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CONSCIENCE & CONFESSION

Copyright@shravancharitymission

 

    It reminds me of a time when I used to go to a park every day, early in the morning. The place was still and quiet—reminding you of those famous words—pin drop silence. It was a long morning walk, from where I stayed and it was also mid-way for me. Where, I use to take a break. The park was located about twenty feet, above the banks of a river and in between the two there was a steep slope. To, secure the area from anyone, falling into the river. A rugged railing had been raised only recently. The other end of the park touched the busy road. Coming all the way from the airport and passing into the main city. Beyond the river, there was a tall dark and handsome hillock that gave a great sense of scenic fulfillment.

    All around, it was lush green, especially, during the monsoons. When, the water level at times used to rise and ripple past the edge of the gradient to enter the park. I normally sat there each day for about ten to fifteen minutes. Just for some meditation and introspection that refreshed me to take on the tough day ahead. I had relocated to the city some six months back as an Inspector in the police department. Out there. I also found many health freaks coming for morning walks but some just to lollygag.

    Close to the main gate of the park. There was a small tea stall. I guess. It grossed all its major revenues early in the morning itself while serving the morning walkers.  Once in a while it also served hot pakodas that tasted deadly, with that hot dhaba tea.

    I had become a little pally with the tea stall owner who was young and appeared somewhat educated. There was always a newspaper lying around the stall. Where, tea buffs often rushed through the headlines and exchanged informal barbs.

    As a regular visitor I had started recognizing quite a few faces. Gradually, I even got to know the names of some. One out of them happened to be an old person. About whom I noticed, was normally quiet. One day the stall owner. Who knew, I was a police inspector, introduced me to him. His name was Robert.

    In a matter of days I started interacting with him and referred to him as ‘uncle.’ He must have been around seventy. He spoke very less. But whenever he did, he was to the point. He was normally in his own world and nothing amused him.

    Days passed. When, one day he came up to me and asked,

     ‘Are you in the police?’

    I said, ‘yes.’

    ‘Then, can you do me a favour?’

     I said, ‘what favour?’ He looked at me for a while and said.

    ‘Many years back when I was young. While playing in this park I had a fight with my best friend and that escalated. As a result of which I pushed him down the slope over there. He fell into the river. It was monsoon season. When, the river was in full spate and he was swept away, and never returned.’

    ‘So then did you not tell the police, that you had pushed him?’

    ‘No.’

    ‘But why?’

    ‘Because I was scared I’ll be arrested. So the police registered a case of accident, that he didn’t know swimming so he drowned.’

    ‘So then, why are you telling me your story now and that too after so many years?’

    ‘After fifty years to be exact. To, clear my guilt or  you could say conscience. Because, you’re in the police and if you want, you can arrest me for the crime.’

    ‘But have you told this to anyone else?’

    ‘No.’

    ‘But why?’

    ‘Because he was my next door neighbour.’

    ‘So how does that matter?’

    ‘It matters, because, years later, I married his sister.’

    ‘But does she know you were the one who pushed his brother?’

    ‘A few years back I did tell her. She couldn’t bear the shock and expired within weeks.’

    ‘And what about your children?’

    ‘I have two sons. Both are in Australia. They don’t know about my crime. But maybe you can tell them after I’m arrested or I’m gone.’ After this he got up, picked his walking stick and started walking. Perhaps, he was heading home.

    After the conversation a couple of days had passed. I had not seen Robert. One day when I reached the tea stall. I was informed by the stall owner that Robert had committed suicide. I was shocked at the news. Perhaps, he was preparing for it mentally when he told me about his act of crime. I attended his funeral where I even got to meet his two sons Richard and Simon.

    Thereafter, I continued with my morning walk as usual. One day when I reached the tea stall. The owner gave me a sealed enveloped that Robert had left for me. I opened it. There was another sealed cover in it with the name and address of Richard in Australia with a request to send it across through a reliable courier. Which I did.

    Robert after losing his wife couldn’t have taken a chance on his sons. But anyhow he wanted to confess about his crime to his children. Which he did after he was gone.

