Ugadi always brings back the memories of my first visit to the Police Station. My first visit to the police station was exactly forty years ago. It was for the purpose of a Police Verification Report, popularly known and called as PVR.
PVR was, and probably still is, one of the basic requirements for absorption into Government service. A reference is made by the department or the employing authority to the police station having jurisdiction over the permanent address of the candidate to be absorbed into government service. A clean report is a must for completing the formalities and verification of antecedents of the person seeking employment. PVR references are many times lost in the maze and volume of work in the police station and police have many other priorities in their day to day work. Any delay in receipt of PVR will result in delayed confirmation in service. PVR is even now a requirements for issue and renewal of Passports.
I had joined Bangalore Telephones, which was a unit of Post and Telegraph Department then. Other formalities were completed but PVR was not yet received. Head of the Establishment section told me that I should go to my native town and find about its position and hasten the receipt of the PVR. I took leave and went two days before Ugadi to my town for this purpose. Next day I went to the Police Station to meet the inspector and enquire about the status of the PVR. I had to wait for sometime before the Inspector came and the happenings there were somewhat uncomfortable, with the pleadings of those kept in the lock ups etc. The Inspector came in after some time and had more pressing things to attend to. After disposing off the more urgent issues he called me and enquired about the purpose of my visit. I told him about the purpose of my visit. He called for all pending PVR references and my case reference was fortunately sitting safe among them. He saw the details of my reference and verified some records in the police station. Now I realise it was probably some list of persons with criminal background. He asked some questions about my place of birth, educational institutions in which I studied and addresses in which we resided during those days.
"What sort of a student you were? There is no mention at all of your name in the records", he said in a tone of admonition. I was taken aback. "Why?, I have all my marks sheets and degree certificate. There should certainly be records of my studies there", I answered. He stared at me for a moment and said, "I am not discussing about college records. I am talking of my records, which means police records". Though it was actually a matter of relief, the way he said it made me anxious about my PVR. Some other urgent thing came up before concluding my PVR and I was asked to wait again. After sometime he again called me and had a final look at my papers. "So, you are the son of one Pattabhi Ramaiah. Does your father not know that he has to come to the Police Station and sign for getting a PVR? Go home and tell him to come here in the evening to sign the papers". I was dispatched home with those words.
I told my father about what the inspector told me and added that I did not like the way in which he referred to my father. My father said that the police have their own way of dealing with things but he also did not know of any rule requiring him to go and sign in the station for a PVR. However, he agreed to come to the station in the evening to sort out the matter.
Our evening visit to the Police Station was somewhat different from my earlier one. The inspector was not there but the writer (a constable who attends to record keeping and receiving complaints) told us that he was expecting us and politely offered us chairs to sit. The inspector came after some time and stared at my father. My father also looked at him and they warmly hugged each other. The Inspector was none other than his schoolmate Samba Murthy. I had never seen him but heard the stories of the exploits of Samba Murthy and Pattabhi duo in their school days. They were experts in tree climbing and knocking off ripe fruits from the trees in the neighbourhood! They had not seen each other for three decades and the reunion of two thick friends was watched by other policemen and visitors in the station.
Samba Murthy wound up his work for the day and asked us to go with him to his house close to the police Station. My father willingly accompanied him and I too joined a step behind, now happy in the knowledge that my PVR will have no further problems. He introduced us to his wife and she served us "Obbattu and Holige". Obbattu and Holige are two sweet dishes made from Dal-Gud (Jaggery) and Coconut-Gud specially for Ugadi festival. Usually one of them is prepared but here we had both of them and that too two days before Ugadi. My father enquired about the special occasion and for making both of them on the same day, two days before Ugadi. Samba Murthy informed that his two sons had come home from distant places and had to go back that day and could not stay for the festival. "Pattabhi, you know very well that for us it is Ugadi when the children come home. Yesterday they were both here. One likes Obbattu and the other likes Holige. My wife made both. We celebrated the festival yesterday itself. To my good luck, your son came to the station today and thereby I could see you after over three decades. Remember our Ugadi days when we were in school. How we enjoyed our Obbattu!".
I was given a second helping of the items and I had no complaints. But I was worried that my father had not signed in the station. When finally leaving Samba Murthy's house I reminded my father gently about the signature part. "Young man, the signature requirement was only to make your father come and meet me and taste these sweets.Your PVR is already on the way to Bangalore. Do not worry about it. I wish you a rewarding career as a Government servant", he said.
