Tag Archives: police

Police in Varanasi

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Corruption is a very big issue in India nowadays, and everyone is talking about it. We even saw the results in the Delhi state assembly elections, where the Aam Aadmi Party changed the government solely on the issue of corruption. I was very excited after seeing the results of the Delhi elections, but sometimes things happen that make me feel like there is just no way to kill corruption in this country. Last week, I attended a friend’s wedding in Varanasi. After the wedding was finished, all of my friends returned home, but one of them parked his motorbike right in front of his home on the main street, which is usual in a city like Varanasi where there is no parking space available  anywhere.

At 2:30 AM, I got a call from the same friend saying his bike was missing. He called me seeking help to find the bike. We went together on the street asking people if anyone had seen our bike, and a person told us that he had seen two policemen taking the bike. We went to the nearest police station, and the officer there said that the bike was found unattended and hence sent to a bigger police station about a kilometer away from my place. At the big police station, we found everyone asleep except for one person standing by the entrance. We asked him about our bike and he confirmed it was there but said we needed to talk to the officer.

We went to the officer and found him sleeping on his chair. We tried to wake him up, but he was in a super sound sleep. Finally, after several attempts, he woke up. We explained our situation, and he said we would have to go to court the next day, pay a fine of Rs. 10,000, and only then would we get our bike. We knew he was lying. We requested him repeatedly to give us our bike back, and he finally agreed after talking with the policemen who had brought the bike from the street. He asked us to go back on the street to look for those policemen.

We had no idea where to find them. We requested the officer to kindly confirm their location by talking with them on the phone, but the officer just didn’t want to help us. He always seemed more interested in his sleep. Anyway, we returned to the same location and luckily found those police officers. We explained our situation and they were cooperative. They asked us to go back to the police station and have the officer talk with them. Back at the police station, we again found the officer sleeping. It was a serious pain to wake him up, but the mission was successful. He opened a register, looked at a few pages, and found the page where he had written the bike number.

Then he asked for the bike registration papers, which we did not have. The papers were with the friend who owned the bike. We tried calling him, but he did not respond. We went to his home, woke him up, brought him to the police station with all the papers, and waited. Right in front of our eyes, the officer closed the register and again fell asleep, asking us to wait. We didn’t know what to do. I laughed in anger, and we started talking among ourselves, like “This is our great India, this is the system,” things like that.

The awake policeman who was listening told us, “Now you are laughing too much, but imagine what would have happened if a thief had stolen your bike.” I didn’t know what to tell him, but I replied that we were laughing only because our bike was safe with the police. After waiting 15 to 20 minutes, we asked the awake policeman to wake the sleeping officer. Finally, the officer woke up, looked at the documents again, and asked for Rs. 500. We all looked at each other and asked why he needed Rs. 500. When we asked this question, he got upset, closed the register, and fell asleep again, asking us to go to court the next day.

We knew well that if we went to court, we’d have to bribe maybe 10 people, because everything is super corrupt at the courts too. It was already 4 AM, and we had no hope other than bribing him. We finally gave him Rs. 500 and got our bike back. But when I think about that policeman’s behavior, it makes me feel like our police exists to torture us and nothing else. The policeman had no interest in helping, always tried to make the situation more complicated, and was very rude, corrupt, fat, lazy, sleepy, and a bigger thief than regular thieves. And I have never met any policeman better than him. I have also never met anyone who said they found a helpful policeman.

I think it’s definitely time to dismiss the entire police system and bring in fresh people with different training. I’ve heard that our police are trained the same way as in the British Raj days. The police were trained to fight locals back then, and they are still trained the same way today. Our political system has never had time to improve the police system because they are also involved in looting the country. I’m sure this problem could be solved by bringing a new police act and using more technology, but I don’t see much hope, especially for my state of Uttar Pradesh, where governments come to power by playing caste and religion politics.

I have always believed that Indian police are somehow responsible for every problem we have, and if things don’t change soon, I guarantee the dream of India becoming a superpower will remain just a dream forever.