    Moral of the story: Your conscience is the most endurable jury in you.

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By Kamlesh Tripathi

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https://kamleshsujata.wordpress.com

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Shravan Charity Mission is an NGO that works for poor children suffering from life threatening diseases. Should you wish to donate for the cause the bank details are given below:

NAME OF ACCOUNT: SHRAVAN CHARITY MISSION

Account no: 680510110004635 (BANK OF INDIA)

IFSC code: BKID0006805

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Feudalism Lives- Rachpal Singh makes his guard put on his shoes, democracy sheds a tear

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By Kamlesh Tripathi

New Doc 60_1 (2)

Sardar Rachpal Singh, also minister for Planning and Implementation in government of Bengal forgot at his convenience, Guru Nanak’s all time relevant teachings; so also the umbilical and noble duties that a Sikh is supposed to perform in a Gurudwara by allowing his security guard to tie his shoe laces. And, further shamed the martial race by hiding behind a measly back pain, the reason why he allowed the security guard to tie his shoe laces, when Sikhs are known for their unimaginable pain enduring capacities.

But let me also point out as to why security personnel posted along Netas, VVIPs and bureaucrats are getting into such a demeaning form of Chamchagiri? Why can’t they refuse on the face of these VVIPs as this is not part of their job?

And what will happen if one guy refuses, hundred guys refuse and thousand guys refuse?

AN INDIAN POLICEMAN’S MINDSET: THE WORLD IS MY OYSTER

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Kamlesh Tripathi

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An Indian policeman has a terrific sense of belongingness. He considers everything around him as his own. Be it may, the Chaiwala around the corner, the poor food vendor selling Chawal-Chole, the next door paan-beedi shop or even the Indian Railways where he must get his pound of flesh. But for a change they were in for a shock. And kudos to railway magistrate VK Singh. Read this very interesting column:

Times of India 18.3.15

40 Policemen found hiding in train toilets

Agra: A drive against ticket less travel, launched by railway magistrate VK Singh, led to the unmasking of some unusual suspects- as many as 40 ticketless cops were found hiding in toilets to avoid being penalized by the TTE.

The surprise check was conducted on Mahakaushal Express and Chhattisgarh Express trains, as they are considered the most convenient trains to travel between the neighbouring districts of Agra and Mathura.

A team led by the railway magistrate along with assistant commandant of Railway Protection Force (RPF) and five other security personnel challaned a total of 103 passengers. Of these, 40 were reported to be civil police personnel, posted at various stations and outposts in the two districts.

Of the total Rs 29,780 collected as fine Rs 11,990 was collected from the cops.

By Arvind Chauhan”

ARTICLE: ACID ATTACKS BY SICK MINDS

Copyright@shravancharitymission

Kamlesh Tripathi

Shouldn’t I call them depraved. Transcending even the emperors of Rome, and that to without a throne, who could be ‘vindictive, cruel and even insane’- say some ancient historians like Suetonius, Pliny and Cassius Dio.

A day after a woman doctor became a victim of acid attack. Delhi High Court has expressed concern over the ‘spate of acid attacks.’ So, yet again Nero fiddled while Rome burned? But who is our Nero? Surely, the Government in general, and the law enforcement department in particular, who allowed sale of acid off the shelf.

Establishment is now cracking the whip by developing a web application to regulate the sale of acid, with functionalities like registration of stockists and retailers, issue of licenses by the district administration and limiting sale of acid to individuals who furnish proof of identity and residence.

This may to a certain extent prune down unauthorized sale of acid but won’t sterilize the sick mindset. Union minister Rajnath Singh, also suggests of treating acid attacks, that cause serious hurts, as ‘heinous crimes.’

Good Samaritan NGOs have also held demonstrations at ITO demanding quick and swift Police action against the perpetrators of crime in Rajouri Garden. A medical report released, says the 30 year old doctor is traumatized and understands the prognosis of such a severe injury.

