[Reader-list] A winter tale from Holland ... in Bihar

[Patrice Riemens]

Happy Ending! Happy Landing!
patrizio & Diiiinooos!


Jelle Brandt Corstius is a Dutch journalist and columnist writing for the
Amsterdam daily Het Parool. He's currently traveling in India and writes
his weekly column from there.



Jelle Stays On for the Night!

The last time I was in a police station in Amsterdam was in the Red Light
district precinct: somebody had hit my car and had simply driven away. The
reception area was empty, but for a young man sitting in the corner,
looking somewhat forlorn. A policewoman was giving him a cup of hot
chocolate. "He's quite often here, no, for no particular reason, he just
sits and looks at who's coming in and out" she told me. Holland is really
a fantastic country, I thought. Where in the world can disturbed young men
just walk into a police station for a cup of hot chocolate?

Well this time I was also in a police station, in a small town in North
Bihar. Till a few years ago Bihar was one of the poorest states in India,
and also one of the most violent. Now however, the local economy is
growing 'like cabbage' (Dutch expression ;-), and you can walk the streets
at night without fear of being abducted for ransom or plucked like a
chicken. I was on the verge of traveling on to the next small town, but
decided on impulse to go for a cup of tea at the local police station.
That's usually not a waste of time in my journalistic experience.

To my amazement, the police superintendent turned out to be just my age
(i.e early 30 something -PR). We had a polite conversation about the
kidnapping industry. He told me about the buoyant business going on,
whereby abductees were sold on to others, who asked for an even higher
ransom. I told him about the Dutch 'Hindustani' population, most of whom
originate from Bihar (*). He expressed the hope they would settle back and
invest their money here.

When we had drunk our tea, the police chief suddenly said "I have also
made a 'coffee-table book', do you want to see it?" I scanned through the
book in a slightly puzzled state; the policeman turned out to be also a
fairly gifted amateur photographer. But we had talked for over an hour by
now and darkness had set in. Time to go, as I still had quite a drive
ahead. "But why don't you stay here overnight?" asked the young chief, as
he showed me a large bedroom adjacent to his office. Ah well, why not
then?

We spend a pleasant evening in the garden, next to a woodfire against the
chill, a glass of whiskey in hand, with puffed rice and loud Bollywood
tunes for background. Two policemen stood watch. Later on a group of
Biharis joined us. Turned out they had heard about our little party, and
despite living a few hours drive away, had decided just to join us.

I told them about what we call in Holland 'window prostitutes' who ply
their trade as next-door neighbours to the local police precinct. They
assumed I was telling them a joke and laughed hard. The morning after the
night before I awoke in the fine bedroom. And I tried to imagine an Indian
journalist coming to Amsterdam and going to a police station and being
invited by the chief to stay overnight in a real bed. No way. Proves Bihar
does much better than a cup of hot chocolate.

(Column, Het Parool, Dec 17, 2011)

Q&D translation by Patrice Riemens

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(*) After the abolition of slavery in Suriname (1863), Dutch plantation
owners had thousands of Biharis and Orissis shipped from Calcutta as
indentured labourers. The second generation often turned to trade and
became (moderately) rich. After Suriname's independance (1975) many feared
the new black-dominated political dispensation and emigrated to the
Netherlands. (transl)