AFTER HOURS

Our correspondent dons the chowkidar’s hat to know how the men who let us sleep in peace do their ‘challenging’ work

Draped in a blanket and wielding a lathi, a chowkidar stays awake all night.” That was how a 10-year-old me defined the role of a security guard at an essay-writing competition. Many years later (last week), I realized that the flesh-and-blood chowkidar is an antithesis of that simplistic definition. Okay, not exactly an antithesis, but his profile is loads beyond wearing a mantle, brandishing a cane and aping an owl. Like my one-night stint as a guard at the Monar Girls Hostel in Pune proved.

It was easy to spot BS Poori, the hostel chowkidar from a distance. He fitted my childhood description of his ilk — draped in a blanket, holding a stick and briskly patrolling the area. But that was where the similarity ended. “It’s 11:15 pm. The shift begins at 11. A chowkidar can’t afford to be late. Someone’s safety is at stake,” came the blow. Lesson no.1: Punctuality is sacrosanct in this job. Tough, I muttered to myself.
Poori handed me a blanket even though the breeze was moderately cool. I guessed that, like punctuality, this too was an obligatory tradition. As if he could read my surprise at his offer, he infused logic into it. “Will protect you from mosquitoes,” he smiled. Well, Mr Puri, your pacification has only added to my fears, I thought. Are mosquitoes going to croon all night long, I grumbled in my head.

As he handed me his lathi, Poori said, “Thump it every 10 minutes so the girls knows the watchman is taking care of them.” And I used to think security guards are lucky enough to sleep while working! Producing a thump on the concrete floor with the four-foot-long cane lathi tipped with metal blunts appeared easy to do. Except that Poori wanted me to try so before I could kick-start my duty. I banged it on the floor. A feeble thump escaped in the atmosphere. Unable to hide his I-know-what-you-don’t grin, Poori said, “See how I do it.” Adjusting his wrist in the small loop of a thick rope attached to the lathi, he banged it on the floor. The sound wasn’t loud but clearly audible in the dreary silence of the night. I guess the loop did the trick. It didn’t leave Poori enough room to move his wrist and that’s how it gave him a stronger grip on the lathi.
Wrapped in the blanket and with a monkey cap stretched across my face, I appeared an alien to myself, let alone two dogs on the street who were barking madly at me. Too afraid to shoo the creatures who’d wag their tales whenever I’d walk the road in my usual attire, I cast frantic glances at Poori, who shooed them with his lathi.

He checked his watch and said, “12:30. From now on, the guard has to blow the whistle hourly till 3. Two other guards will take over after our shift ends at 2.” With this, he handed me the whistle and the torch. Like a typical novice, I jumped at even nadir-decibel sounds emanating from every possible source—from an insect’s buzz to the screech of brakes. “Don’t get yourself tired by being too alert. Some sounds are a given. They are an inseparable part of the night and the environment,” he said. I laughed within at my rawness and let my nerves relax. My duty was coming to a close. Checking his watch, Poori signaled me to blow the whistle. Breaking the silence of the night was an uncomfortable idea but I had to do my duty. “Blow it for three seconds at least,” Poori shouted. Without the earmuffs which I missed so desperately, I strived to perform my duty. And so I blew a screeching sound and broke the silence of the night.

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