In-flight

Interesting company on my flight to Delhi yesterday. Embarrassing too. I squirmed in my seat while a (supposedly) venerable Additional Director-General of police discussed, in a Very Loud Voice,

(a) Intimate details of his brother-in-law’s anatomy (said b-i-l has been rechristened Long Doodoong Doong, need I say more?)

(b) The unfortunate case of B- B-, until recently a feared Superintendent of Police, who made two mistakes. One, he was unwary during a dark night in camp, resulting in an Intimate Encounter that was worse than piles. Secondly, he actually went and cried to his colleagues about it. Any day now some gangster under interrogation may smirk and ask him whether he’s still sore.

(c) Internal memos (on yellow Post-It pads) about the appropriate place to file the proceedings of a long meeting chaired by an Even More Senior Policeman. Said (very rude) memos being circulated during the meeting. I don’t remember having done that since college.

(d) Graphic descriptions of the appearance and morals of certain senior police officers and their political patrons, with glosses on their past lives. I shuddered.

(e) The digestive problems of an academically-minded officer whose room was 300 feet up the hill in Katesar Castle and who would be perennially caught short around half eleven. Whereupon he would borrow this ADG’s room key for the necessary relief. Until the day ADG unscrewed the bolt on the bathroom door and invited half a dozen friends to watch the performance.

And a little gem … A.N.Jha Block in the Academy, one night in October of 197_. Two officers in training, one in the IPS and the other in the IAS, are meditating in the privacy of their (shared) room. One of them is just back from Delhi and has been Given Some LSD. Wherefore they have popped a pill apiece and, some time having passed, are comparing notes.

‘Do you see a pinkish haze?’

‘Music … music would be awesome now.’

‘Right, I can feel this HUGE high coming.’

More time passes. The haze – pinkish or otherwise – does not deepen. No psychedelic houris or dancing dragons, no learning to fly.

‘It’s not all that strong, is it?’

‘You think we should have another one each?’

‘F*%#@, what company sells it packaged like this anyway?’

The foil pack is examined with bleary eyes.

‘Vitamin C supplement – Celin 500 mg’.

Pink haze indeed.

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