Hey Peter Patter,
lets make things better,
lets play in the rain,
and spend sometime in vain.
Lets climb that tree,
and eat some mulberries for free,
lets make a castle in the beach sand,
and join the old man’s band.
Together we will have lots of fun,
and we will be answerable to none,
we both know nothing really matter,
so Peter Patter, lets make things better.
The last time I spoke to the mountain,
I was met with a silence,
and then a deep sigh.
I know it was angry at my long absence,
so I promised to finish my work and come back.
Things are good and how,
We had good times then, and now.
But they donot understand us still,
And I donot think they ever will.
One night spent with Tamil Nadu police patrol team. According to the officials probability of nuisance born of drinking goes up on Saturdays in the first 10 days of every month. The encounters through the night demonstrated how true that was.
The sun sets its last rays. The storekeepers’ pull iron shutters down with a piercing screech, labourers down their tools and those wishing safety scurry towards home. The night wraps the city! It is at this time that a white Hyundai Accent car, identified as ‘wings patrol,’ commences traversing across the streets. The two police officials in the car would pass through these shadowy lanes, over and over again, only to wrap up their tour of duty home when the stores open the next day. They search their way deep into the boulevards of various small and big settlements, sitting opposite the black machine called the Public Address System (PAS), speaking with a commanding voice into the microphone attached to the PAS. They direct the folks out in the night to their homes for the safety of others.
Last Saturday night, a journey began that involved rides through 5 streets and 2 main roads of St. Thomas Mount – 20 odd times till day break with a sub inspector in his early thirties, dressed in crisp khaki uniform, cap on the head, wireless tucked in the back, Rajesh Khanna. He announced the weekend problem of the police in the area, “men get drunk, indulge in quarrels and pass indecent comments on the women and girls who use the road.” The probability of nuisance born of drinking goes up on Saturdays in the first 10 days of the month, according to the officials. The encounters through the night demonstrated how true that was.
The car whooshed passed the Drive to the emergency spot. It moved faster than the speed limit through a few narrow lanes. The small shanty houses, where many family members were forced to live, on the sides of the road told tales of urban poverty. On reaching the right street, the officials noticed disturbance in front of a certain house. The car pulled up and two sub inspectors emerged.
It was not more than 5 minutes back at 11 hours in the night that Sub inspector Rajesh Khanna received secret information that knife was being used in a wrangle between a drunken father and his son. No knife was found but the seriousness of the situation was evident in the commotion and distress it had resulted in for the entire street in a settlement that appeared like a slum.
There were the aggrieved and few other neighbouring families – crying women, half awaken children and men in the night wear – out on the street. Officials immediately rushed to a middle aged man who was quarrelling with a young boy– on getting directions from the crowd – finding their way through. His drunken state was evident It turned out that this man creates nuisance after getting drunk, often leading to quarrels in the house with his son. Policemen pushed the son into the van.
Drunken Man’s Daughter crying, pleaded, “Please do not take action against my brother and father.”
Inspector explained patiently “It is only for your safety.”
The drunken man shouted “I will kill my sister and my wife.”
As the shocked members of his family and fellow policemen were watching, Sub Inspector Rajech, slapped the man again.
The boy was then brought to the police station
After sitting in the car the sub inspector informs grimly “I respond as soon as possible to my informers’ calls. When I act promptly my informers keep on informing me” and we drove back to the police station. A Red bulb fixed in front of photographs of 5 different Gods ad Goddesses, speaker connected to a radio channel hung outside the lock up that was meant for women but now shifted to the All Women’s police station and names of K.D’s, Suspects and Rowdy’s written on the board showing list of bad characters illustrate the St. Thomas Mount Police Station, which was opened on 25th October 1929. The inspector in charge informs “the only big crimes, two murder cases, reported were in 2006. Last house theft happened 6 months back. The convict was arrested and the entire property was recovered. Some recent cases of auto drivers’ eve teasing school girls have been reported.”
Sub Inspector Rajesh, as we begin patrolling, speaks into the microphone, “close the shops, go to your houses.” People watch as the headlights of the vehicles create their shadows and lights on the road, and move. A drunken man stumbles, hits the lamppost and walks away in the narrow lane “that is a drunken case. Scared of the vehicle” laughs out the sub inspector. He gives directions to close shops ranging from small eating joint to big oil shops. It can become a hub of drunkards he says “we don’t allow small shops in the night. They don’t even have the licence for that.” The car crosses through a small street where construction work is going on.
The Hyundai Accent has, according to him, given patrolling a new look and ensured speed in the area of operation. The police station has been provided with the four-wheel “patrol vehicle” to attend to distress calls with speed and dexterity. The next tier is the “yellow brigade” and “blue brigade” motorcycle patrols, which operate during day and night traversing narrow lanes, he explains. “Accent is an AC vehicle. That’s also a difference” he says as a smile rests on his face. He adds “There was a state government scheme to introduce these cars.”
Rajesh tells that for the regular patrol purposes no force is required. He doesn’t carry gun most of the times. This Martial arts expert says confidently “99% even rowdies would not attack on police.” The night patrol in charge of that area of the city, through the wireless speaker in the car, instructs to avoid drunken disturbance. Rajesh Khanna points at a place with some lorries parked. One of his mantras to judge someone is simple “I use minimum force on those who try to escape. If anyone tries to escape something is wrong.” He goes on narrate the story of a lorry thief “3 slaps on the spot I gave him when he tried to escape. He was driving a lorry that was not in his name.” After checking a daily wage labourer on a motorcycle says, “in my point of view he is a genuine person” but later at 3:20 am when flashing lights of the car settle on a young drunken man on the street he checks him and takes him to the police station. After which he explains that “cut marks on his hand meant that he could be an ex-convict.”