Life has no value in India

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A Shocking Incident at BHU

Yesterday, I witnessed something truly inhuman and shocking at BHU. I have already had many bad experiences with BHU, but what I saw this time left me speechless. I had gone to the Institute of Medical Sciences (IMS) at BHU. After parking my bike, I noticed a group of people standing near the main gate of the IMS building. It seemed unusual, since security usually does not allow public gatherings there. Curious, I went closer and found that an injured and unconscious man—almost on the verge of death—was lying on the ground.

He had injuries on his face and, from what people were saying, he might have also suffered an epileptic attack. I overheard that someone had beaten him. At least ten people stood around, but nobody was willing to take him to the hospital. They said they had already informed the police and would wait for them to arrive. What shocked me even more was that, despite being inside a medical institute, with doctors constantly passing by, not a single doctor stopped to help him. This was happening in the premises of one of India’s best-known medical colleges, a place respected worldwide.

Eventually, the police arrived. They asked a few questions but seemed completely uninterested in helping. Two policemen sat casually on their bike, laughing and chatting, right next to this dying man. A few minutes later, one of them walked over and half-heartedly tried to wake him up. Instead of calling for medical help, they nudged him with their feet and even dragged him on the road, hoping he would somehow get up. But he couldn’t—he was in no condition to move. Finally, the police just left, doing nothing.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Here was a man in urgent need of medical assistance, lying inside the premises of a premier medical college of India, yet doctors, police, and bystanders all ignored him. Eventually, two students came with a first aid box, but they were not doctors, and the man clearly needed far more than first aid. They too said they would first inform the police before helping, because they didn’t feel safe intervening without police approval. Then I learned the reason why everyone was hesitating—people said this man was a thief, caught trying to steal something from the IMS building. Maybe that was true, maybe not.

But even if he was a thief, did he not deserve basic medical treatment? A human life was at risk. It was cruel beyond words. In our country, we spend over ₹8,00,500 per day to keep Ajmal Kasab—the terrorist who killed hundreds of people at the Taj—alive in jail. Yet here, in one of our best medical institutions, a man possibly dying in front of doctors and police was denied even basic first aid, just because he was accused of being a thief. What I saw was heartbreaking and inhuman. I have no words strong enough to describe the cruelty and indifference I witnessed yesterday.

Kathmandu Gay Pride 2010

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I traveled to Nepal with my friend Babu to attend the Kathmandu Gay Pride, and it was truly an unforgettable experience. We took a bus from Varanasi to Sonauli, catching the last one at 8:30 PM. It was an overnight journey, and the bus ride was quite uncomfortable. The road was terrible, and I couldn’t sleep at all. We finally arrived at the Sonauli border at 7 AM and took a pedal rickshaw to cross. I was carrying some electronics like a video camera, photo camera, and voice recorder, and I wanted to declare them at the Indian customs office.

beautiful nature

beautiful nature

When I told Babu about declaring the electronics, he laughed and said it wasn’t necessary. However, I had experienced issues before during my first trip to Nepal in 1996. Back then, I was traveling with my family. We had a camera, which we declared at the Sonauli border and received a receipt for. Unfortunately, we lost it while in Nepal, and on our return, customs checked our baggage, found the camera, and claimed it wasn’t allowed to bring electronics from Nepal to India.

Babu

Babu at Pashupati nath temple

We were shocked when they insisted it wasn’t our camera, despite having a receipt. The customs officers were simply looking for a bribe. We ended up giving them some money to be allowed to leave. This experience stayed in my mind, which is why I didn’t want to take any chances this time. When I approached the customs office at the Sonauli border to declare my electronics, the officers laughed and said, “You’re very smart.”

very colorful country

Beautiful

I declared my items and got a receipt, but they again asked for a bribe for issuing it. I questioned why they were asking for a bribe now, and one officer explained it was just the system. I offered Rs. 20, but he insisted on at least Rs. 50. In the end, I gave him Rs. 40 and received my receipt. I had hoped that by declaring my electronics in advance, I could avoid any problems or corruption, but it seemed unavoidable. After obtaining the receipt, we crossed the border into Nepal.

carving on Nepali houses

Wooden windows

Although Nepal had been a Hindu country until a few years ago, I expected its culture to be similar to India’s. However, there was a noticeable difference right at the border: different-looking people, clothing, more working women, and different vehicles. It felt like a completely different country. The one similarity was the presence of touts trying to exploit tourists. Many approached us immediately to sell bus tickets to Kathmandu and hotel rooms.