And, in all of this the court has again asked for status report from the centre and the state. But, what is more astonishing is the High Court’s reference to acid attacks, when it pointed out that Delhi Police has almost 15,000 posts vacant and therefore a we have deficient police force at hand.

Lack of adequate Police Force results in inadequate patrolling, which encourages sick minds and criminals to enact such ghastly crime; and the government attorney Sanjay Jain is further exhibiting government apathy by saying 15 proposals forwarded by Delhi Police for creation of over 14,000 posts “shall be looked into at the earliest.” So no matter how heinous is the crime, government lives by its age old rhetoric; and so these sick minds will continue having a field day.

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article: The magic art of ‘Chamchagiri’

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    Word #chamchagiri (sycophancy) requires no introduction. Even the so called English gentry of our country, understands it well enough. And, in India nothing meaty can be obtained without this art of arts, more precisely the mother of all arts.

    During our lifetime we all aspire to become qualified professionals such as engineer, doctor, lawyer, bureaucrat, chartered accountant and the list goes on and on for which we go to professional colleges and even qualify through tough exams. But, for this particular ‘art’ you needn’t go to any University to obtain a degree. Yet it remains the most powerful tool of success in contemporary times.

BUT, WHY CHAMCHAGIRI?

    Because, it is a two way requirement and has now become a status symbol. If you call yourself a VIP you must have chamchas around you. Without chamchas you don’t qualify as a VIP. Conversely, to survive, grow and secure yourself also you need to do Chamchagiri. Perhaps, that increases your tailwind and catapults you way ahead of competition.

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HISTORY OF CHAMCHAGIRI

    It was always there. We have glaring examples of Chamchas operating out of darbars and courts of erstwhile Rajwaras and Kings, in tall Empires, and even in hallowed establishments.

    But in earlier times it was considered a menial habit almost close to beggary which has now evolved into a refined and potent art that pays handsome lifetime dividends, which not everyone can learn. Its crafty students are found buzzing around the bureaucratic circles, in corporate corridors, swarming the political circles around parliament and Assembly; and at times it also seeps into the forbidden-the judiciary.

    While, some people through chamchagiri have escalated the growth of their career by coining catchy statements like ‘Indira is India and India is Indira’ made by Dev Kant Barua, the then Congress President. Others have shown it through self arrived, trait  and gestures. Such as a Chief Minister picking up chappals of Prime Minister’s son and making him wear it again while it slipped out in a muddy field during a political campaign. Some more examples that stand tall in my memory is a Police officer touching a senior netas feet, in full Police uniform. A security personnel cleaning the sandal of a lady Chief Minister, and also the state of art gesture of prostrating in front of the lady Chief Minister of Tamilnadu, Mrs J Jayalalithaa.

    But a recent one that I saw looked a little desperate. This Chamcha had a red plate above his car number plate that read, ‘Vidhayak ka Pratinidhi’ (Representative of MLA). Trying to please his master by becoming his representative. Some Chamchas learn this telling art just to make a living and not to catapult their careers which is still understandable like the one above.

    I have often thought about the genesis of this disease called ‘Chamchagiri.’ To me it always appeared as a colonial and a feudal requirement for a better survive. But the hangover of it has only increased when it should have gone down with the world becoming more business like.

    And, if chamchagiri can get you two square meals I would send calling for the HRD ministry to at least announce a ‘Certificate course’ in the subject to reduce unemployment for now.

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By Kamlesh Tripathi

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https://kamleshsujata.wordpress.com

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Share if you like it

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Shravan Charity Mission is an NGO that works for poor children suffering from life threatening diseases. Should you wish to donate for the cause the bank details are given below:

NAME OF ACCOUNT: SHRAVAN CHARITY MISSION

Account no: 680510110004635 (BANK OF INDIA)

IFSC code: BKID0006805

*

Our publications

GLOOM BEHIND THE SMILE

ONE TO TANGO … RIA’S ODYSSEY

AADAB LUCKNOW … FOND MEMORIES

REFRACTIONS … FROM THE PRISM OF GOD

(CAN BE BOUGHT FROM ON LINE BOOK STORES OR WRITE TO US FOR COPIES)

