Saturday, 5 May 2012


‘no we cannot do that- go over to the other room’ he is lifting his arm, pointing his finger into the other room in the back.

I stare at him.


 His mustache is shaking.

I was shouting, at a telephone. It was one of those big telephones, with a chain or lead to the machine, connected to the hearer.  The man on the other and talked good English, surprising. He did understood me. Very well. I guess I just did not him. I screamed.

When I came into the police station I was calm. Wanted to do it and than just leave. Needed to do other things. The guys in the room were old,  a lot of them, casually dressed, sitting behind old labels with tablecloths and glass for prevention. First room one person, another door into a much bigger room.

'Good morning'
'Good morning'
' I need to make a complain.'

I did not know where to start with. My I pod touch was missing. Did I loose it , was it stolen? people sat around me, close, but stealing is a big thing.

At the moment it was anyway not about that. It was about justice.

Yesterday, after the incident and the overstressed train guy I went to the station in Bangalore. Waited there. For two hours. Talked with the station manager, phone with the station manager in hubli. he said please call Wednesday lunch time. Called and advised me to the police. Nothing done so far.

After two hours at the police I left. Shouting, almost crying. Nothing helped. Police officers chatted, laughed, send me to somebody else. Wanted to hear my story again. But did not do anything. At the end they said, wait here for 3 hours.

I said I come back in 3 hours. I left. on the way I recognized they did not even write down my name.

Evening batch:

'Can you use this?'

This time it was somebody else, pointing at the computer. Windows.
Of course I can.

‘So write!’

‘What write?”

He pointed aging at the computer. I sat down. Waiting is sometimes the best option.

Men were walking around, sitting around me. Me this time in the bigger room. I never thought they would have a computer, but they did. In between piles of paper, piles of folders, they had one, at the end. A women stood behind me. Watched me.

‘go write’, he said.
‘what?’ me again.

‘ your case’, now I understood. I will write me own stolen lost report. Awesome. That’s amazing.

A couple of years ago just before the Hungarian border I recognized the lost of my camera. In the morning, after I woke up in the train at 6 am.

I asked around, and got advised, go to the police station. The police station was very routinely. Very case has a procedure. Even a woman loosing her camera in a train. Or stolen. I guess.

They filled out the form, accurately and quick. The man was typing, asking me questions in between. Details. Half an hour later it was done.

The police officers in the Indian railway station were nice this time. Different than in the morning. Willing to help. It took 1.5 hours, to write, to get checked, to rewrite, to double checked, to rewrite, to make a print, to get signed, clipped together, signed again.

Officials in administrative position are lazy. They do not do anything. They are not interested, that’s why you do not go to them. A friend says.

Unknowing is very uncomfortable. Being in a position where you should know and you do not do is even more uncomfortable. Unbearable.

The woman behind me was responsible for the computer. She was 23, very skinny, dressed one of the only in uniform. Brown, bright brown with a big black belt with metal ending. Her body almost disappeared in her clothes. Se asked me here I am from, if I would travel alone, what I would get for dinner tonight. She took care if the computer started 6 months ago, after finishing a BA in computer science.

She wrote and wrote. Sitting on the with a wooden piece repaired chair looking at the screen, looking at me.

Next time you come and you visit. She laughed. I said bye bye.

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