Temple doorways

Temple doorways

Babu warned me that these touts often lied. They claimed a bus would leave within the hour, but Babu assured me that buses typically don’t leave before 4 PM. I was skeptical until my rickshaw driver confirmed it. There are direct buses from the Sonauli border to Kathmandu, but only in the early morning or late afternoon. Luckily, Babu was with me, and I avoided the touts. We took a bus from the Sonauli border to a place called Bhairava, which was only about a 30-minute ride.

Forest

Forest

Bhairava is the largest bus station near the Sonauli border, and there are regular buses to Kathmandu. We arrived by 9 AM and learned that a bus would leave at 9:30. I noticed something peculiar: Nepal has no government bus service, so all buses are private, with no fixed fares. I wasn’t aware I was supposed to bargain for the bus fare, but Babu handled it. The counter initially quoted us Rs. 450, but we ended up paying Rs. 350.

green and wet

Greenery everywhere

The bus departed at 9:30 but was stopped 15 minutes later by the army. I thought they would check everyone, but they only looked around and inspected a few bags. Surprisingly, they weren’t just searching for weapons; they were also checking for potatoes and sugar. I laughed when Babu explained that the authorities wanted to prevent smuggling these items from India, where they are cheaper. It was interesting to learn about the trade dynamics.

Pashupati nath temple

pashupati nath temple

Nepali buses were cramped, with little legroom. It rained continuously from Sonauli to Kathmandu, and water even came in through the windows despite being closed. I was soaked for over 12 hours on the bus. The nature in Nepal was breathtaking—clean rivers, fresh air, and lush greenery. I noticed that there seemed to be more working women in Nepal than in India. Many shops were run by women, and they appeared to be in better circumstances than their Indian counterparts.

family voilence

Signboard about family violence

Nepal appeared more progressive regarding women’s rights compared to India. Women traveled alone, worked in offices, ran shops, and even drove auto rickshaws. It was refreshing to see. I was particularly struck by the number of alcohol shops run by women—something I had never encountered in India. I met a female shop owner and struck up a conversation with her.

People

Nepali girl

I asked her if she felt safe managing an alcohol shop alone and dealing with often-drunk male customers. She replied that running the business was no different from how any male family member would manage it. When I inquired about societal attitudes towards women in alcohol sales, she mentioned that Nepali society is quite progressive in terms of women’s rights. She had never visited India but had seen it on TV, and she didn’t seem particularly excited about it.

A participant at the parade

liberal Nepali girl

I explained to her that it’s nearly impossible to find women selling alcohol in India and that there are fewer working women overall. She was aware of the situation and pointed out that many Indian families in Nepal restrict their women from working outside the home. When I asked what Nepali people think of this, she candidly said, “Honestly, we think Indians are crazy and backward.” I was taken aback, but it’s true that, in terms of women’s rights, India has a long way to go compared to Nepal.

the most beautiful alcohol bottle I had ever seen

An alcohol bottle

The nature throughout Nepal was stunning. It was clear that the environment remains largely untouched—thick jungles, beautiful rivers, fewer industries, less traffic, and majestic mountains. I truly enjoyed the natural beauty of Nepal. I noticed only five large factories during the entire bus ride from Sonauli to Kathmandu, and two of them were Indian factories. While this means less pollution, it also means fewer jobs, which contributes to poverty.

the most luxry way to travel in Nepal

Luxury way to travel in Nepal

Poverty in Nepal struck me deeply. Along the Sonauli-Kathmandu highway, I saw many homes and people, but what was surprising was that many seemed to be doing nothing—just sitting around and chatting. It felt like they had no work to occupy them. I encountered numerous children selling water bottles and snacks along the road. Nepal has suffered significantly from political instability in recent years, which appears to be a major cause of its poverty. The Nepalis I spoke with seemed discontent with the political situation.

 

beautiful windows

Beautiful window art

Finally, we arrived in Kathmandu around 8 PM, and it was still raining. I had read about a neighborhood called Thamel, known for its hotels, and I wanted to stay there. Babu warned me that locals often give wrong directions, so he suggested asking someone at an Indian-run shop. We found a paan shop, bought a few items, and asked for directions. Fortunately, the shopkeeper was helpful, and after about a 10-minute walk and a few inquiries, we made it to Thamel.