His judgement and his duty is imperative for Rajesh who works to make people feel secure, keeps track of every constable deployed in his area of operation till the break of dawn, taking attendance at every point and says, “It is their duty also.”
Kids and young adults have gathered here for a ‘turtle walk’ along the coastline between Besant Nagar and Neelankarai, where turtle conservation has been going on since the 70s. V. Arun, a member of the Students Sea Turtle Conservation Network (SSTCN), who has been conducting such walks on weekends for more than a decade, explains that Indian coastlines are a fine breading ground for the endangered Olive Ridley sea turtles. “Normally, each turtle chooses a quiet spot on the beach, where it digs a large hole and lays around 70-150 eggs.” But he says “encroaching development and development of cities has taken its toll on these endangered ancient mariners. They are genetically programmed to move towards brighter horizons and all the hatchlings progress landwards due to which they don’t survive.”
An hour before the break of dawn in one corner of the Besant Nagar beach, ping pong ball like eggs fall, one after another, into the funnel shaped nest. Unaffected by the presence of more than 20 people, in sub conscious state she lays eggs. Then she struggles with sand using alternate scoops of her hind flippers to provide a protective cover to her yet to be born young ones. Giving the impression of dancing, she uses her flippers to push sand and drags herself towards the water to never meet her off springs again. The waves wash her face as she reaches the sea.
On one side, the scout group pokes iron rods to locate the Olive Ridley turtle’s nest and on the other the turtle enters the vast expanse of water.
Outdoors in the heavy dusk, the air was cool when we began the turtle walk. The trees echoed with birdcalls on seven kilometres of sands girdling the eastern side of the city. Kids and young adults have gathered here for a ‘turtle walk’ along the coastline between Besant Nagar and Neelankarai, where turtle conservation has been going on since the 70s. V. Arun, a member of the Students Sea Turtle Conservation Network (SSTCN), who has been conducting such walks on weekends for more than a decade, explains that Indian coastlines are a fine breading ground for the endangered Olive Ridley sea turtles. “Normally, each turtle chooses a quiet spot on the beach, where it digs a large hole and lays around 70-150 eggs.” But he says “encroaching development and development of cities has taken its toll on these endangered ancient mariners. They are genetically programmed to move towards brighter horizons and all the hatchlings progress landwards due to which they don’t survive.” As the turtles nest when dark, the walks also happen in the night. The eggs are soft when laid and slowly start getting firm in around 5 hours after which the survival rate drops. The purpose of the walk is conservation of the species through relocating eggs in the hatchery within these five hours. Further, each year many species of turtles are injured, maimed or killed by fishing boat propellers, or trapped in fishing nets, informs Arun before the walk begins.
Not just propellers but climatic changes have also affected the turtle mating season, which might be shifting by a month or so. “We find lessening moisture even in the deeper layers of sand” says Arun squatting on the sand with the first time walkers on a Saturday night.
Not far from the hatchery we passed the distinct fragments of life of the fishermen as the boats and fishnets line the beach at midnight time. We walked between these boats and the sea where we came across Dead turtles, washed ashore and in distance in the sea we saw some lights, possibly the fishing ships responsible for their death.
We were also on the watch for the shiny blue algae – ”look for interesting fluorescent planktons near the waters,” had said Arun, who was now walking with the scout in front of us, looking for turtle tracks. Then some kids noticed a flash of light by the waves and were thrilled to hold what they innocently named ‘water firefly’. There scurrying along beside around 20 of us, on the beach were millions of small crabs, scuttling between the waters and the land.
The deserted sands yawned for miles and were dotted with scallop shells. We walked the shell-strewn beach looking for turtle tracks, something like a tank tread across the sand marking the trail of a female that crept ashore during the night to lay her eggs. After scooping out a depression in the sand with her flippers, a turtle lays up to 150 or so eggs the size of tennis balls, before recovering the nest and returning to the sea, leaving the eggs to hatch by themselves in around 45 days and the tiny hatchlings to make their own hazardous way back to the water. Only one in 1000 eggs produces a turtle that survives to maturity, Arun says. To better the odds, turtle walkers, when they find a crawl and discover a nest, relocate to protect the eggs from predators but allow the babies to crawl through when they hatch. After walking for around a 2 kilometres we saw, what we were fortunate to witness, a nesting turtle. Then a nest that was marked, protected and later relocated. Followed by another nest, in which most eggs were broken predictably because of the jackals from the theosophical society near the beach, Arun says. It’s the third nest not very far away from the hatchery, just a fenced off section of the beach.
“Who wants to feel the egg?” a school boy in the scout team, counting the eggs as he points at the cotton bag in which he keeps all the eggs, asked a bunch of people around him. A slight dent in the egg tells the tale of its falling into the nest from mother’s womb.
We stopped to gaze across at the horizon till the sun rose again and dozens of white birds perched on the trees as if painted into a perfect landscape and drew mental picture of these baby turtles, who will be small enough to fit in a matchbox when they hatch, making their way from the nest in the hatchery to their homes in the ocean.
