When life's a bitch and men are dogs

I grew up the daughter of a senior government official. I remember as a child, people's eyes widening every time they asked me what my father did and I said, "My father is a Commissioner of Income Tax." I would quickly rush to add, "My mom's a professor of history, triple PHD," but no one was listening. In those days, people never asked what your mother did.

Ribeiro uncle (the then commissioner of Mumbai Police, Julio Ribeiro) was dad's batch mate and family friend and I remember him even helping out in a domestic matter. That was when my elder sister went missing and Ribeiro uncle got her back home in less than 72 hours. She hadn't been abducted but had run away from home of her own accord. Ribeiro uncle had, at that point of time, in fact, even tried to convince Sujata (my runaway sister) to do her IPS and join the police force, teasing her kindly, "Such a brave girl to run away from your family like this and be on your own - the police force needs women like you." That's what happens in homes where one has access to officers of high rank - matters get sorted out. I remember as a kid telling "so and so uncle" that my sister is arriving from Muscat and I wanted to surprise her at the airport. In those days of long distance ISD calls, shouting "Hello, halloo, helllooooo" into the phone, and when IT and customs were the most dreaded words, I would wait for my sister to arrive at baggage arrival at the airport, be escorted right inside by some junior customs officers, whom my neighbour and Comissioner of Customs uncle had instructed to, and squeal in delight at the sight of her with her huge enormous suitcases full of goodies for us. Chocolates and clothes and walkmans - remember those? We walked past others who stood in loooong customs queues and pleaded helplessly over opened suitcases with customs officers to let them go. To me, all this was a given, just the way we lived. I didn't know who Sam Maneckshaw was when he attended my elder sister's wedding - I just remember many guests trying to take photographs with him. Even years after dad retired I would speak to a Talwar uncle" or a Mr Tandon for an income tax matter or other kinds of professional or personal assistance. This is what happens in families.

Which is why I am so baffled with the Sheena Bora murder case - if a son has a passport and a daughter/sister/family member goes missing, isn't it a given that the parents will take action? It would have been a matter of a phone call for the Mukerjeas. They are well connected and powerful people. Like Ribeiro uncle got my sister home in less than 72 hours when she went missing. In those days, in the 1980s, there were no mobile phones. No GPS tracking, no Google Maps and yet, it took less than 72 hours. Today, it should have taken an hour. So why wasn't Rahul Mukerjea even allowed to register an FIR about his missing fiancee? If Sheena had indeed travelled on a second passport like Rahul claims he was told, obtaining that information from the passport office or police verification records would have again been a matter of a phone call for the Mukerjeas. Apparently, after two attempts, Rahul gave up. Why?

Ever tried lodging an FIR in a Mumbai police station as an ordinary person? Most of us are lucky that except for passport verification we don't have to ever enter a police station. That was the only time I had been to a police station in my life. For a passport verification.

Until a few years ago, when I was advised and decided to lodge a criminal complaint against a multinational bank for financial fraud against me. This was after over a year of my many legal notices being blatantly ignored by the bank, and I was running out of lawyers' fees. This was in spite of the fact that my best friends are lawyers and I was availing of their help at almost one-tenth the cost I would have had to pay otherwise.

The police station drill was harrowing and humiliating. "Sahib bahar gela hai. Nantar ya." "Come tomorrow - there is no lady officer present today." "Leave your number I will call you." The waiting game was nerve wracking. The police officer who did finally call me had the most frightening voice ever. Meetings were scheduled and changed - I was getting more and more intimidated and afraid.

That is when, in spite of my earlier resolve to do this entirely on my own, I called up my ex-husband and asked for help. He told me in the same comforting way that my father used to tell me, "Relax. I'll handle it. I'll call you back." Within a few minutes, he had spoken to a friend who is a senior police officer and within a few minutes, I got a call from the same police station saying, "Madam, please come and meet so and so officer. We will take your complaint today itself."

I cried in relief. I didn't have to deal with that aggression and intimidation any more and was very happy to admit I wasn't able to.

And so, in spite of my many feminist rants, I am happy to live in a man's world. But only because I am lucky and blessed to know and have some very good men in my life. I wish every woman and child, son and daughter in the world the same.

Because, what happens when people who are meant to protect you are the ones that harm you? What happens when the system fails you? One has heard of horrible cases of intimidation in police stations, it is why most rape cases are never registered.

I know a lady who was trying to register an offence against the son of a local politician. This lady is tough herself and not one to be intimidated - but within minutes of her arrival at the police station there was a call from the office of the politician and the cops refused to even listen to her complaint, let alone register an FIR. Soon after this dismissal at the police station, rumours of her affairs, and deep cleavage, short dress, wine glass in hand pictures did the rounds on WhatsApp and gossip mills. No one questioned the politician or his son - she has had a tough time reclaiming her reputation.

Some things in our society are a given. And that is too sad indeed. Because life's a bitch when men are dogs.