Hullo!
I spent the better part of March 25, 2009 running around in Kanpur city to lodge an FIR for my missing mobile, finding the right Airtel Office for deactivating and reissuing SIM and buying an economical new Mobile Phone. Below are some incidents from the day along with a few others from other trips to the city:
1. ‘Pahiya Ghoom Raha hia‘
Me and my friend Ashish set out to go to Kanpur city. We were supposed to get a photo of me, lodge an FIR, take a copy and give it to Airtel Guys and get a new SIM with my old number from them. On our way from Hall 8 to IIT Gate we pulled off that long forgotten road trick: Pahiya Ghoom Raha Hia.
So unsuspecting obnoxiously young (we are both in fifth year…so there) IITians passing on cycles became targets.
Me (pointing a finger at the tyre): Arey Parul. Parul, Pahiya Ghoom Raha hia!!!
Parul (unsuspecting second year girl): Kya? Kaha? Kya hua? (looks at the bicycle tyre in a concerned way)
Me and Ashish: Bwahahahahahaha
Parul (realizing what just happened): Kya bakwaas hia.
And then the cycle-rickshawallahs too:
Me (pointing a finger at the tyre): Bhaiya!!! Pahiya ghoom raha hai!
‘Bhaiya’ stopped, turned the rickshaw and came to us. The look on his face made my face perspire a bit more on that hot March afternoon. On the other hand it was good that we finally found a rickshaw.
Bhaiya: Ka babu! Ab hami ko moorakh bana doge kya?
Me (relieved after seeing the smile on his face): Ehhh…aise hi mazaak kar raha tha.
Bhaiya: Ee dillagi hum bhi bahut karat rahe bachpan me. Aur aap mil gaye pachpan me. Kaha chaloge?
Ashish: Gate.
Bhaiya: Chalo.
And off we went. You can fool some people all the time, you can fool all the people some of the time, you can’t fool all the people all the time. Or can you? 
2. Police Thana
Prathmiki
We went to Kalyanpur Police Station. The police station is housed in a dilapidated old building, the ones you see in Ramsey Brothers’ movies – those spooky houses with creaky doors. The Police Station is stationed thus: There is the Grand Trunk Road; parallel to the road runs a railway track. The police station is beyond the railway track. So probably the idea is that anyone with trouble would probably be run over by any of the Laloo’s trains before they can trouble the Police guys.
Even if you cross the railway track safely, there is a open sewer line placed like a moat around a castle. The ‘bridge’ connecting the land to the police station, bridging the moat, is creaky, old and wooden. So you might drop dead in it before registering a complaint.
We went in and asked where to file the FIR. We were guided in. The office was filled with registers, old wooden furniture, more registers, a hawaldar and two police officers.
Me: Namaste.
Officer Vijay Kumar (VK): Namaskar.
Me: Sir, mera mobile kho gaya hai usi ke liye FIR darz karwani thi.
VK: IIT ke ho kya?
Me (amazed): Sir aapko kaise…
VK: Yaar tum log apne mobile shaam ko hamare yaha chhod jaya karo. Cheeze le lete ho aur sambhal paate nahi. Mobile ki aadhi FIR IIT se aati hai. (Please note that he was candid while saying this).
Me: Sir, sahi kah rahe hai aap. Itne mobile ghum ho jaaate hai. Aap log FIR ka ek special form bana dijiye IIT ke liye.
He looks at me and I know what he is thinking: Another smart alec.
Me: Mazzak kar raha tha Sir.
VK: Koi baat nahi. Aap FIR likh do. Make two copeej.
Me: Kisko likhoo application.
Other COP: Seva Mein, Thana Prabhari, Kalyanpur…
Me: Sir barahvi maine hindi se hi ki thi. (VK is smiling at the Other Cop who is making faces)
VK: Likh ke laa do aap. Me darz kar loonga
I went outside with Ashish and started writing the FIR or should I say Prathmiki. It was a strange feeling. I was writing hindi formally after five years. Even when I was editor of the college magazine, I wrote all hindi stuff on computer using Shusha. A photo pf the FIR is here in the post. Never mind the handwriting. Poor! But it was a good feeling. I really felt good after writing in Hindi. And then I thought, I left Hindi, couldn’t master English and are now hung in between.
