas hai!”

“Mein eik seedha saadha lahori hoon, jo apnay ghar ja raha hai, aur subha kay 4 baj rahay hein….sardee mein thitar raha hoon mein, aur aap keh rahay hein keh yeh cotton seed ka sample jo meri gari mein parra hai, yeh sookha garda (weed) hai!”

I snatched the keys to my car and sat back in the driver’s seat. SP sahib, namely Mr. Hasan Arshad’s hand gelled onto my door and held on tight.

“Sir, eik mint the`reeyay sir! Aap tou naraaz hee ho gayay hein” he said as though trying to lure a king fisher – the notorious most fish – out of the fucking sea.

“Naheen mein naraaz naheen hua, bas mujhay ab janay dein”

“Aisay kaisay sir, aap tou hamaray bhai hein, aap ko pizza khilaein kya? Koi pepsi shespsi?”

“Naheen! Please…mujhay ghar jana hai, aap meray bhai hein, baray achay bhai hein, mujhay kuch naheen khana, khudahafiz”

“Laikin aap tou naraaz hein, hum apnay bhai ko naraaz tou naheen bhaij saktay na”.

“Naheen, mein bohat khush hoon, seriously” an ugly smile followed and instantly disappeared.

“sir…bas yeh yaad rakhein, kay aap kee garee ka number ab hamaray dil kay computer mein store ho gaya hai…aaj kay baad say aap ko koi naheen rokay ga, na mein, na koi aur”

Yeah…I might have offered him a movie role or something, if only I was a producer. Much to his regret (I’m sure) I wasn’t and have no aspirations either.

So, what is the end to the police encounter? It’s a name. Hasan Arshad. Each letter of which tantalizes my puny little neurons while I wait, in silent rebellion, singing myself the symphony of destruction, and in hopeless hope of finding the vengeance I so dearly deserve.