Indian Justice

Last Sunday, Anand (I’d previously called him Ajit to hide his real name. He was displeased at that courtesy), Tulsi, and I drove back to Channapatna, the toy capital. Tulsi works there as a buyer and distributer, and also has done some cool design work in a workshop there. She was going to show us how things work. A tour of sorts. Unfortunately, we never made it to Channapatna because we hit a dude on a motorcycle.

Some primer is in order. Although we were on a "highway," this isn’t much like highways in the US. There are occasional formal on- and off-ramps, but most of the stretch is pretty open. When it goes through towns, people just sorta hop on the highway. The same applies to areas that are just a few roadside food stalls. People are constantly getting on and off. The shoulders in these areas are one with the sidewalks and parking, all the way up to the storefronts. Picture a highway where the shoulders are full of broken down cars constantly rejoining traffic.

Obviously, we were driving on the left, but I’ll translate this into American drive-on-the-right to make it clearer for you all. We were on a four lane highway, and were in the left lane of our two lanes. There was a rickshaw in the right lane, probably 3 car-lengths ahead of us. This blinded us to the motorcycle trying to cross the highway, making a left-hand turn across the median to go the other direction. It also blinded him to us. He staled before the median, planning to wait for a break in that traffic, leaving him stopped right in front of us. Anand slammed the brakes, but there was nothing we could do–we hit his rear wheel, he spun around, and his helmetless self flew off the bike. This was 100% the biker’s fault.

What happened next is all a blur. I recall just staring straight ahead, motionless, as Anand and Tulsi rushed out to deal with things. Eventually Tulsi rushed back and said "Areyouok?stayinthecar!" Anand would later say that the only reason he wasn’t beaten up by a mob at this point was because Tulsi was there, and Indians won’t fight in front of a woman.

As it turned out, the guy was mostly fine. A few scratches. Nothing major. This helped cool the situation down, and we agreed to drive the guy a nearby hospital, because that’s what good people do. Anand followed him in, and it became clear that despite his limited injuries, this day was far from over.

The man demanded that the doctors give him lots of bandages. They didn’t want to put anything on him, since all he had were a few scratches, but he insisted. The man was also demanding an Rs.50,000 bribe from Anand, lest he file a police report. We decided we’d file the report ourselves. Anand also called for backup, and several well-connected friends of his showed up. While we were waiting for them, as well as the police, the man walked away from the hospital with his family, largely unscathed.

At this point we were a little confused about how to proceed. We didn’t want to file a report if we didn’t have to, as that would mean impounding the car for at least a day, possibly a week (all of our knowledge of the law was hearsay). But we also didn’t know what he’d be up to, and again, we were fearful of being accused of a hit-and-run. Even though we’d have proof to the contrary at the hospital, just being charged is way more of a hassle than we wanted to deal with. We decided to drive back to the site, find the guy’s license plate number on his bike, use Anand’s friends’ connections to run that number, and find out where he lives. Tulsi and I laid back for this venture. We left it up to Anand and his gang of cronies.

What Anand found on arriving was that his side was hopelessly outmanned, as well as out-armed. While he’d amassed a handful of sharp, well-connected friends, the other guy’s family had summoned a gang. With sickles. Anand described one drunk guy waving his sickle around at him, dangerously close. Anand responded by getting his friends to summon their own gang, who showed up in an oversized van called a Tata Sumo. This just made me think of the scenes in Hotel Rwanda where truckloads of mercenaries with machetes are driving down the streets.

With both sides equally backed up, they negotiated things down to Rs.4,500, or almost exactly $100. A hefty fine, but one we were reluctantly willing to pay. Why not just take things to court, you might ask? We weren’t at all at fault, and wouldn’t a court certainly find that? There were several problems with court. First, like I mentioned, we didn’t want the car impounded. If this thing went to court, the car could’ve wound up impounded for quite a while. Second, we discovered when looking up their address that this guy’s family was a powerful minority family in the area, and courts tend to bend over backwards to protect minorities. The "oppressive majority" line apparently plays really well here. Anand’s friends said they could easily drag the litigation on for at least a year, if not several, and that this stress and hassle would eventually cost us well over a few thousand Rupees. Finally, they had control of the local witnesses. They were already claiming that we hit the bike in its rear end, rather than side, making it seem like we just sped into it. Forensics on the car could prove otherwise, but that’s probably more CSI than real-life Indian law. So even though it wasn’t our fault, courts wouldn’t necessarily agree.

Anand finally rejoined us with the good news (and rounding up cash from us–nobody runs around with 4,500 Rupees). We then took off to hang out with his friends who had come to our rescue. They own a small, very self-sustaining farm in the countryside. Anand said that everything they have they made themselves. I think this means they have their own proprietary software on their homemade computers, too, but I’m not sure. We wound up having an incredible homemade meal at their home, very simple but easily one of the best veg meals I’ve ever eaten. I didn't get a photo of the appetizer plate, which was homemade chips, a sort of raisin blondie/brownie thing, and some other Indian fried thing. It's hard to justify dosas and stew being this good, but they were.



I’d commented to Tulsi on what a waste that day had turned into. It was supposed to be awesome, and had just turned into a total bite. Then we got that meal. And I also got a look at this sweet family photo of theirs. And I got more good blog material. Not a good trade-off, but at least we got something out of the deal.