Any police van in Hyderabad reads ‘We are here for you’. I find it hard to trust because my grandfather was a head police constable. He served under both British and Indian rule, and after analysing his life I’ve lost faith in Interpol too. The little time I saw him in uniform, he only cared about his papaya tree, his doves, and his cattle. He was more an Ace Ventura–type cop, minus the empathy or the jokes.
Here are more stories as anecdotal proof…
First bribe ever
It was my first bike in college, a brand new ride with a temporary number plate. A traffic cop stopped me and asked for my papers. I showed them, told my story, even offered the sweets I’d bought to celebrate but he wouldn’t let me go without a bribe. With no cash on me, I opened my wallet to prove it. Inside was a half-torn ₹20 note, a ‘pyar ki nishani’ from a girl. I’d promised to exchange it later but kept it as a souvenir — classic 2009 move. The cop pocketed that note and then demanded I find the other half. I told him I’d lost it. He made me search every pocket in my wallet and bag before finally taking that half-note and with it, my only interaction with that girl.
Master slaps
It was 2011. I didn’t have my bike, so I was waiting for the 10Y bus with my friend at Parade Ground, packed with cops because of an upcoming meeting. One of them stood so still he might as well have been a lamp post. My friend, feeling curious, asked, ‘Ustad, kya ho raha hai yahan?’ Instead of an answer, SLAP — so loud the Parade Ground meeting froze for a minute, and there were easily a thousand people around. He asked again, ‘Kaiko maare ustad?’ and got slapped a second time. Seriously, why get furious at being called ‘Ustad’, a term of respect for someone skilled? It literally means ‘master’. This was totally my friend’s fault: call someone ‘master’, and they might just treat you like a slave.
Lost my certificate…
I lost my degree certificate and went to the station to file an FIR. They made me wait forever. In that wait, I could’ve joined another college, passed the exam, and gotten a new certificate. That day, I decided I’d build my career without that certificate — look where it got me today. It was a blessing in disgust.
Passport verification
It’s like an unwritten rule that you have to pay a ‘convenience fee’ — which I was ready to do but the officer couldn’t find my house even though I’d provided every proof imaginable, down to longitude and latitude. When he finally arrived, he accused me of giving incorrect details and grilled me on why I’d given him the wrong address. He even hinted I might be Pakistani. Sure, because that clearly justified hiking the ‘standard bribe’ from ₹1,000 to ₹3,000. I paid up, but I really wanted to say, ‘Dude, a Swiggy delivery guy found my place with less details — if you can’t do the same, how will you ever catch real criminals using basic clues and hints?’
Mary Jane and cops
If this happens, you’re screwed anyway but while the cop has you, he’ll drop life-changing ‘advice’ on how cigarettes and alcohol are better, which brand has more tar, even which one ‘helps you beat your wife better’, and how weed will deform your future kids. A certain God probably smokes the same stuff and look at his kids; they turned out fine. They judge you like you’re responsible for all the world’s evils. So, yeah, stay away.
If you have the internet, you’ll find more stories like this secondhand, which is why I always duck the police. You should too, even if you’re related.
Sandesh
@msgfromsandesh
(This comedian is here to tell funny stories about Hyderabad)
(The writer’s views are his own)