An unexpected Holiday gift
I was on my toes, desperately trying to see what she was doing over the counter. The cursive flow of her writing intrigued me and I wondered how women have such different handwriting than men. But I am not supposed to be here; I am not a regular. She was old and seemed patient but even in the situation I was in, I could not understand why she would simply not shove the form on my face and have me fill out the personal details. Instead, across the counter and behind the protection of a thick glass window, the practiced hand was copying details from my arrest warrant.
The unexpected holiday gift was a reprieve from not having to post a bail in the amount of 6,000 dollars or go to jail. Valid only from Dec 1st to 31st. If you turn yourself in during this month, you essentially get a 'get-out-of-jail-free' card. I was here to cash in on my good luck.
Armed with my checkbook, I had reached the Santa Clara County sheriff's office with the express purpose of turning myself in. I started thinking how police stations in India could use a little face-lift when the reality facing me came back. Tore a number (96) and waited my turn at the window. Gracing the wall, hanging close to the ceiling were a series of photographs. All the past sheriffs were lined up - going back to 1850 - most had a 2 year term. I recalled how irrelevant I considered US history and here I was, desperately wanting to know what their lives must have been like in the Wild West, policing a dingy town called San Jose in the middle of the 19th century. Starting from 1970, the portraits gained Eastman Kodak color. But closer to eye-level, was a portrait impressive not because it was in rich vibrant color or that it was four times the size of other portraits, but because it was that of a woman, the current owner of the sheriff's post. Only moments earlier I recalled feeling dismayed that all the office-bearers lining the upper wall were men.
"Turn yourself in at the nearest sheriff's Office" was the reprehensible advice from the South County Sheriff's facility in San Martin when, a dumbfounded I had found the words to ask "who-wh-what should I do n-n-ext?", once the gravity of the situation had sunk in. After my grandfather had been arrested for resisting the British Raj, I am probably the first member in the family to have a warrant against my name.
It was only two hours ago that I was sitting in my office resisting dialing a number. There was plenty of real work to do and this could wait till next week. I knew it wouldn't be good news and somehow, I understood that the longer I waited, the harder it would be to wriggle out of it, hence, bigger the challenge. Yes, I know, it's sadistic. But I was not expecting it to be this bad. I had missed my court appointment for arraignment so repercussions were bound to be felt. Still, 3 days before the court date, hadn't I had sent them a letter? Yes, I fully knew that it would not reach in time for my scheduled arraignment but didn't I have a legitimate case to be absent? I had to go to NY and there was no choice. So there. I had mailed the letter requesting a new court-date right at the airport. I was fully planning to check on the status as soon as I returned. But I didn't. More than 30 days have passed, and with each passing day, the subtle burden of not having heard from the court was gnawing at my innards. I was getting antsy; hence the phone call to the court.
Months earlier, it was another beautiful day in Monterey. We were exhausted from working in the decrepit '60s style lab. The experiments had gone no where in particular. To top it, the alignment itself had been fundamentally wrong, so there was no scope of getting any results. Still, it was good going down there, ferrying equipment and components in rental SUVs. Dave had received a speeding ticket already so I was supposed to have been cautioned. Yet, even though I was the only one driving down the fast lane, zipping by the slower traffic to the right, I had a knot in my stomach. Much the same knot I would have months later when I would be calling the court on my arraignment status. The cop was all smiles. He pegged me at several mph faster than I thought I was going. I was furious. Yes, guilty I was, but not by this much. I was soo going to contest this ticket.
The unexpected holiday gift was a reprieve from not having to post a bail in the amount of 6,000 dollars or go to jail. Valid only from Dec 1st to 31st. If you turn yourself in during this month, you essentially get a 'get-out-of-jail-free' card. I was here to cash in on my good luck.
Armed with my checkbook, I had reached the Santa Clara County sheriff's office with the express purpose of turning myself in. I started thinking how police stations in India could use a little face-lift when the reality facing me came back. Tore a number (96) and waited my turn at the window. Gracing the wall, hanging close to the ceiling were a series of photographs. All the past sheriffs were lined up - going back to 1850 - most had a 2 year term. I recalled how irrelevant I considered US history and here I was, desperately wanting to know what their lives must have been like in the Wild West, policing a dingy town called San Jose in the middle of the 19th century. Starting from 1970, the portraits gained Eastman Kodak color. But closer to eye-level, was a portrait impressive not because it was in rich vibrant color or that it was four times the size of other portraits, but because it was that of a woman, the current owner of the sheriff's post. Only moments earlier I recalled feeling dismayed that all the office-bearers lining the upper wall were men.
"Turn yourself in at the nearest sheriff's Office" was the reprehensible advice from the South County Sheriff's facility in San Martin when, a dumbfounded I had found the words to ask "who-wh-what should I do n-n-ext?", once the gravity of the situation had sunk in. After my grandfather had been arrested for resisting the British Raj, I am probably the first member in the family to have a warrant against my name.
It was only two hours ago that I was sitting in my office resisting dialing a number. There was plenty of real work to do and this could wait till next week. I knew it wouldn't be good news and somehow, I understood that the longer I waited, the harder it would be to wriggle out of it, hence, bigger the challenge. Yes, I know, it's sadistic. But I was not expecting it to be this bad. I had missed my court appointment for arraignment so repercussions were bound to be felt. Still, 3 days before the court date, hadn't I had sent them a letter? Yes, I fully knew that it would not reach in time for my scheduled arraignment but didn't I have a legitimate case to be absent? I had to go to NY and there was no choice. So there. I had mailed the letter requesting a new court-date right at the airport. I was fully planning to check on the status as soon as I returned. But I didn't. More than 30 days have passed, and with each passing day, the subtle burden of not having heard from the court was gnawing at my innards. I was getting antsy; hence the phone call to the court.
Months earlier, it was another beautiful day in Monterey. We were exhausted from working in the decrepit '60s style lab. The experiments had gone no where in particular. To top it, the alignment itself had been fundamentally wrong, so there was no scope of getting any results. Still, it was good going down there, ferrying equipment and components in rental SUVs. Dave had received a speeding ticket already so I was supposed to have been cautioned. Yet, even though I was the only one driving down the fast lane, zipping by the slower traffic to the right, I had a knot in my stomach. Much the same knot I would have months later when I would be calling the court on my arraignment status. The cop was all smiles. He pegged me at several mph faster than I thought I was going. I was furious. Yes, guilty I was, but not by this much. I was soo going to contest this ticket.
posted by yash | 4:05 PM
1 Comments:
Your style of writing is very good.
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