Cremations at Pashupati Nath temple

Cremations at Pashupati Nath temple

Thamel was bustling with hotels, making it a popular spot for backpackers. We checked several hotels, but the prices were steep. Babu said we could find a room for around 500 NR, but none offered rates below 1000 INR. Eventually, we reached Annapurna Hotel, where they wanted to charge us 800 INR per night. I mentioned I was a government-approved tour guide in India, and they agreed to give me a room for 500 INR.

Nepali food that I didn't like at all

To be honest I did not like it at all

The hotel initially seemed nice, but we soon discovered that the pillow covers and bed sheets were used, the cable connection didn’t work, and the telephone was dead. We complained, and they promised to fix everything by the next morning, but that morning never came before we left. I wasn’t there to enjoy luxury, watch TV, or make calls from my room, so I didn’t mind too much. We went out for dinner, but most restaurants were closed by 8:30 PM. We eventually found an open restaurant and had our meal.

I had read various articles about nightlife in Nepal, including dance bars and massage centers. Some claimed it was safe, while others warned of potential dangers. Many articles described how people would spend significant money at nightclubs and face misbehavior. I also read about underage kids involved in the sex industry. Curiosity got the better of us, and we decided to visit at least one nightclub in Kathmandu.

While walking around Thamel, I noticed numerous massage parlors. As we passed one, a boy who appeared to be about 15 approached me and asked what I was looking at. I explained I was merely checking out the advertisements. He insisted that I was interested in something special. I clarified that I wasn’t looking for anything like that. He continued to follow us, offering young, beautiful girls at low prices. There were many pimps lurking around, watching tourists.

I managed to return to my hotel safely. The next day, we worked for a while, explored, and did some shopping. I missed vegetarian Indian food,

Kashmir Issue

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My Journey to Jammu & Kashmir

I returned from a trip to Jammu & Kashmir a few days ago. Although I couldn’t complete my pilgrimage—since the police stopped us from entering the Kashmir Valley due to bad weather and ongoing violence—I have no regrets. I still had the chance to talk with locals and members of the Indian Army about one of the biggest social issues in India: the Kashmir conflict and the tensions between Hindus and Muslims.

My main purpose was to visit the Amarnath Temple, one of the holiest places on earth for Hindus. I had last been to Kashmir about ten years ago, at a time when the valley was beginning to recover and tourism was slowly returning. Back then, I saw no violence. Locals were happy and hopeful, welcoming visitors with warmth, as terrorism seemed to be on the decline. Since the economy of Kashmir depends heavily on tourism, peace was vital for them. But even a small spark of tension between India and Pakistan can bring the entire valley to a standstill.

This time, we reached Jammu by train and hired a taxi to Pahalgam, the base camp for the Amarnath Yatra. We left our hotel at around 10 a.m., full of excitement. But our journey was cut short—the police stopped us, citing bad weather, and refused to let us proceed. Our driver whispered that sometimes the police do this for no reason and suggested we speak to them. We tried, but they told us to wait. Nearby, I noticed an army check-post where some pilgrims were going inside. I decided to approach them too.

At the army office, our driver suggested we pretend we wanted to go to Katra instead of Amarnath. When I explained this to the officer, he told me he could only help if I had relatives in the army. Technically, I do—but I didn’t want to cause delay, so I said no. Fortunately, when he found out that I was from near Varanasi, he warmed up. He made it clear that the Indian Army never accepts bribes, but if I wanted to “understand how the J&K police function,” I could try offering them some money. He mentioned Rs. 500. He himself refused to intervene, since the army despises the J&K police for their corruption.

I was shocked, but at least it gave me a direction. We offered a police officer Rs. 300 per taxi, and he agreed. Just as we were about to proceed, another officer noticed us, turned aggressive, and the first officer also pretended to be angry. We were pushed back into line. While waiting, I struck up a conversation with another army man. What he told me disturbed me even more. He claimed that J&K no longer truly felt like a part of India, that even he didn’t know where it stood. He said the army was only there to protect people and added, bitterly, that if the army left even for a single day, the J&K police would “sell the entire region” to outsiders. According to him, the police were deeply corrupt and one of the main reasons terrorism still survived.

