Dead Sanjeet Kumar

He walked inside the police station, which looked like the busiest place in the world. Everybody seemed to be occupied with something but he could not figure out what exactly they were doing. Probably he had never before seen so many people busy doing NOTHING collectively and in a seemingly well choreographed manner. He stood there near the bench at the entrance and kept looking at everyone passing by. He felt as if he was invisible, since nobody took notice of him, or probably they all ignored him, thinking he would add to their work. Which was justified, since they were so busy doing nothing, imagine how busy they would be when they have something to do. Finally he realised that just standing there quietly was not gonna work out, he decided to ask someone. He was not sure who to approach. He was also afraid of offending anyone by his enquiry. A policeman would be the last person he would think of offending at his state. He tried to bring the best smile possible on his face and looked around searching for the right person who would answer his query without taking offence. At this point he noticed a policeman, who from his get up looked like a hawaldar, entering the police station. He decided to approach him before he also got busy like his other colleagues. As the hawaldar was passing him, he spoke in his most polite voice, "Sir!" The hawaldar stopped and looked at him. He got scared by the look on that hawaldar's face. In a moment he visualised himself behind bars facing charges of possession of some godforsaken banned drugs, which he never heard of. "What?" the hawaldar asked him in an irritated tone. He felt like waking up from his painful dream. He held himself together and asked, "Sir! I want to file a complaint but I don't know where to go." The question irritated the hawaldar even more. He spoke, "to file a complaint you go to a police station and if I am not mistaken that is where you are right now." He again visualised himself behind bars sharing the cell with ugly looking criminals scaring him with their scared faces. He gathered all his courage and asked again, "Sir! if you could please me which desk I should approach for filing a complaint, I will be really grateful." Hawaldar pointed his finger towards a corner and said, "Go there, your complaint will be taken there." Although he could not figure out the exact desk where the hawaldar was pointing, but he decided it was not in his favour to ask anymore questions. He did not want to imagine what those scarface criminals would do to him. He did not forget to thank the hawaldar and started walking towards the direction he thought the hawaldar pointed.

He was standing in a corner in front of a desk full of registers and files. The pile of files gave him a feeling that he must be living in the most criminal locality of the country. There was another hawaldar sitting behind that table busy chewing a pan and reading Mayapuri. Hawaldar was smiling. It might have been some joke in the magazine. He stood there for a moment waiting for the hawaldar to notice him. Finally he decided to disturb the hawaldar. The fake smile came back and he said, "Sir!". He waited for the hawaldar to stop reading and look at him. The hawaldar did not seem to hear him. He said again, "Sir!". This time hawaldar looked at him and pointed him to sit on the chair in front of him. Hawaldar started reading again as if he had to finish some very important article that he could not stop in the middle. Suddenly hawaldar started laughing as he closed the magazine and kept it on the table. Hawaldar picked up the dustbin and spit the paan in it. Hawaldar looked at him and asked, "Once Haathi and Cheenti were going on a motorcycle and met an accident. Haathi suffered serious injuries whereas Cheenti was all fine. Do you know why?" He kept staring at the hawaldar not knowing what to say. The hawaldar waited for a moment for him to answer then continued, "because cheenti was wearing a helmet" and bursted out laughing. He resisted the urge to slap the hawaldar and tried to bring a smile on his face to make the hawaldar believe that it was a really good joke. The hawaldar asked, "tell me, what brings you here." He said, "Sir! My name is Sanjeet Kumar." Hawaldar cut him in between, "You don't have to come to the police station, if you don't like your name" started laughing again. It took him little more effort than before to stop him from slapping the hawaldar. He in fact even managed a fake smile again. He said, "Sir! I am here to file a complaint against my brothers, who have snatched my house." He continued, "I was away for few months and when I came back they threw me out of my own house and threatened to beat me up if I went back." Hawaldar passed him a form and asked him to write his complaint. He did as told and left.

Few days later Sanjeet visited the police station again to find out if there had been any progress on the FIR he had filed. This time he was prepared to hear some PJ's. In fact he even memorised some himself just in case. He walked directly to the same hawaldar who took his complaint. The hawaldar did not seem to be in a jolly mood that day. He did not know whether to be happy about it for he would not be compelled to laugh at unbearably bad jokes or be worried for he was a hawaldar and he did not want to offend him. Hawaldar stared at him and then started shuffling through the files in front of his desk. Hawaldar opened one file and looked at the carbon copy of the FIR. Hawaldar checked the file again and said, "your FIR has been closed because there is no case." Hawaldar's answer surprised him, he said, "but sir, how is it possible?" Hawaldar answered, "it is possible because a dead man can not file a complaint and Sanjeet Kumar, the complainant is dead." He could not believe his ears. It took few seconds for him to hold himself together. He finally spoke, "but sir, I am Sanjeet Kumar and I am very much alive standing in front of you." Hawaldar was not interested in what he claimed. Hawaldar handed over the file to him and said pointing towards the death certificate of Sanjeet Kumar, "you see here? Sanjeet Kumar died on 12th Dec last year. It means you died more than 10 months back and since a dead person cannot file a police complaint, we have closed the case."

He could not figure out what to say. He could have never dreamed of the situation he was in and that was the reason he did not know how to handle it. He kept staring at his own death certificate and somehow he managed to smile. There was something funny about this situation. He perhaps was the only person in this world who got to see his own death certificate. He did not know what to do, so he decided to ask the hawaldar, "sir..what should I do now? If there is a way to prove I am dead, there has to be a way to prove I am alive." Hawaldar looked at him, thought for a moment and spoke, "I don't know. There has never been a case in my life where someone had to prove that he is alive." He realised staying there in the police station was not going to help him, so he thanked the hawaldar and decided to leave. While he was going out the hawaldar said, "see a good lawyer."

He left thinking of meeting a lawyer who would help him prove that he was alive. That was the first thing to do, because as a dead person he could not have done anything else. What he did not know at that moment, as a dead person he would not even be allowed to file a lawsuit.

..to be continued