‘Jerking allowance’ made the day

Nehchal Sandhu

Nehchal Sandhu

IN the 1970s, all IPS officers seconded to the Railways got a special, albeit wickedly named ‘jerking’ allowance. Dating back to the colonial times, this generous stipend — over 15 per cent of all IPS officers’ basic wage — was meant to compensate them for literally being jerked around in saloons as they were shunted around en route to their destinations.

My allowance in 1977 was Rs 200; a welcome supplement to my basic pay of Rs 1,200 in times of indigence. It was worth the jerking, as the additional remuneration amply satiated my and my wife’s craving for cheap, but difficult to access Chinese goods that flowed in from nearby Nepal.

The first month that I received this windfall, the Bada Babu or Head Clerk at Katihar in North Bihar explained that this allowance was simply to offset me for the discomfort I would undergo whenever I travelled in the aged four-wheeler saloon earmarked for touring.

My ‘jerking allowance’ incident followed my promotion to the rank of SP, and being assigned thereafter to the Railway Police in North Bihar. Excited at this elevation, we packed our meagre belongings into the ubiquitous hold-all and black trunk and took off in our decrepit Baby Hindustan that enterprising ‘mistris’ in Dhanbad had somehow managed to keep operational with locally fabricated parts.

We arrived at a neat little bungalow, next to the railway station, that was to be our future home. Almost immediately, we realised that the bungalow’s multiple British-era beveled glass windows and doors would deprive us of all privacy, as we had neither curtains nor the means to buy them.

Consequently, for the next several months, our mundane activities became the subject of interest to the hordes that filed past our home at all hours, on their way to and from the station. Deprived of all entertainment, my wife and I often played ‘chicken’ with curious passers-by, by locking stares with many who were uninhibited in their inquisitiveness. The score was largely even.

My first day at work commenced with the Bada Babu producing a sack-load of papers for me. The bulk of them he described as ‘pay bills’ that needed signing to enable police personnel in my remit to receive their salaries. Each bill had several pages that needed signing and stamping.

Just as I thought I could swiftly accomplish this effortless task, he delivered the clincher: all bills needed signing in Hindi. I panicked as I had no Hindi signature, but under the circumstances, I needed to quickly devise one. I am ashamed to admit that this elementary task took me the better part of the day and most of the evening to complete, and that too in solitude. Embarrassingly, all customary introductory meetings with key rail personnel were duly postponed, whilst the English-medium SP saheb crafted his Hindi moniker.

The silver lining in all this came with the last bill, and one that I signed with exaggerated flourish: for my princely ‘jerking allowance’.

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