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Article: RAPE CRIME IN INDIA

Copyright@ shravan charity mission

By Kamlesh Tripathi

There is no doubt about the fact that someone runs India. But when a heinous crime such as rape is committed in a Uber Cab it appears no runs India. On the contrary it runs on its own inertia. As the powers to be, feign ignorance, about how the crime was committed and ask for one last chance to fight the menace. So, then who runs India? One answer could be these criminals who always succeed in hoodwinking the dispensation while committing such nasty crimes. In front of whom our meek society and the establishment appear as simpleton. Where, these men in high places come out with some face saving, stereotype statements such as the ‘culprit will not be spared’ and just then another culprit surfaces, even before the previous one is forgotten.

There was only one 9/11 in the US, and with that they learnt their lesson and ensured it never happened again. Surely, they must have done something worth the while, to fox and ensnare such criminals as a strong preventive. Similar mindset we find in Israel. But the story in India is quite different. For we are not aspiring that high as of now, as it doesn’t suit us and it could be grossly inconvenient for our establishment. Therefore, in India there is never a last time but always the next time and we deal it, with the gift of the gab.

REALITY CHECK

Today’s TOI reports 1706 cabbies were booked in the uber-crackdown. But then where was Delhi Police before this rape in the Uber-cab? I guess this is all, that Delhi Police knows in terms of prevention of crime–to book people after the crime. And, beyond this they don’t have the competence to deal with the subject. One can also make this out, from the many Delhi Police Commissioners that have come and gone. Not one has proposed a different unconventional, out-of-the-box plan to prevent rape crime in the capital and that itself exhibits the mental bankruptcy. Most have just kicked the can on the road. And, what can one poor commissioner of police anyway do, even the criminal knows.

GOVERNMENT’S INTENTION

Also, government’s intention to come out with a foolproof plan to prevent rape crime is a suspect across various political establishments that we have seen till now. Whether it is the will or mental or physical lethargy we don’t know. A management thought says if you keep taking the same action each time and expect a different result it will never happen. But, in case of rape crime forget the action; government has not even proposed a new template for prevention of rape crimes. And, that it self speaks volumes. Moreover, the new trend, that the higher courts need to direct the executive on all important issues to act is also alarming.

WAY FORWARD

The traditional method of policing is not effective in preventing rape crimes. Rather it is failing miserably. The traditional policemen are only good for writing FIRs. That too when they are told from the top and to some extent catching criminals at a later date. So we need something different. And can that be technology based is something we need to study? We should also emulate best police practices in terms of crime prevention from other countries and implement the same for rape crimes but all of this requires political will.

Political parties and governments need to realize. If you want to continue in power, merely being ahead of your nearest political rival is not going to be enough. You will have to beat them by leaps and bounds. And for that you will have to deliver what you’ve promised. Remember, the public of India has an elephant’s memory and coming to their aid are countless sound bites where you’ve promised prevention of rape crime. So wake up.

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#50 SECONDS OF #DEATHLY #PANIC

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By Kamlesh Tripathi

 

Death! I’ll’ tell you how she looks. I saw her from close quarters; only yesterday, while returning from office. She looked like a terrifying combination of a battered vehicle with a soiled number plate and a ghostly appearing driver who vanished into thin air in a flash of a second. And, it all happened on 21st November while returning from office.

I had just crossed Noida Golf club and was approaching the next traffic light signal on the roundabout of the Metro Station where there was a long queue of traffic waiting to cross. Moving slowly, by now I was as under the Metro station building and on the extreme right lane, inching along the high road divider, so high that while being seated in the car you could not see the traffic on the other side of the road. I was at peace as the traffic was disciplined, enjoying music; and relaxing in the company of fellow cars around, mostly returning from a hard day’s of work. Ahead, of me was a silver coloured Maruti Zen. The traffic light had gone green again, is when I realized I was about two hundred feet from it, and since I was still quite behind, I knew my time to move the car will only come by the time the light goes red again.