We spent ten hours waiting and were finally told to return and try again at 4 a.m. the next morning. When we did, the same thing happened—we were stopped again. As I stood in line, I met a young boy from Anantnag. He told me his family was too poor for him to study, so he sold hot water to pilgrims. Curious, I asked him if he had ever seen a terrorist. At first, he denied it, visibly uncomfortable. But after some time, he opened up. What he revealed broke my heart. Terrorists often came to his village and forced locals to host them. Families lived in fear—if they reported them to the army, they believed they would be killed sooner or later.

He said terrorists had even stayed in his house, and he felt powerless when they harassed his sister. Tears rolled down his face as he spoke. I was left speechless. He also told me about a friend’s family who had once hosted three militants. The army arrived for a routine ID check. When one soldier inside asked for ID, the terrorists opened fire and killed him. The army retaliated by blowing up the house, killing everyone inside. Locals protested against the army, but who was truly at fault? The terrorists, the army, or the helpless family? I still don’t know.

When I asked my driver what the people of Kashmir really wanted, his answer surprised me: “Neither India, nor Pakistan. They want independence.” I struggled to understand this. Independence would only mean poverty and isolation for years. In my view, staying with India is the most practical option—India has more resources, more opportunities, and a stronger future than Pakistan. But the driver disagreed. He said the army and politicians were the real problem, accusing soldiers of killing innocents and blaming America for all global tensions. I couldn’t accept that fully, but I realized how deep the resentment runs among the people.

Though I never reached Amarnath, my friends who went earlier shared chilling stories—kids on the streets shouting, “This is our land, not yours, you Indians,” and stone-pelting mobs attacking pilgrim vehicles. More than 200 cars were damaged. The hatred seemed to begin from such a young age. After four days in J&K, I returned with heavy questions in my heart. Why do people there see me, an Indian, as an outsider in my own country? Are we fighting for land, or for the rights of people who don’t even feel Indian? I don’t know if I have the right answers, but I do know this: Kashmir is India, and I hope one day the people of the valley can live in peace, free of terrorism, and once again welcome pilgrims and tourists with the spirit of Atithi Devo Bhava.

Peace.

corruption in Indian police

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I completed my tour guide training in December, and my license was printed in January. Soon after, the Ministry of Tourism office in Delhi asked me to submit a police verification certificate from my local police station. This certificate is supposed to confirm that there are no legal cases against me. The Ministry even provided a standard form, and I was told I simply had to get it stamped at my local police station. When I went there with the form, the officer refused to stamp it. Instead, he told me to go to the DIG office and apply for a character certificate.

By mistake, I went to a different police office. I explained my situation to an officer there, but after learning I was a tour guide, he mocked me, saying: “Oh, so your job is to fool tourists and exploit them.” I was furious but held my calm. After a few more questions, he finally directed me to the correct DIG office. The DIG office was in terrible condition—dark, dusty, and neglected. The officer responsible gave me a form, which I filled out and submitted with my documents. I had been warned by my local police station that I would need to “take care” of him, so I handed over ₹100 as a bribe. He told me to follow up with my local police station in two days.

Back at my local station, they confirmed my application had arrived but demanded a domicile certificate from the court—something that would take over 15 days. I had already provided my passport, which was proof enough. Thankfully, an advocate present at the time intervened, insisting that a passport was equivalent to a domicile certificate. Only then did the officer reluctantly accept my documents. Even then, he said they would send someone to verify my residence in a week. I understood what he really meant.

When I asked if I was supposed to “give something,” he bluntly said: “Such work doesn’t happen without money.” My friends had told me ₹500 was enough, so I offered that. But the officer said there were five or six people to share the money with, and it wasn’t enough. We finally settled on ₹700. After taking the money, he gave me an unexpected “lesson.” He explained how to bribe properly: always look around to see who is in the office, offer money when there aren’t many people, and never mention a bribe to another officer. He even warned me never to admit I had bribed his colleague at the DIG office. After this “training,” he promised my documents would be forwarded the same evening.

