Those infractions on two wheels

I came to live in Madras in 1952 at the age of 21, and soon my flawless record of traffic observance took a beating from the police.

In a short story written by B.S. Ramaiah, the editor of the avant garde Tamil literary journal Manikkodi — in which pioneers such as Puthumaippithan, Mowni and K.P. Rajagopalan appeared regularly — a young man offers to take a woman on the luggage-carrier of his bicycle so she would not be late for college. But before they go a couple of yards, a policeman catches hold of the bicycle. The story must have been written when two people could not travel on a bicycle. But after MGR became the Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu, without any specific directive, riding in two’s on a bicycle was no more taken notice of. Not only double-riding, but the lack of proper brakes, lamps at night and a bell were no longer offences. But before a year of residence in Madras, I had been caught by policemen for all the four offences. On all four occasions, I was called to the Saidapet court and made to pay fines.

I had no bravado in skipping traffic rules. Of all the bicycle offenders, the bell-less list should be the smallest but you would find my name in that compact list. My name must go along with my father’s name. Anything to do with the police, your father’s name assumed great importance. If you run through the records of the small-causes court, you will find my father’s name written each time with a different spelling. So was my name. It was the police’s privilege.

This time, the person who snatched my bicycle asked me to be present at the Saidapet court at six in the morning. It was alright with me, but should the poor magistrates be deprived of sleep?

There was quite a gathering so early in the morning at the pale-red court building at Saidapet. Six in the morning, was punishment enough. There were a number of women. One could not escape noticing their deprivation. Wasn’t poverty punishment enough?

I searched for the policeman who had hauled me up. He didn’t recognise me. “Are you the nuisance boy?” he asked. I did not understand what he was asking. He simplified it: “Did you urinate on the street?”

“Oh, no. You caught me for the bell.”

“So you drove the bicycle without a bell?”

“I have a bell. But it didn’t ring when you tested it. It gets stuck sometimes.”

“Why sometimes? All the time.” I didn’t argue.

“Look. When the judge questions you, keep saying yes. Understand?”

“What type of questions?”

“The judge will ask you, did you go without a bell.”

“But I have a bell.”

“Don’t argue with the judge. Your fine will double each time you argue”

I just could not understand who was called, but a policeman pushed two women to the dock. They were charged with creating nuisance in the street by quarrelling. But in the dock, they seemed thick friends. One of them began addressing the judge and he sentenced both to three days in prison.

The proceedings were done in whispers. The whole thing seemed a fascinating play and I had quite forgotten I too would have to answer the judge. Suddenly the policeman pushed me and I stumbled into the dock. It was a woman magistrate. She whispered something. She could be asking me whether I had committed a murder. But the policeman had said all I should say was yes. Even that was not necessary. The judge smiled, and the policeman pulled me from the dock.

“What happened? Where is my bicycle?”

He didn’t bother to answer me and disappeared. When he came back, he had a lengthy form. “Write your name and your father’s name at the places marked.”

“What about my bicycle?” He didn’t let me read the form. “Quick, quick,” he said.

I wrote my name and my father’s name correctly. For all I knew, I could have been writing my death warrant.

“Now go and pay five rupees at the office.”

“Which office?”

He tapped the back of my head. I asked whoever I saw on the way, ‘where is the office?’, and finally found it downstairs. The man at the counter took the form and the money and gave me a receipt. He was not a policeman. So I asked him, “Why is everything here done early in the morning?”

“After eight, this building will be like a furnace.” Then I noticed the place didn’t have ceiling fans.

I went to the policeman. I gave him the receipt. “Where is my bicycle?”

“Do you know T. Nagar Police Station? Go there. You will get back your bicycle.”

I went to the police station. I told a policeman that I had paid the fine. “Go to the rear and take back your bicycle.”

There was a pile of bicycles. I had a hard time extricating mine. Before mounting it, I tried the bell. It rang.