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This is an archive article published on April 16, 2004

No fair shades

Cold green eyes, mouth chewing gum, a fierce frown in place, the young chappal-shod girl at the shutter is anything but welcoming. Waving ou...

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Cold green eyes, mouth chewing gum, a fierce frown in place, the young chappal-shod girl at the shutter is anything but welcoming. Waving our press cards at the more benign male policeman with an in-the-face rifle, we finally manage to squeeze through the shutter only to be halted by the green eyes. 8216;8216;Bag,8217;8217; she rasps, before tugging it away to begin a most elaborate exercise of fingering and squeezing every itty-bitty thing in your purse, while I struggle hard, very hard, not to explode.

With elections round the corner, security at the all-woman police station in Srinagar is at an all-time high. 8216;8216;It8217;s our cardinal principle to never trust anyone,8217;8217; Masrat, the pretty SHO, shrugs off our mortification even as the green eyes peek in to flash a conciliatory smile later, we learn she is Ranjit Kaur, a very efficient constable with a heart of gold.

The tiny police station with achingly beautiful blue mountains splayed across and dirty white plastic chairs sporting the JK police insignia is yet another symbol of the emancipated and secular Kashmiri woman. Of course, Masrat her name means happiness, who8217;s been part of the much-dreaded Special Operations Group, and others don8217;t take kindly to this gender talk.

8216;8216;Once you join the police, you are a jawan, not a woman,8217;8217; she smiles, adding, tongue firmly in cheek: 8216;8216;We will never grow old, we will always be jawans.8217;8217;

Besides, it isn8217;t easy getting into the khaki. 8216;8216;You have to clear a very tough fitness test followed by a written exam and viva,8217;8217; says Masrat, who was the first person in her family to join the force as an ASI. Now, her younger brother has also followed suit. The power wielded by the khaki in times of turmoil has made it a big hit with women. 8216;8216;Many girls, especially in villages, would give their right hand to join the force,8217;8217; says Masrat.

Bunty Kumari, Masrat8217;s Girl Friday, is among them. 8216;8216;She is a migrant who8217;s returned,8217;8217; Masrat and the others smile fondly at the pretty girl, dashing in her trousers and beret. 8216;8216;My parents fled from Baramulla to Jammu when militancy started, but I always wanted to come back,8217;8217; Bunty explains. 8216;8216;I like the uniform,8217;8217; she sparkles. And the danda, we add. 8216;8216;No, main maarna nahin, sudharna chahti hoon,8217;8217; pat comes her reply.

Khaki is a dangerous colour to flaunt in the Valley. And no one knows it better than these women. 8216;8216;Mehbooba, Kaiser, Hasina and Juicu were shot dead by militants only because they were in the police,8217;8217; says Rafiqa Aziz, the munshi, listing out the names of the four policewomen who fell prey to militancy. 8216;8216;It8217;s an easy way for them to make news,8217;8217; explains Masrat. Which is why these women are always ready to face death. 8216;8216;It8217;s in the hands of Allah,8217;8217; sighs Rafiqa even as her sister Mubina, who joined the force in 1998, five years after her, arrives clad in a flowing black burqa. 8216;8216;Why take a chance,8217;8217; she dangles her gold earrings. 8216;8216;I wear this whenever I step out of the police station.8217;8217;

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But it8217;s not often that they get to run personal errands. Policing is a 24-hour job here with only a day off. Masrat lives in a small room behind the office here while her two toddlers 8212; a two-year-old son and a year-old daughter 8212; are being brought up by her in-laws and doctor husband at Bijbehara. 8216;8216;I miss them,8217;8217; she says, 8216;8216;but this way I am able to focus on my work.8217;8217;

With women-related crimes on the rise, her hands are full. Surprisingly, here, too, it8217;s dowry which tops the charts followed by rape, assault and abduction. 8216;8216;Dowry8217;s peculiar to Srinagar, the rural areas don8217;t face this problem,8217;8217; says Rafiqa Aziz, who hails from a village in Kupwara district.

But sometimes it leads to interesting situations. Rafiqa relates the case of a groom who threatened to return without partaking of the traditional marriage feast if he was not given a Maruti car. The bride8217;s uncle offered him his, and laid the matter to rest. But the next day when the bride went to the groom8217;s house, she refused to step in, saying she would do so only if they gave her gold slippers. 8216;8216;So the marriage was over even before it began and we registered a case,8217;8217; Rafiqa laughs.

But now, with polls only a few days away, the policewomen are gearing up for it. 8216;8216;The countdown is tougher than the actual day,8217;8217; shares Masrat.

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Interestingly, not one of them has voted, not ever since they got into the vardi. 8216;8216;It doesn8217;t work out, we don8217;t get time out to go home to vote,8217;8217; explains Mubina. But the poll duty over the years has taught them one thing: the Kashmiris can8217;t be taken for granted. Psephologists be warned. 8216;8216;They go to every leader8217;s rally only to see the tamasha but only they know who they vote for,8217;8217; says Masrat. Ask them who they will give their mandate to, and they merely laugh before inviting you over for dinner. 8216;8216;Yes, why don8217;t you spend the night here?8217;8217; Rafiqa adds.

Yes, sure. In the lock-up.

 

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