A reluctant baton, a press ID ignored, and stranger’s help

Why was I put on a bus stuffed with just only three other women, including one policewoman, and 20–25 men in the first place? What precautions were taken to ensure my safety? 

These questions concern the safety of every woman in police detention. They are especially urgent  given the serious women protesters have made about their treatment at the hands of the Delhi Police. 

The baton with pink glitter tape

The bus drove around Delhi. We kept asking where they were taking us. Nobody answered. 

But, between all the mayhem, I found myself having a conversation I hadn’t expected. It didn’t change what had just happened, but it was a moment that stayed with me.

One of the CRPF personnel had wrapped little pink, glittery tapes around his baton. It instantly made me smile. A baton is a sign of violence, often associated with police brutality. It is supposed to be frightening, intimidating and all of that. But this one was covered with glittery tapes we used in school for arts and crafts. 

I had to keep my phone hidden and had hardly anything to do so I decided to talk to him. I told him his baton looks different from everyone else’s. (In my head I thought – perhaps, a little less intimidating.) He smiled and said, “I have put these tapes to identify it easily.”

That got us talking. 

He told me his company and several others had been stationed in Jammu and were called overnight. We talked about the farmers’ protests and the crackdown by state forces. He said discrimination runs deep within the forces. Two detainees overheard and chipped in. They were Muslims. They said, “We could sense the hatred policemen had for us. They said, ‘What is your name?’ When we told them our names, the policemen didn’t ask further. They just said, ‘Aa jao.’ and shoved us into the bus.”

The CRPF man spoke with pride of the Bangla Sahib management who were giving protesters refuge, and praised gurudwaras for always helping protesters. “One should never raise their hand against someone who is unarmed,” he said, pointing to his baton, and claiming he would never raise it against an unarmed person, a woman or a child. “Bhagwan na kare kabhi chalana pade.” That line stayed with me. 

I remember that sentence because it came in the middle of a day when I had just been dragged to the ground by people in uniform. I had seen colleagues manhandled, phones snatched and journalists treated as though their press IDs meant nothing. There was something so human and warm about hearing it from someone else in uniform.

In the middle of all that hostility, the fact that I found a room for a conversation. And the sheer possibility that a person carrying a weapon might never want to use it. These things will never let me forget that baton with pink glittery tapes.

At the police station

Eventually, we were taken to Chhatrasal Stadium, where the detainees were counted, and then to Adarsh Nagar police station.

The SHO called the Newslaundry journalists inside. By then, our colleagues had reached out to senior police officials. Suddenly, the SHO was trying to “explain” the situation.

“Sometimes, there are difficulties arranging things. They (police) had brought us here because they wanted to take us somewhere safe,” he said.

I asked why journalists had to be detained in the first place. If these “difficulties” were entirely avoidable. There seemed to be no clear answer.

Throughout the day, calls and messages poured in from family, friends and Newslaundry supporters. They checked in on us and told us they were proud of us. At the same time, social media trolls were celebrating. Some said this should have been done long ago. Others wished the police had used us as “speed breakers”.

The contrast was jarring. We live in a world so polarised that even the mistreatment of journalists can become a cause for celebration.