The day the cadre allotments are announced while we are at the training academy is a big day. There is intense discussion amongst the probationers as to who got a better deal and who got the rough end. Generally, the north eastern states are less preferred, except by officers belonging to those states. During our probation, Punjab was facing the height of its militancy so some officers were not too keen on it. And so on. However, for some reason, the day our cadres were announced, officers who had drawn other cadres converged upon us, the West Bengal allottees, to commiserate and condole.

Even after retiring from the service, I haven’t fully figured out why. I found the cadre to be nice and informal. The force had faced the first terrorist movement in independent India and had acquitted itself remarkably well. There was enormous camaraderie and full-throated celebrations to go with onerous duties. Probably one of the reasons for the cadre getting a bad press was that, at the time, West Bengal Police force was the only Police force in the country where the Police associations were allowed trade union rights including the right to industrial action.

In theory, it was a good idea. The unions were expected to focus on the welfare of the staff, act as a bulwark against high-handedness and discrimination, prevent victimisation of the members and secure better working conditions for them. The dream glowed; reality did anything but.

Soon after I assumed charge as Superintendent of Police (SP) of a district, the office bearers of one of the unions came to “call on” me for an introductory tete-a-tete. Post the initial exchange of pleasantries, they told me that the district Police situation needed a lot of improvement. I asked them where all the infrastructure was deficient, what the duty hours were, whether adequate transport, fuel, etc. was provided, the state and availability of the police ration, accommodation and so on. There was pin-drop silence. After a while, the leader said, “Sir, you don’t have to bother about those things. Just tell us what you have decided on the forthcoming general transfers and postings.” It was now my turn to be speechless.

There were almost weekly delegations by the two unions with varied demands. In Police, there is a system of Orderly Rooms, usually held once a week. During this, subordinate staff charged with smaller misdemeanours are marched in in Muster Parade (i.e., ceremonial) uniform, given a hearing of their defence, and, if adjudged guilty, summarily awarded a “minor” punishment. One of the first demands of a union was that, as per the law, no one can be punished twice for the same offence and I must put a stop to it. I was surprised that such a practice obtained in the district. The law was clear. There cannot be double jeopardy. I invited them to give me instances of such anomaly. They informed that I was the biggest culprit. Whoa, what! They then proceeded to inform me, in words of one syllable, that I was making the charged officials appear in the Orderly Room in muster parade uniform which constituted the first punishment. Not satisfied with such a grave tribulation, I again awarded them a “censure” or “warning” which was a second punishment. My inhumanity and cruelty were such that sometimes I even awarded a third punishment by cutting their pay for unauthorised absence. I was speechless.

One of these increasingly fractious meetings was held in the afternoon. Usually, the two unions were at loggerheads and looked at issues in opposite directions but this one day, they were unanimous in their demand. They pointed to the afternoon hour when the meeting was being held, informed how the human body undergoes enormous transformations after lunch, and “demanded” that I should exempt wearing of the (uniform) belt after lunch. I was speechless.

Coming to the original issue, just before the annual general transfers and postings, the bigger of the two unions came up with a series of “demands.” There were two sub divisions in the district. The first demand was, an official from one of the sub divisions could not be transferred to the other sub division because it entailed humongous dislocation [the longest distance in the district was 133 kms]. Secondly, officials who were above a certain age should not be relocated. Thirdly, officials who had ageing parents could not be displaced. Further, officials whose children were in 10^th or 12^th standard could not be relocated. Finally, officials who or whose family members suffered from any illness could not be relocated. These were not so much “demands” as “non-negotiables.” Curious, I asked them how complicated the whole exercise would be and they said not to worry, they would give me a “list” after due diligence, covering about 60 % of the personnel. The other union, being the smaller one, would give me a list covering about 30 %. The remaining 10 % was completely at my discretion for pleasing the powers that be. I did not say anything. I was speechless.

The real subtext was that all those constraints would not allow anyone to be “disturbed” from the existing location. All that could be done was to transfer someone from a Police Station duty to Intelligence gathering or white collar crime or home guard supervision or office duty and so on at the same duty station. Some of these “postings” had better extortion potential than the others. However, once a person has been identified as from the police station, the general public in the area would not know that he has been transferred to Intelligence branch or elsewhere. Thus, his “income” remained steady. All the locations had been arranged in the past through “negotiations” with the union office bearers at virtual auctions.

It was early days of computers. What I did was divide the locations into three categories – “High Oxygen,” “Low Oxygen” and “Gasping for breath,” meaning high, low and negligible “incomes.” With the help of a small computer programme, in a completely mechanical fashion, I shifted the location of all the personnel having completed two years at a location across the categories. All hell broke loose.

As per a government order, I had to provide a small vehicle to the unions for welfare work, as per need. They requisitioned one and went around the whole district to mobilise the personnel to assemble at the district headquarters on a particular date and “gherao” me. When alerted to this, I personally typed out a letter of resignation without the knowledge of anyone and kept it in my drawer. I had decided that if they gheraoed me, I would simply put it on the table, tell them there goes your SP and walk out from their lives and the service. I had no intention of being subjected to a 24-hour or a 48-hour barricade without food, water, toilet break, etc.. The appointed day came. I waited in the office the whole day but the dramatic things didn’t happen. In the evening, my informants told me that the union did mobilise the numbers. Unfortunately for them, too many personnel who never had any hopes of getting a so-called “good” posting had got those and resisted in greater numbers. One member of the latter group went and put a huge padlock on the union’s office door. They effectively “gheraoed” the militant union’s office bearers. Thus did I live to tell the tale.

After the district stint, I was leaving for central deputation, with a certain amount of relief that my life would have at least one less complication now. A few days before that, the big fry in that concerned union came to my office alone. We were chatting generally and after a long while, out of the blue, he said, “Chaalano jaaye Sir, chaalano jaaye. Maayna bhetore sonsar chalano jaaye. Aamra bujhechhi ekhon.” [It’s possible, Sir. One can manage the household within the salary. We’ve learnt that now.] I was speechless. At his candidness. One. Final. Time.