Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Stop. Stop? STOP! October 31, 2009 The Kathmandu Post
BY AMRIT BHANDARI
OCT 31 - Stop, stop, stop…” from the middle of the road, a traffic police tells me to park my motorbike on the side of the road. It’s around eight in the morning. I sideline my vehicle, and show my license and blue-book to the man who is asking me to prove that I was driving legitimately. Everything goes well and my daily route and routine to work continues.
The next day, at the same place—near Chovar—I see the traffic crew again. Once again I see a policeman indicating, telling me to stop my bike. Doesn’t matter, I think. I should help them, because they are looking at every other car, truck, and bike on the road; not just mine. Without any delay, I show them my documents, being conscious as I was of the many reckless drivers that had mowed down numerous people, causing accident after accident on Kathmandu’s roads. I am informed that many illegal vehicles were running on the roads, hence the checking. I am all in favour of the traffic police making efforts to at least to enquire about the vehicles in an effort to minimise road accidents and control illegal vehicles.
Day three. On the way to work from Kirtipur to Hattiban, the process is repeated. As always, a policeman is whipping towards me—stop, stop, stop! Left with no alternative, I stop my bike, again. I am a little bewildered at having the same process repeated every day and asked the man if I will be required to show my license everyday henceforth. The policeman tells me to take off my helmet and face-mask—which I have on everyday to protect myself from the Valley’s pollution— and I do so.
The fourth day, I am late for work. As always, I put on my face-mask, sling my office bag over my back, and drive, fast. At the same place, I find the inevitable police crew ushering me to sideline my bike. I decide that I have had enough. Why should I stop my bike to prove myself that I was a legal rider? And how many times?
I try to drive quickly past the police so I can reach work on time, but I am made to stop and repeat the same ritual that I have done for the past three days. I object to the policeman’s action and tell him that I cannot show my license everyday. I tell him that for three days I have been stopping my bike at the same place and for the same reason, and I ask again—Do I need to show my license everyday?
He seems confused and tells me that he doesn’t remember checking me every day. Now I am confused. I tell him that it might not be him, but I get stopped everyday, regardless. To this, his response is that the police crew is in constant circulation, and this might have caused the confusion.
I feel that THAT is a problem the police need to deal with. Why should they force me to stop my bike everyday? I unmask myself and tell the policeman that I do not have time to show my license everyday because I am in a hurry get to work. “Please note my bike number and let me go; I will not stop to show my license from tomorrow.” I say. He starts muttering and cursing.
I am always surprised by the attitudes and behaviour of Kathmandu’s traffic police. Why can’t they keep a record of bikers, instead of stopping them every time? Why do they think that people driving on the road may not have their own priorities? They must understand that even an understanding public will refuse to co-operate with their current method of dealing.
Sometimes, when I am about to be checked at the university gate in Kirtipur, I zoom straight ahead. I then find the traffic crew at Sanepa. Oops! Zip ahead, and again, I find another crew at Ekantakuna, doing the same thing. The other way, from Satdobato to Hattiban, and another squad is on the street. I feel a sense of nausea with all the crews that are out there.
I do not understand. Should I stop every single time or ignore them all save one? How many places should I stop my bike to help the police? If I have to listen to them, how can I reach work on time?
The days continue to pass. Come Monday, and the same process repeats itself. A police ushers me to sideline my bike but I am all geared up, and zip ahead at full speed, ignoring him, and I escape. He yells, “stop, stop, stop!” Hey, I ignore him, and now, I can’t even understand why I stopped so often for an unnecessary check.
abamritofficial@gmail.com
OCT 31 - Stop, stop, stop…” from the middle of the road, a traffic police tells me to park my motorbike on the side of the road. It’s around eight in the morning. I sideline my vehicle, and show my license and blue-book to the man who is asking me to prove that I was driving legitimately. Everything goes well and my daily route and routine to work continues.
The next day, at the same place—near Chovar—I see the traffic crew again. Once again I see a policeman indicating, telling me to stop my bike. Doesn’t matter, I think. I should help them, because they are looking at every other car, truck, and bike on the road; not just mine. Without any delay, I show them my documents, being conscious as I was of the many reckless drivers that had mowed down numerous people, causing accident after accident on Kathmandu’s roads. I am informed that many illegal vehicles were running on the roads, hence the checking. I am all in favour of the traffic police making efforts to at least to enquire about the vehicles in an effort to minimise road accidents and control illegal vehicles.
Day three. On the way to work from Kirtipur to Hattiban, the process is repeated. As always, a policeman is whipping towards me—stop, stop, stop! Left with no alternative, I stop my bike, again. I am a little bewildered at having the same process repeated every day and asked the man if I will be required to show my license everyday henceforth. The policeman tells me to take off my helmet and face-mask—which I have on everyday to protect myself from the Valley’s pollution— and I do so.
The fourth day, I am late for work. As always, I put on my face-mask, sling my office bag over my back, and drive, fast. At the same place, I find the inevitable police crew ushering me to sideline my bike. I decide that I have had enough. Why should I stop my bike to prove myself that I was a legal rider? And how many times?
I try to drive quickly past the police so I can reach work on time, but I am made to stop and repeat the same ritual that I have done for the past three days. I object to the policeman’s action and tell him that I cannot show my license everyday. I tell him that for three days I have been stopping my bike at the same place and for the same reason, and I ask again—Do I need to show my license everyday?
He seems confused and tells me that he doesn’t remember checking me every day. Now I am confused. I tell him that it might not be him, but I get stopped everyday, regardless. To this, his response is that the police crew is in constant circulation, and this might have caused the confusion.
I feel that THAT is a problem the police need to deal with. Why should they force me to stop my bike everyday? I unmask myself and tell the policeman that I do not have time to show my license everyday because I am in a hurry get to work. “Please note my bike number and let me go; I will not stop to show my license from tomorrow.” I say. He starts muttering and cursing.
I am always surprised by the attitudes and behaviour of Kathmandu’s traffic police. Why can’t they keep a record of bikers, instead of stopping them every time? Why do they think that people driving on the road may not have their own priorities? They must understand that even an understanding public will refuse to co-operate with their current method of dealing.
Sometimes, when I am about to be checked at the university gate in Kirtipur, I zoom straight ahead. I then find the traffic crew at Sanepa. Oops! Zip ahead, and again, I find another crew at Ekantakuna, doing the same thing. The other way, from Satdobato to Hattiban, and another squad is on the street. I feel a sense of nausea with all the crews that are out there.
I do not understand. Should I stop every single time or ignore them all save one? How many places should I stop my bike to help the police? If I have to listen to them, how can I reach work on time?
The days continue to pass. Come Monday, and the same process repeats itself. A police ushers me to sideline my bike but I am all geared up, and zip ahead at full speed, ignoring him, and I escape. He yells, “stop, stop, stop!” Hey, I ignore him, and now, I can’t even understand why I stopped so often for an unnecessary check.
abamritofficial@gmail.com
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