No-helmet-no-fuel diktat to Ghaziabad pumps defies logic

The Ghaziabad district administration firmly believes in unfair delegation. I’m convinced. Why else would it ask filling station attendants to ensure not a drop of fuel goes to rowdy bikers, who care two hoots for the rule book, and would rather die with their boots on their head and not keep their fat heads safe under a helmet?
In civilized societies the task of law enforcement is that of the police.And, in such societies, no one needs to coax, convince or incentivize an individual to care for his own safety. But in Ghaziabad, it’s the other way round. Studs whose chest size is 56 inches or thereabouts believe it’s infra dig to wear protective headgear of any kind.
Their conduct is brazen, defies logic and civility. Some weeks ago, a couple of these musclemen drove up to a Ghaziabad filling station showing off their crop of silky, shampooed, conditioned hair and demanded that their bikes be refuelled. When the attendant threw the rule book at them and refused, they left only to return with a gun and fire at him, nearly killing the man.
Strange, isn’t it? The filling station attendant risked his life to keep these brawny beauties–muscles, chest and silky hair– from harm’s way. For this good turn, he faced a bullet that almost got him. By the way, did anyone from the district administration bother to check up on the man who put his life on the line?
That he never got compensated for his bold stand is known. The administration claimed it was a robbery. And to stick to the facts in the case, the goons did loot the filling station. The administration washed its hands of denying the incident had anything to do with the helmet rule. But how could they gloss over the fact that the attendant was indeed trying to enforce the helmet rule?
Subsequently, the papers reported how furious pump owners confronted the administration on the no-helmet-no-fuel rule. After which, the district magistrate agreed to depute armed policemen at filling stations. As for the police department, they reportedly did not open their mouth at the session.
But even an armed policeman or two can’t rule out risk. The attendant remains just as vulnerable as before. What if he gets caught in the crossfire? In any case, I can’t fathom the logic of holding a law-abiding citizen accountable, one who sets out of his modest home to make a living every day, for another man’s loutish behaviour.
Some police officers made a name for themselves implementing the helmet order, and the task demanded hardnosed devotion to the cause. They braved political pressure and it showed doggedness to keep the big brutes on bikes in check. To expect a filling station attendant to exhibit the same determination and dedication to the cause is totally unreasonable. And, don’t forget these officers had an entire police force behind them.
In a district where motorists care a toss for driving rules and literate bikers don’t know how to read no-entry signs, only tough policing can make habitual offenders follow the rulebook. And for that to happen, the red-and-blue beacon flashing patrol cars have to zip around town and not crawl. Those who sit in them must look sharp, purposeful and steadfastly honest.
In despair, there’s hope too
It’s perhaps a tad unfair to paint all bikers in the same brush. And, I say this with reason. The other day, at Indirapuram, I came across this heartwarming incident. A youngster stopped his two-wheeler at a paan seller for a cigarette. A skinny chap in sunglasses, he had long streaked hair and a guitar strapped to his back.
He had just lit up and stood under a tree nearby as he puffed away. This young man was at peace with himself. Soon an old woman limped up to the paan seller and asked for directions. The man behind the counter, busy folding a paan for a customer, barely looked up as he told her the way to go. The old woman asked a few questions and having satisfied herself, turned to flag down an autorickshaw.
This was when the young biker walked up to her, threw away the half-smoked cigarette and said: “Auntie, main jaa raha hoon uss taraf, aiye drop kar deta hoon (going that way, will drop you).” The elderly woman was initially taken aback and didn’t know how to react. “Chinta na kariye, dhirey chalaoonga, (no worries, will drive slowly),” he told her. This reassurance gave her courage to ride pillion as the youngster helped her sit side-saddle and slowly pulled away from the shop. And yes, before cruising, he did strap his helmet on and gave one to the elderly woman, who wore it dutifully. This was heartwarming. While Ghaziabad has earned her share of bad name for lawlessness and reckless driving, it’s a place where some people – young and old – know the right way to go.