At a “police chowki” in the heart of the locality, Biba Nepali, Assistant Sub Inspector (ASI) of Nepal Police, flashes a warm smile.
“This is my first interview. In my two decades of service, nobody has ever interviewed me,” she beams.[break]
A pleasant lady with expressive eyes, she does not fit into the conventional image of a big, brawny cop. Dressed in a simple kurta salwar, with a thin string of red beads twinkling on her neck and a glass bangle on her wrist, she looks like any regular civilian housewife.
Born and brought up in Tanahu, Biba dropped out of school after the sixth grade. Her elder sister had gotten married and her two brothers were too young. She had to help her parents in the fields and look after her baby brothers. When she was sixteen, a neighbor suggested that she could join the Nepal Police since she was mentally sharp and physically strong. This incident sowed the dreams of being a cop into her young mind.
She came to Kathmandu in 1991 and enrolled herself into the preliminary training required for a police constable. Those thirteen months were the toughest that the young girl had faced so far. They were grueling, tedious and she was so hopeless at one point that she thought of quitting and running away. But the thought of disgrace and disappointment that she would bring upon her parents drove her on. She describes her first experience of holding a gun as a frightening and exhilarating one.
“A gun was a part of the police package. But my heart trembled at the idea of the thing going off on it own. It exuded power.”
Her first posting as a cop was at the Central Jail in Sundhara. On the very first day, she spotted some women in a corner. Those months of training immediately kicked in and she saluted them. One of the women kindly explained her that they were prisoners and she must have mistaken them for her seniors.
“I had always thought that prisoners were a violent and grubby lot. But they looked so clean, decent and well mannered,” she says, recalling those moments.
As the days passed by, her mind was occupied by her job. But her heart yearned for home. During this period, she met her husband. She had seen him a couple of times during the initial days of training. He was her senior. But then, he had gone to China while she remained in Kathmandu. Destiny, however, had other plans and they met during the then Queen Aishwarya’s birthday celebrations. They dated for a while. Soon he proposed marriage.
“I was a lonely village girl in a strange city,” she says with a faraway look in her eyes, fingers fiddling with her bangle. “He offered me a home. I couldn’t say no to that.”
Their daughter was born two years later. Tough times lay ahead for the young lady as she had to juggle motherhood and job. Both were just as significant and equally demanding. It was then that the prisoners came to her rescue. She would leave her baby girl under their supervision when she was on duty. In return, she would offer them lentils, rice, kerosene and vegetables. She often remembers a prisoner who used to feed her girl as if she were her own granddaughter. The old woman had been given a life sentence for murdering her daughter-in-law.
Prisons, when viewed through Biba’s experienced eyes, appear as some of the most fascinating places on earth. One could become a philosopher or a madman within those four walls. But didn’t the mother in her feel skeptical about leaving her child in the hands of those already blemished with crime and blood?
“It was a simple matter of trust in humanity,” she says with a slight smile. “Nobody is born a criminal. Often, it’s time, fate and circumstances that put you behind bars.”
She claims to have found help whenever she has genuinely asked for it. When her daughter was really young, the couple could not afford to be in a long-distance marriage. The young mother couldn’t manage everything on her own, and the parents had to switch babysitting duties. So, when she made request to the higher authorities for a transfer in the same location as that of her husband’s, it was approved.
They moved to Sunsari where their landlady helped the couple with their little girl. The heat and mosquitoes were the least of her concerns during the difficult period of the Maoist insurgency in 2001. Her husband gave up his job due to repeated threats. He went back to his ancestral business of tailoring. She would be on duty during odd hours. Death could be lurking anywhere, anytime.
“When you are a cop, your priorities keep shifting,” she says. “While on duty, I was first a cop and then a mother.”
With time, she learnt that being a cop was not all about strength, gallantry and patriotism. One needed to be wise and diplomatic, too. Cops always had to be sensitive with words and watch how they spoke. Once you joined the police force, your abilities and position were of more significance than your gender.
“It’s true that female cops are required to do fewer hours of nightly duties and I’m no exception,” explains Biba. “But once I’m assigned a job, I’m no longer a woman. I’m an ASI. It’s not an option. It’s a compulsion.”
That being said, she doesn’t deny that gender discrimination is still deeply rooted in the minds of people. As a cop, she can’t overlook those women who come to her with swollen faces – results of violence inflicted on them by their husbands. She doesn’t deny that men, too, at times, are the victims of physical and psychological abuse. But the number of women who suffer is comparatively higher.
Women, she opines, are endlessly battling the dual responsibilities of home and work. On the other hand, men always have the option of stretching out in front of the TV instead of helping their wives do the dishes.
“A woman never gets a holiday,’ she argues. “The moment she’s done with office, the duties of a mother and wife begin.”
The lady, who is currently busy with the Republic Day celebrations rehearsals, isn’t unaware of the changing relationship dimensions in the modern times. She feels her bond with her daughter is friendlier and franker than the one she shares with her own mother. Urban children these days, she believes, have an easier life compared to that of her own. Everyday, she had to finish the household chores and then run all the way to school which took almost an hour and a half to reach. However, she also understands that kids today have their own devils to fight in this era of competition.
“I don’t have much, but I have a daughter,” she says, her eyes glinting with motherly affection. “I want her to pursue higher education. I’m already proud of the woman she’s turning out to be.”
Biba doesn’t have enough resources to dream of a big house or a fancy car. With crowfeet already starting to appear around her eyes and strands of silver lining her mass of black hair, all she wishes is to see her daughter do well in life and be someone people can look up to.
younitya@gmail.com
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