Tanya parked parallel to the kerb about a hundred metres from her destination. She was driving her own car, not her official vehicle. A parking attendant ran towards her, his arms flailing like the blades of a windmill. She flashed her identity card in his face. He scarpered, deflated. Parking attendants generally don’t hassle cops.
Tanya had not only driven her own car, she had dispensed with the services of her driver and her bodyguard, ‘personal security officer’ (PSO) in cop jargon. Sheonath Singh had objected to her haring off on her own. If anything happened to Tanya and the shit hit the fan, his ass would be on the line, not Tanya’s. Sheonath was also a conscientious guy, genuinely loyal to and concerned about his boss, having been at her side since she moved from the districts to Calcutta many moons ago.
Tanya had assuaged his apprehensions. ‘I’m not going hunting a serial killer,’ she had assured him. ‘I’m just going to meet a friend.’
Sheonath had capitulated, but not before reminding her that his cell phone would be switched on, and the driver and the car would be in readiness. If there was even a hint of trouble she must call immediately. Tanya gave him her word. Sheonath took his job seriously, but he didn’t take himself too seriously as many conscientious people are apt to do. It was a code instilled in him since childhood.
In accordance with convention, Tanya wore her khaki uniform on Mondays and Fridays whether or not she was checking into Lalbazar, the headquarters of Calcutta Police. ‘Kolkata Police’ actually, ever since the city had been rechristened Kolkata. But Tanya, now past the milestone of forty, had been unable to reconcile herself with the new name, of the city and the force she served. To her, the city remained Calcutta and its police force, consequently, Calcutta Police. Other than in official communications. Today was different. Although it was a Friday, she wasn’t reporting to headquarters. She was meeting a journalist in a café.
She’d been to Lalbazar in the morning, where she had received an oracular call from one of the few journalists she almost liked. Raina Aqeel, a bright young reporter with The Times of India, had called, seeking an urgent meeting.
This afternoon, she’d insisted. Tanya had asked her to call back and, checking her schedule, found that there was no ineluctable call of duty to prevent her from saying yes. When Raina called back, Tanya had tried to sound as brusque as possible, just to keep matters businesslike.
Tanya had gone home and changed out of uniform before proceeding for the rendezvous. The brief Calcutta winter had not really arrived, though it was getting on to mid-December. So, getting out of the stiff uniform was a bonus. Out of khaki, she usually dressed ‘sensibly’. Sometimes she thought she’d been a cop for too long. She hardly ever wore a sari. Her usual get-up was either a nondescript salwar-kameez (loose trousers and loose tunic) or trousers with semi-formal tops or shirts. When she was really letting her hair down, she’d opt for jeans and a T-shirt. Make-up minimal. That had been drilled into her by a senior colleague in the bureaucracy. She hardly wore any jewellery either. The only piece she had always worn was her wedding ring, but that had come off after her divorce and been converted into a pair of ear-studs. She regretted it as little as she missed her former husband, the shithead who’d cheated on her serially.
On this uncomfortably warm day, she had pared down her accoutrements even further. She wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. But however hard she tried, she couldn’t really go unnoticed.
At five-foot-eight, Tanya towered over practically all Indian women. She was taller than some of her male colleagues too. And with her trim figure, thick, shoulder-length hair and not-hard-to-look-at face, she got the second glance more often than not. She also got hit on sometimes, before the men realized she was a cop. Then, they usually beat it.
Tanya’s footwear was utilitarian like her clothes. Today, she was especially happy to be wearing floaters because the potholed streets and broken pavements had been puddled by a short, sharp squall, following a monsoon-like downpour in the early hours, making the day uncomfortably humid. She stepped around the water because she hated to get her feet wet. Eventually, she reached Wise Owl, the laidback café where she was to meet Raina.
Tanya still wore a watch all the time unlike the increasing number of people who checked the time on their cell phones. She felt naked without her watch. It not only told her the time without the inconvenience of scrabbling in her tote bag for her phone, it also doubled as a bracelet because it had been made for that express purpose. It was a gift from her parents on the occasion of joining the Indian Police Service (IPS). Tanya had been wearing it for almost two decades and took good care of it. It was accurate and it looked good. This was the only piece of ‘jewellery’ she always wore.
When Tanya found a table, her watch-bracelet told her she had reached ten minutes early. Plus, she thought, Raina’s going to be late. Indians were practically always late for appointments and, in her experience, journalists inevitably so. Tanya could steal a few minutes for herself, which she could almost never do. Her job and Shaman, her twelve-year-old son, kept her on her toes. He demanded attention and got it because Tanya had to double up for her unceremoniously booted-out husband. She didn’t mind, but these few minutes were an oasis. She had the place almost to herself. Come 6 o’clock, it would be tough to get a table, with the young crowd descending on it.
Excerpted with permission from The Hunter of Lalbazar, Suhit Sen, Speaking Tiger Books.