From there, my file went to the LIU (Local Intelligence Unit). At their office, the same cycle began. They said they would verify my residence but then hinted that a payment would speed things up. One officer casually asked for ₹500, saying that if I paid, nobody would need to visit my home and my file would move forward the same day. I paid. Something absurd happened while I was there: I received a call about my guest house business. The officer overheard and asked if I had a restaurant. When I said no, he looked disappointed and said he would have liked to come for a meal—especially if there was “hot chicken with whiskey.” I was shocked at how openly he said this.

From LIU, my papers went to the CO office (a regional police office). There, an officer told me: “We know your daytime character, but we don’t know about your nighttime character—how many women or prostitutes you sleep with, or how many bars you visit at night.” He repeated this in front of other officers, and they all laughed. I was stunned by the humiliation. Finally, I asked how much money he wanted. He said, “Give anything.” I paid ₹200, and suddenly there was no need to check my “nighttime character” anymore. My file was forwarded to the SP (Superintendent of Police) office.

At the SP office, I had to wait an hour before being presented to the SP himself. He looked at me briefly, asked why I needed the certificate, and signed the papers. That was it. His PA later asked me to come back if I wanted to “make sure things moved quickly.” I returned a few days later, and luckily my documents had already been forwarded to the DIG office. Finally, back at the DIG office, I was told that another senior officer still needed to sign my papers. I waited for three hours in the heat until that officer finally arrived. The DIG officer then took my documents to him, got them signed, and finally issued me the character certificate.

The certificate itself was laughably unimpressive—a small piece of paper stating that no legal cases were registered against me. They hadn’t even updated the forms for 2010; it was printed as 2009 and corrected by hand with a pen. In total, I had spent nearly a month of running from office to office—DIG → Local Police → DIG → LIU → CO → SP → DIG again—and paid around ₹1,700 in bribes just to get this single piece of paper. What hurts most is not the time or the money, but the way I was treated. I was mocked for being a tour guide, accused of sleeping with prostitutes, and humiliated by people who were supposed to serve the public.

In the end, I got my police verification certificate, submitted it to the Ministry of Tourism in Delhi, and finally received my license. But every time I look at that piece of paper, I can’t help but feel that my character certificate was issued by the most characterless people I have ever met.

Winning a television

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Today, while watching the news on India TV, I was reminded of a memorable experience from three years ago when I won their “Best Video of the Day” contest. At that time, Lane and I had visited Nagwa, Varanasi, to document untreated sewage discharge into the Ganga. Lane used his digital camera to capture footage of this issue. I sent the video to India TV, and it was selected as the “Best Video of the Day,” earning me a prize: a color TV. I was thrilled about the prize, especially since I didn’t own a TV and couldn’t afford one. However, India TV requested a bank draft of Rs. 2300 as a tax on the lottery winnings.

Eager to claim my prize, I sent the money. They then sent me a letter on Sansui’s letterhead (as Sansui sponsored the program) stating that I could collect the TV at the nearest Sansui store. Upon visiting the address listed on the letterhead, I discovered that the office had closed a year earlier. I reached out to India TV, who instructed me to contact Sansui’s Mumbai office. Mumbai redirected me to their Lucknow office, which then told me to wait a week. After a week, Lucknow informed me that no local dealer had the TV model I had won, and I would need to wait further. The same story persisted with each follow-up.

When I complained to India TV, they stated that their only role was to collect the money and forward it to Sansui, leaving the responsibility of delivering the TV to Sansui. Shocked by their response, I threatened to involve the police, but they dismissed my concerns. Despite continuous efforts to resolve the issue through Sansui’s Mumbai and Lucknow offices, as well as local dealers, no solution was forthcoming. Eventually, I decided to file a complaint with the police to document my attempts to resolve the issue. However, the police at my local station were unhelpful and informed me that they couldn’t register my complaint without connections at a larger station. This response was disheartening.

Ultimately, after over six months of persistence, I received my prize by traveling to Lucknow overnight. I spent more than Rs. 1500 on phone calls and the trip, which diminished my excitement about the TV. While I was initially thrilled to win, the experience of retrieving the prize was fraught with challenges. Since then, I’ve created several videos but have refrained from sending them to India TV due to their inadequate support and handling of the situation. My experience with India TV, Sansui, and the police was deeply frustrating and disappointing.