And, rightly so the cars ahead of me started moving only when the traffic light had turned red covering the empty road left by the cars ahead of them. I also rolled my car and stopped close to the roundabout. From where conveniently I would have crossed over in the next green light. I guess I was now just about forty or fifty feet away from the traffic light at the roundabout. To my right, continued the road divider with its fancy collection of green plants giving that fresh smell and adding to the beauty of the boulevard that ended after about twenty feet where it approached the roundabout. It wasn’t dark near the roundabout as the street lights were well lit.

A couple of seconds must have passed, is when I saw the rear lights of the Zen ahead of me flash, with that typical sound of a car being locked by the electronic remote switch. I then saw a skinny man, of medium height, perhaps the driver of that car in chappals, wearing dark coloured trousers, a half sweater getting out of it and walking away. And, very soon he reached the end of the road divider, where it ended at the roundabout and disappeared. I wondered where and why?

That gave me an uncomfortable feeling when it suddenly dawned in me, where has he gone? Why has he locked the car? And what is inside the car? Remembering the electronic remote switch that he had flaunted. Hope this is not a car bomb. I asked myself in panic, just when the traffic display read forty two seconds, to go.

The fright in me had set in. There was a car right behind me, so I couldn’t have inched backward, nor I could have gone forward. I imagined, what if this junk explodes? It will take me head on. There will be no chance of a survival. And no one knows where this bloody fellow has gone? All this must have happened in just about fifteen seconds.

Ahead of the Zen was a Mahindra Scorpio and on the left of it was the recently launched Tata Zest in its sexy blue colour which I still remember. Behind me it appeared was a Maruti Alto and to my immediate left an Innova where a guy was merrily talking on his mobile.

They say the fastest thing on earth is your mind. That had begun to sound in low decibels, as if my death-knell by a locally devised Molotov cocktail placed in a car. But the other part of my mind had suddenly started moving in top gear with my report card. In a flash it displayed things, that were undone, badly done and also successfully done in my life. It had also opened my conscience, my can of worms. Who all I had cheated and who all had cheated me; and with who all I was not fair and who all were not fair to me.

I remembered all my friends, including my girl friends. Some, unfamiliar voices reminded me, how I had hurt my Parents. Then suddenly a husky voice probably the voice of death said, ‘you have not made your will. Not explained your property papers to your wife, nor to your son, nor even to your daughter-in-law. And where have you kept your insurance papers, will they be able to find it; and what about the passwords, for if you die here in this blast your passwords might also die along with you in the computer, and what about your spiritual agenda and visits to various temples that you always wanted to carry out. All that will now have to be done in your next life provided you’re born as a human being.’ I could feebly make out, all these deadly voices were coming from that God forsaken Zen. When, suddenly I felt the flash was over. But the bomb was still alive and ticking. I suddenly missed my family.

The bright screen of the traffic light now read twenty seconds, to go. It was now or never. I quickly gathered myself, picked my phone, office bag, and moved out of the car and started walking in the reverse direction of the car when the guy sitting in the Alto behind my car said,

‘Where are you going sir, the signal will be green soon. Heeding to his advice I turned around to look at the signal in extreme fear, is when I also saw the driver of the Zen walking towards his car adjusting the fork of his pants and what lay beneath. I asked in some dismay.

‘Where did you go?’

He smiled and raised his little finger. But I had no expressions to return.

I sat in the car and slowly moved behind the Zen. There were no traffic cops there, to whom I could have narrated this episode. For them to be cautious and on the prowl about any such planned attacks by terrorists, as traffic signals were a vulnerable point.

That day I also realized the importance of ‘Swacch Bharat Abhiyaan’ of Prime Minister Sri Narendra Modi. And, just how to relieve oneself, one can commit such idiosyncrasies; and the urgent need to construct Public loos along roadside.

Life is so weird for when I was seeing death staring at me. At only a distance of ten feet the other person in the Innova was giggling and speaking on his mobile. Perhaps, these very thin lines can only be managed by Almighty alone. And more importantly,

I am now preparing my will on fast track, and having a hard look at my checkered report card.

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