Anyway, I went in and gave the application’s original copy to VK. An aged person was standing with the same case: Mobile lost.
VK: IIT ke hai dada aap?
Dada: IT, IT, IT. Poore Kanpur ko IT me padaoge kya. Kalyanpur ke hai. ‘Aphh Aayi Aar‘ karni hai.
VK gave my FIR a sneak peek and handed it over to Dada.
VK: Aise likh dijiye
So obviously, my FIR was a benchmark. 
Dada looked at it and then went outside to write his own. The carbon paper I used was taken by VK and put in his cupboard. Mind you, I bought this carbon paper at 1.5 bucks each from Shop C at IIT Kanpur. VK took out a seal, stamped the carbon copy, signed it and we were done.
Me: Thank You Sir.
As we moved out Ashish whispered: Bahut jaldi ho gaya. Vishvas nahi ho raha.
You have to understand, before we went to the police station we went to see the cinemas for about 17 years most of which portray the cops as those sweaty shirt, bribe hungry, chai sipping monsters with dandas and Stone Age rifles. Plus, just before the station happened, we went to get me clicked at a photography studio (photo required for issuing new SIM). The wise old lady of the Studio (who by the way works at Media Lab IIT Kanpur and is an expert at getting people new SIM with old numbers when they lose their mobile) told us:
WOL: Beta, 50 rupaye to le hi lega. Affidavit ke 100 upar se. Par IT ke ho. Pachaas se zyyada mat dena.
So you see, this was the impression we had. meanwhile VK heard Ashish’s whispering.
VK: Kya hua Sirji?
And then we did something we thought we owed to the guy.
Ashish: Sir, itna jaldi process ho gaya ki vishwas nahi hua. Hume lag raha tha ki bahut time lagega aur…aur…dikkat hogi.
VK simply smiled.
Me and Ashish: Thank You.
I know, many police officers might be corrupt. And many of them might deserve the beating that media and others give them. But it is hard to be stuck in a dilapidated office for the entire life while trying to while away flies as you enter yet another lost mobile FIR in the register on a March afternoon with no fan over your head. It can be thankless. And hence we thought that we owed it to him. We thought that he made our day. We had walked in at 3:15 thinking that it will take till 4:30 by which time Airtel Office will be crowded and we will have to wait till next week. We thought that since he saved the day, we should tell him and make his day. May be it was because we were from ‘IT’ and so he was nice, but I don’t care. He processed the entire thing quickly without undue demands. I think amidst all those corrupt ones portrayed taking beatings from Sunny Deol and the likes, there certainly are better cops, if only for a simple case of lost mobile. To them…
3. Batao Na!
As I and Ashish exited Rave@Moti after buying a brand new NOKIA mobile (the one in the lower range which does what a mobile should do: make calls, receive ‘em and send messages), we saw a Nagar Seva (City Bus) standing right in front of the Mall while its Conductor shouted to get more people to board the bus. At the back of the Bus they had written: Batao Na (Do tell!). Now me and Ashish go ahead:
Conductor: Bada Chouraha, Parade, Tumhaare ghar ka Gate…aa jao bhai aa jao. Bada Chauraha, Parade…(sees us) Bhaiya Kaha jaoge?
Me: Nahi bataunga.
Conductor: Arey…kaha jaoge.
Me (looking back at him): Nahi bataunga.
It took him a second or so to relate. He smiled and so did we. A few minutes later we were on the Grand Trunk road looking for a Tempo when we saw the Bus drive by very slowly and saw the conductor again…
Conductor: Ab to bata do sirji… (and he smiled)
We looked at him and could only smile. Simple things bring these small moments of joy so that even when you are bogged down and defeated in life (with lost mobiles, bad interviews and Kanpur rush or the concern to earn a good day’s meal by shouting self made rhymes to attract more people), you smile. You smile and feel that thing: Hey what do you know! I can be happy!
