How To Ditch Indian Cops

One of the Indian musts is to run away from the cops. And there are several ways you can succeed in this adventurous endeavor, one of them by being a westerner. Policemen in India resemble policemen anywhere in the world, which means they usually have a nose for good and/or bad business. And, being a westerner, the only good business for policemen is leaving them be; or imprisoning them for using illegal substances. In the case of the former, foreigners can basically do whatever their hearts desire and blatantly get away with it.

The Indians, however, have a harder time with the cops, which – again – like in most (underdeveloped) countries around the world, will require some off the record incentives to let some things slide. As you might have guessed, Indians have something resembling a phobia when it comes to wearing helmets on motorcycles, because it’s simply not part of the local practice; the only time Indians might wear something on their heads is either when being Sikh, or when they are cold – yes, the first thing they will try to warm up and keep warm is their heads. Well, the helmet issue only concerns the drivers (passengers are spared the painful task or safety measure of wearing a helmet) and it only becomes a problem when the police seem more inclined to get some more money on the side of the normal payroll and start stopping and questioning motorbike riders about their – obviously inexistent – helmets.

Riding (helmetless, of course) on the back of an Indian-driven motorcycle, I was only partly aware of this whole situation and I had really abandoned myself to being taken somewhere in Bikaner on a locally-driven motorbike (my newest friend, a 25 year-old Muslim Indian, Salim, had taken it upon himself to show me the beauties of the old town havelis, while faintly hoping that I would start some form of textile export business somewhere – anywhere - in Europe and he’d get in on the deal). Once we started driving on the overly crowded narrow alleys through the old town, I got to enjoy the charming houses and the local animals (obviously, during any ride longer than 100 meters or 10 minutes, you’ll have to avoid at least three dogs, five animal-originated droppings and, if you’re lucky, only two holy cows), but, once on the main roads, things got Indianly hectic: cars, rickshaws and motorcycles (not to mention bicycles and pedestrians) were all engaged into their latest fights for urban jungle survival, coming and going in every (and any) direction, blissfully oblivious of any other traffic partakers.

Being a good passenger, I didn’t move a lot, even if I only had the pleasure of seeing Salim’s back exclusively. But, the second he tensed, I realized something was not even Indianlly all right and I noticed two (presumably holy) young bulls picking a fight right when we passed them. Salim accelerated in an instant and easily skidded through the chaos of frightened people and tumbling rows of scooters, just like falling domino tiles; an impressive scene enhanced by the yelling, panicking crowds and the powerless gestures and screams unfolded on a 50 meter area, but it was best to be far away from the spectacle.

Driving on, Salim tried his best to make me forget about the incident and was intently talking (although only partially understood), when, all of a sudden, he changed to Hindi and violently jerked the bike sideways as if avoiding a roadblock. Seconds later, the bloated face of a screaming policeman entered my vision but disappeared just as fast in the sea of motorbikes and cars: we’d just escaped the long – seemingly sluggish – arm of the law; we ditched some cops and we (well, mostly Salim, the driver) didn’t seem too concerned or remorseful about it. He then proceeded to explain how the cops saw him not wearing a helmet, called on him to stop to be identified and fined respectively, but he loudly stated that he’s with a Westerner, and so, took it upon himself to excuse himself for the unlawful deed and playfully drive on. And it worked: no sign of policemen in sight, we carried on to our proposed destination, him feeling proud and, possibly, relieved, to be with a westerner, me feeling lucky for being one and not having to be frisked (even though I was paranoid the whole day afterwards and constantly looked over my shoulder expecting to find some angry, hell-bent policemen advancing towards me). Then again, this is The Indian Way!