Corruption in India

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A few days ago, I applied for my passport. I was supposed to fill out a form and submit it at the passport office in Varanasi. When I arrived at the office and presented all my documents, I realized that I had made some mistakes on the form. I thought it would be best to fill out a new form, so I asked the officer if he had a fresh one. To my surprise, he told me that the office did not provide new forms, which seemed absurd. The officer asked why I needed a new form, and I explained my situation. He then suggested a solution: he used whiteout to correct the mistakes and asked me to overwrite the errors.

I was relieved not to have to go out and purchase a new form, but I was puzzled by his willingness to help, as I did not expect such assistance from a government employee. I suspected that something was amiss. After I completed the corrected form, I handed it to a person at the office, but he told me to wait for the officer. I inquired if he was an official employee, and he revealed that the officer had hired him personally to assist with the paperwork. This raised my suspicions further. When the officer finally arrived, he stamped and signed my form but did not give me a receipt. Instead, he handed it to the other person and instructed me to speak with him for the next steps.

The man turned his face away and mumbled something I couldn’t hear. When I asked him to speak clearly, he eventually said that I needed to pay for the stamp and postage charges to send my application to the regional office in Lucknow. I questioned why the government did not cover these costs, and he simply replied, “No.” I knew that postage should not be so expensive and argued that Rs. 200 was excessive. He insisted that the fee covered bribes for all officials who would handle my application. Reluctantly, I negotiated and gave him Rs. 100, which he snatched eagerly. He assured me that he would forward my application by the evening.

It was disheartening to see how the officer had cleverly outsourced the bribery process to avoid direct involvement. The next step was to obtain a no-objection certificate from the local police station. The passport office sends the documents to the SSP (Senior Superintendent of Police), who then forwards them to the local police station. When I visited the police station to check if my application had arrived, I was told to return after two days. During my visit, I observed a man retrieving his car, which had been confiscated by the police two years earlier. He had received a release order from the court.

I knew that the police would demand a bribe to return the car, but I was curious about how they would solicit it. Despite my presence, the policeman loudly instructed the car owner to give something extra to the next officer to receive the car keys. The car owner reluctantly paid Rs. 500, but the policeman demanded more, eventually settling on Rs. 700. The next day, when I returned to the police station, the officer had my application. He reviewed my documents and asked for my father’s village address, even though I had never lived there. When I questioned this, he explained that people sometimes commit crimes in their villages. I realized he was likely trying to delay the process to extract a bribe.

I insisted on a faster process, and the officer mentioned he knew a way to expedite it. He took me to the head of the police station, who interviewed me and asked various questions, including who would pay for my trip to the US. After attesting my photo, the head of the station sent me back with the original officer. The officer then demanded a bribe, stating that I could pay whatever I wished. When I suggested Rs. 200, he dismissed it, saying it was insufficient. Eventually, he asked for Rs. 600, which I reluctantly paid, knowing that without this bribe, I might never receive my passport.

This entire experience left me disheartened. I wonder if there is any government service in India that can be obtained without paying bribes.

Documentary filming about Indian Sex Workers

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I met Seranna today at her hotel and talked with her for about two hours. We discussed how the shooting went the previous day. She mentioned that they were supposed to film the sex workers at G.B. Road but couldn’t because the sex workers and brothel owner didn’t allow it. She simply talked with them, but she didn’t understand much of what they were saying due to the crew’s poor translation skills. They spoke to the sex workers, but often didn’t translate. She said it was okay and she was satisfied with what she was getting.

Seranna explained that the brothel owner charged her Rs. 20,000 ($450) just to let them in and organize a ten-minute dance performance by sex workers. They weren’t allowed to film the dance or anything inside the brothels. Despite this, she was still happy with the outcome. I’m sure she’s a very cool and positive person. I see this as a mistake on the part of the crew members. When I worked for CBC and MTV Italy, we conducted research beforehand, ensuring everything was well-organized. But with this documentary, nothing is organized. I didn’t like it at all.

Seranna said that after spending a few minutes at the brothel, the police arrived, demanding a bribe from her. I don’t know why they wanted a bribe, perhaps because Seranna didn’t have legal permission to make a documentary that would be commercialized. I’m sure the crew members didn’t inform her about this either. The cameraman is a very famous guy, but I don’t understand how these people can make such big mistakes. Seranna said that everything went well with her and she was very happy with the progress.

