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A cop with a conscience
Kiran Bedi, recently voted the second most
admired woman in India, is unique in a country where
government servants never question their seniors and
women remain victims, not reformers, of society
Prabha Chandran
She
walks into the room and it catches energy from her in
a way that startles you the first time. I have seen
her galvanise a room full of people with her words.
Listening to Kiran Bedi talk about crime, punishment,
reform, good and bad cops, in her punchy, emphatic
style with shining eyes, it's hard to remain
dispassionate. There's a caged movement inside Kiran,
she wants to get on with the business of restoring the
world to justice and righteousness.
Is it any wonder she's the second most admired woman
in the country after Lata Mangeshkar? The survey in
question appeared in the latest edition of The Week.
So, I'm no longer surprised when, on an early morning
walk, people come up to Kiran, admiration in their
faces, shake her hand and say: "You have made us
proud, Kiran."
Does she feel the burden of living up to their
expectations? It's more a by-product of her social and
police work. Her critics say she craves media
attention, cultivates controversies, which will thrust
her in the public eye, and is a law unto herself in
the police force. The truth is, Kiran is a hard act to
follow (both as a woman and a professional) in a
country where government servants never question their
seniors and women remain victims, not reformers, of
society.
Clearly, she does enjoy the limelight – she's
certainly the star of the Tara Punjabi channel
- and she's not about to be cowed down by her
detractors. She's already paid a price for standing up
for her beliefs. To a question on whether she's ever
succumbed to political pressure, she laughs and adds a
resounding: "No, that's why I have had so many
postings! My mother says I have wheels on my
feet." And a monkey on her shoulder, who keeps
pushing her further.
One such posting, to Asia's most notorious prison,
Delhi's Tihar, won her the prestigious Ramon
Magsaysay and catapulted her into the
international league of successful prison reformers.
This summer, she went to Italy to share her
experiences with them. With the Magsaysay award money,
Kiran opened Navjyoti to help delinquents,
addicts and those on the fringes of society. Soon
after, she opened the India Vision Foundation
to teach children whose parents were locked up in
Tihar and to set up street schools in slums.
"Every day some 50,000 people receive help from
these organisations," she says.
When she walks into our office for a chat in her smart
police uniform and cap, her diminutive person comes as
a surprise to those who have never met her in person.
Kiran sits comfortably on the arm of a chair and the
questions simply come pouring in. Most are about the
corruption of the police force, interference by
politicians and the criminalisation of public life.
Kiran doesn't spare anyone.
"The only time the police force was free of
political interference was before independence,"
she says. She's dismissive of the idea of giving in to
Veerappan when a properly equipped task force can nab
him. It's the sort of political patronage she
confronted in the Northeast.
Asked about the rising crime graph, she responds:
"India is much better off than countries like the
USA where there are guns on the street." She
doesn't believe in giving gun licenses and she
believes in the death penalty for heinous crimes like
rape and murder: "For crimes committed for
crime's sake. Those who say we should do away with the
death penalty, have never had to deal with such
people," she says.
The other question she's often asked is about taking
on the male establishment in her choice of profession.
Did she face discrimination? She won't say it openly
but the answer is clear. Kiran is a fighter and she
wants to make a mark but she's a threat to her male
colleagues because she isn't part of the male network.
In fact, a friend who once wanted to work with her on
a programme was warned that doing so might jeopardise
his chances of working on other programmes because he
would be seen as belonging to her "camp". If
such things upset her, she masks them with the
sangfroid of a true pioneer – after all, upsetting
the apple cart is intrinsic to being a trail blazer.
Also true for many women achievers of her generation,
is the marital casualty she has suffered. Kiran laughs
when I suggest there may be hope for a suitor this
year, insisting there's no place for a man in her life
but I wonder…. I don't think there are too many
Indian men out there who have the EQ to deal with this
tough but vulnerable super cop.
Knowing Kiran, I wouldn't be at all surprised if,
after attaining her ambition of being Delhi's police
commissioner (unless she ruffles more feathers!), she
begins a new career in politics. Problem is, she might
decide to start cleaning up the House of Parliament
– a long, uphill task!
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