I did not continue in the government job for even six months. I later joined the bank and had to go to Police stations several times on official work, always fortunately on the right side of law. And Samba Murthy was always remembered on each and every one of those visits.
I had joined Bangalore Telephones, which was a unit of Post and Telegraph Department then. Other formalities were completed but PVR was not yet received. Head of the Establishment section told me that I should go to my native town and find about its position and hasten the receipt of the PVR. I took leave and went two days before Ugadi to my town for this purpose. Next day I went to the Police Station to meet the inspector and enquire about the status of the PVR. I had to wait for sometime before the Inspector came and the happenings there were somewhat uncomfortable, with the pleadings of those kept in the lock ups etc. The Inspector came in after some time and had more pressing things to attend to. After disposing off the more urgent issues he called me and enquired about the purpose of my visit. I told him about the purpose of my visit. He called for all pending PVR references and my case reference was fortunately sitting safe among them. He saw the details of my reference and verified some records in the police station. Now I realise it was probably some list of persons with criminal background. He asked some questions about my place of birth, educational institutions in which I studied and addresses in which we resided during those days.
"What sort of a student you were? There is no mention at all of your name in the records", he said in a tone of admonition. I was taken aback. "Why?, I have all my marks sheets and degree certificate. There should certainly be records of my studies there", I answered. He stared at me for a moment and said, "I am not discussing about college records. I am talking of my records, which means police records". Though it was actually a matter of relief, the way he said it made me anxious about my PVR. Some other urgent thing came up before concluding my PVR and I was asked to wait again. After sometime he again called me and had a final look at my papers. "So, you are the son of one Pattabhi Ramaiah. Does your father not know that he has to come to the Police Station and sign for getting a PVR? Go home and tell him to come here in the evening to sign the papers". I was dispatched home with those words.
I told my father about what the inspector told me and added that I did not like the way in which he referred to my father. My father said that the police have their own way of dealing with things but he also did not know of any rule requiring him to go and sign in the station for a PVR. However, he agreed to come to the station in the evening to sort out the matter.
Our evening visit to the Police Station was somewhat different from my earlier one. The inspector was not there but the writer (a constable who attends to record keeping and receiving complaints) told us that he was expecting us and politely offered us chairs to sit. The inspector came after some time and stared at my father. My father also looked at him and they warmly hugged each other. The Inspector was none other than his schoolmate Samba Murthy. I had never seen him but heard the stories of the exploits of Samba Murthy and Pattabhi duo in their school days. They were experts in tree climbing and knocking off ripe fruits from the trees in the neighbourhood! They had not seen each other for three decades and the reunion of two thick friends was watched by other policemen and visitors in the station.
Samba Murthy wound up his work for the day and asked us to go with him to his house close to the police Station. My father willingly accompanied him and I too joined a step behind, now happy in the knowledge that my PVR will have no further problems. He introduced us to his wife and she served us "Obbattu and Holige". Obbattu and Holige are two sweet dishes made from Dal-Gud (Jaggery) and Coconut-Gud specially for Ugadi festival. Usually one of them is prepared but here we had both of them and that too two days before Ugadi. My father enquired about the special occasion and for making both of them on the same day, two days before Ugadi. Samba Murthy informed that his two sons had come home from distant places and had to go back that day and could not stay for the festival. "Pattabhi, you know very well that for us it is Ugadi when the children come home. Yesterday they were both here. One likes Obbattu and the other likes Holige. My wife made both. We celebrated the festival yesterday itself. To my good luck, your son came to the station today and thereby I could see you after over three decades. Remember our Ugadi days when we were in school. How we enjoyed our Obbattu!".
I was given a second helping of the items and I had no complaints. But I was worried that my father had not signed in the station. When finally leaving Samba Murthy's house I reminded my father gently about the signature part. "Young man, the signature requirement was only to make your father come and meet me and taste these sweets.Your PVR is already on the way to Bangalore. Do not worry about it. I wish you a rewarding career as a Government servant", he said.
I did not continue in the government job for even six months. I later joined the bank and had to go to Police stations several times on official work, always fortunately on the right side of law. And Samba Murthy was always remembered on each and every one of those visits.