I had asked Seranna to bring some sex toys, and she brought a lot of dildos and fake vaginas. She’ll give a few of them to me for my NGO. I had never seen them before, so I was excited to check them out. She showed me how to use one of the fake vaginas. It was hilarious. She said she uses these toys to educate people about safe sex practices. I believe that these kinds of things attract attention and allow you to make people listen to what you want them to hear. I liked the toys a lot.

Seranna mentioned that the crew members didn’t want me to join the shooting for whatever reason, but Seranna wanted me to go today, but I declined. Seranna is going to interview two high-class sex workers, a politician, and attend a conference organized by Delhi University about sex work in India. We’ll fly to Kolkata tomorrow to attend the conference. I’m excited for it

Corrupt Policing in India

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I witnessed something truly bizarre recently, which might be considered quite unusual even for an Indian. While I was sitting in an auto rickshaw, the driver was pulled over by a policeman who then sat next to me. Typically, police officers don’t pay for transportation, whether it’s an auto, bus, or train. After a few minutes of driving, another individual tried to stop our auto, but the driver refused. He explained that this person was also an auto rickshaw driver and was looking for a free ride. The other driver was furious and began shouting loudly.

We encountered this irate driver again near the railway station. He had arrived ahead of us, parked his auto, and was waiting for us. This time, our driver stopped, and the angry driver approached, grabbing the policeman by the collar and hurling abuses at him. I, along with the others in the auto, was shocked to see an auto rickshaw driver berating a policeman so publicly. The second driver claimed that the policeman had tried to ride in his auto without paying, and when he refused due to his auto being full, the policeman had slapped him.

It seemed the policeman had come to our auto after this incident. The driver continued to yell at the policeman, demanding to know why he was slapped, while the policeman merely replied that he would deal with him later and threatened to arrest him. The driver then accused the policeman of routinely sitting in his auto without paying. He boldly said, “Do I give you Rs. 10 every time I drive to the railway station to get abused?” He revealed that police officers would charge him Rs. 10 each time he drove to the railway station, a practice that he had endured for a long time. The policeman, caught off guard by this revelation, fell silent.

The driver’s response was impressive. Another rickshaw driver shared that police officers have set rates for different routes, with drivers in the downtown area paying Rs. 60. Trucks and tractors are banned from entering the city center after 8 a.m., but they frequently do so by paying bribes to the police, who stop them at every intersection but only for show. As I watched the altercation unfold, I was quite entertained by the driver’s defiance. However, to my surprise, a few other bystanders started siding with the policeman.

Despite widespread knowledge of police corruption and harassment, these people began supporting the officer. The policeman seemed emboldened by their support and became more assertive. The crowd, now favoring the policeman, urged the driver to move and let the policeman go. Eventually, the auto rickshaw driver relented, and the policeman, now with the support of a crowd of over fifty people, was let go. As the station approached, the policeman got out of the auto without paying the fare, just as he had done before.

It was striking to witness such shameless behavior. The driver will likely face repercussions for his actions, but his bold response to the policeman was remarkable. It’s a stark reminder of the kind of bravery we need to tackle the most dangerous kind of corruption in India—often embodied by those in positions of authority like the police.

Major Terrorist Attacks in India

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India has experienced a series of major bomb blasts over the years, often with devastating consequences. The news channel NDTV 24×7 categorizes these as major incidents, reflecting the scale of the problem. The following are notable examples:

Recently, a suspect in the Jaipur bomb blasts, a Muslim man who teaches at a madarsa in Varanasi, was arrested. This led to significant unrest, with thousands of Muslims protesting and blocking traffic, demanding his release. The situation escalated when the head of a prominent mosque in Benares intervened, promising to secure his release by a specific deadline. Despite police resistance, the suspect was eventually released on bail after extensive protests, including the involvement of local political leaders. This situation underscores the challenges faced by law enforcement and the delicate balance required in handling communal tensions and terrorism-related issues.

The difficulty in prosecuting suspects and managing public protests reflects the broader struggles in combating terrorism while maintaining social harmony.