For a teenager in India, the first encounter with a traffic cop is memorable. There is fear and trepidation but also the thrill of a maiden encounter with the law. I pulled over, the scooter wobbling and skidding in the wet.


“License!! Show me your license?” The cop barked.


“Sorry Sir, I don’t have a license.” I locked my fingers in a pleading gesture.


“Right!! And what about the headlight? Does it work?”

Headlight? I had never used that thing in my entire riding history, which admittedly, wasn’t too long either. In a futile attempt, I fumbled with the switch, and turned to the cop with puss-in-boots eyes. An evil sneer appeared on his face.


“Get off the scooter!! Now! Both of you!” he swung the light-saber yet again, “multiple offenses: no license, broken headlight, and a pillion rider. You guys are in big trouble!”


“But, but-” I stuttered in dread when Sunny interrupted.


“Hello Sir,” he addressed the cop with a smile, ”why don’t we sort this out nicely?”

Nicely meant ‘Shall we not bother with the law and settle the matter, here and now?’


The cop’s sneer morphed into a Cheshire cat smile. “Sure why not... four hundred Rupees!”

Four Hundred Rupees? I had not seen that kind of money in an entire year!


“C’mon Sir,” Sunny spread his palms, “that’s too much. Can you reduce the fine for us … somewhat?” Sunny was bargaining, as if at a market.


“Ok, ok … three hundred, and not a paisa less! Otherwise, I will confiscate the scooter right away and the owner can claim it after paying the fine at the Police Station.”

Fine? That was not fine by me. The owner of the vehicle was my dad and I dreaded his punishment more than even a night behind bars.


I began to fumble in my pockets, in futility, when Sunny stopped me.