CIVIL UNIFORM
When Cops Have a Heart
Some cops in Mumbai have a sensitive side, say Sabrina Buckwalter and Avanti Desai. They bring chai, counsel couples and catch erring cops It’s called public service and it’s the duty cops sign up for when they become a public servant. However, not all cops deliver the kind of service we envision. As a majority of cops in the city are branded with a corrupt tattoo, either for raping, stealing, bribing or just causing trouble to the very citizens they’re supposed to protect, many are sceptical that a good cop even exists in this town. If you look in the right places though, there are commendable officers who still believe in serving the public.
These cops are found in such places as the 1090 ElderLine, the Social Services Wing and the Anti-Corruption Bureau. About half of the officers have been assigned these jobs and the other half have requested the postings specifically; yet all have been placed because of a certain sensitivity they exhibit. The postings have their own perks too. The ElderLine office is entirely air-conditioned, carpeted and has a computer for each staff member.
The ACB has a eight-hour workday with no mandatory weekend day duty. Aruna Chaudhury is among the few to have witnessed good cops. She is alone at 70, having lost her husband in 1991 and her daughter the following year. She calls arthritis her companion, an unwelcome guest that restricts her mobility. The cops at the helpline know her squeaky voice well because she calls five times or more a day. She is one of the many seniors who call the cops here out of loneliness. The cops always lend an ear: they are the kind with a soft heart.
The ElderLine is a general purpose hotline used by senior citizens with a ragbag of requests. The police officers have received calls for help to refill empty gas cylinders, fix cable wires, do plain chitchat and to help an elderly person climb an overpass.
Started in 2006 by former commissioner of police A N Roy, the ElderLine was an addon to the already existing helpline started two years before. It began to cater to the needs of the increasing numbers of the elderly living alone. With the rise of nuclear families, many old people have been left to fend for themselves, and the hotline was one way of providing the family assistance they miss. One day, Chaudhury called up sounding depressed and helpless. The electricity connection to her home had been cut off, which meant she wouldn’t be getting her afternoon chai from the electric kettle – a fate worse than the fan not running. So, the cops arranged for chai to be delivered to her house, secured the electricity connection and also called later to check back.
Around the corner from the ElderLine office in the commissioner’s compound, there is a heavily pregnant Anjali Bhoir who listens to a girl that’s scared she’ll be blamed for the suicide of a former friend who accuses her of telling lies. Bhoir is a police sub-inspector with the Social Counselling Cell, a division of the Juvenile Aid Police Unit of the Mumbai crime branch. This unit is better known for its sting operations against prostitution and for busting piracy.
Cops at the counselling cell act as therapists for people with all sorts of problems, marital disputes among them. Most of the people who come here are women and children.
Bhoir’s client, a slight girl who didn’t fill the chair she was sitting on, told her the story of a friend who threatened to name her and her family in a suicide letter. She feared that the accusation will tarnish her reputation. Bhoir called the other girl into the office. In two minutes the entrant started screaming and raised her arm to slap the girl. The other officers intervened and separated the two. Bhoir says such incidents are all in a day’s work. She was posted to the cell only three months ago. It was an assigned transfer from the Vikhroli police station, but she has started feeling a profound change come from within. Empowering women so that they can demand their rights makes her feel sublime. “So many women come to me who don’t know their rights. It’s nice that it’s my job to tell them that they have the power to help themselves.”
Outside the Social Services Wing is the Anti-Corruption Bureau where constable T S Chandan Shive, too, makes citizens aware of their rights.
Travelling in the big, baby-blue office bus, which visits bribeprone areas in the city, Shive hands out pamphlets in Marathi telling people what to do in case someone asks for a bribe. He has been with the department for four years; he asked for the posting himself and was transferred to Borivli.
Shive helps conduct raids against police officers accused of accepting bribes and helps prepare the case for their trial.
His 6’2″ frame, thick black hair, and lustrous moustache are not the only aspects differentiating him from the average cop on the street. There is also his pride in doing an honest job; it sets him apart from the rest. “I joined the police force to serve the public,” he says. You can see his dedication in his crinkly, Santa-like eyes. TNN
To find the good cops…
Call 1090 and select the prompt for the ElderLine to avail of the services.