In the force for honesty

“Why do you want to become a policeman?” I asked the candidate in front of me somewhat mechanically. His reply was equally robotic: “Sir, I want to serve the country.” The ritual had been going on for nearly two hours.

It was in the 1990s, in Vadodara, Gujarat. As Deputy Commissioner of Police in the city, I was recruiting policemen to fill the 100-odd vacancies in the city police constabulary.

Unlike the cumbersome and centralised, if more transparent, recruitment process today, it used to be a much simpler and decentralised exercise in those days. The SP of the district or DCP in the city, assisted by a few junior officers, could recruit constables from among those who reported on the appointed day, to fill the posts in the district. The whole thing could be completed in less than a week, unlike today, when the process goes on for months.

So, we were taking interviews with those candidates who had cleared the physical and written tests. I had put the above question to all of them, and almost all had replied in the same vein. Some wanted to serve the nation, while others wanted to serve society.

Towards the end of the evening, when only a handful of candidates were left, another unremarkable candidate was ushered in before me. Though unimpressive in every respect, there was something in the appearance of this candidate that struck me. I realised that the tall, thin, and sallow-faced youth with deep melancholy writ all over his visage reminded me of a sketch of Abraham Lincoln in his youth.

The candidate’s face betrayed an emotion that could be interpreted as unconditional surrender to his fate, as if he just wanted to get over the ordeal of one more rejection.

I glanced at his certificates and testimonials. There was nothing extraordinary there either. He barely satisfied the minimum qualifications. No sporting achievement; no NCC certificate; no driving licence; no certificate of proficiency in typewriting or computers; and nothing by way of any worthwhile extra-curricular achievement.

His date of birth told us that he was nearing the upper age limit for the post, and this was perhaps his last chance to be recruited as a police constable. “Not a candidate to waste much time over,” I thought, and for the sake of completing the formality, I put the oft-repeated question to him, “Why do you want to join the police?”

“Sir, I have come here looking for a job. I am very poor and have a family to support.” He blurted out and became quiet, as if preparing himself for the worst.

For a moment, I too became silent at his disarming candour. Then I signalled for him to go, and he left.

We selected him. In all the candidates that we interviewed that day, he was the most honest.