All in a Day's Work for the Imphal West Narcotic Cell

Taothingmang Luwangcha *

North AOC, Awang BOC, Imphal

The proximity to a notorious region-flooded with the purest heroin and other chemicals-made this tiny state of Manipur, linking South and Southeast Asia, a haven for anyone seeking some unlimited fun and pleasure. It is no wonder then, how the Imphal West Narcotic Cell where my uncle works always has a reason to smile. The cell is administered under the Narcotics and Affairs of Border, which is again handled by the Director General of Police (DGP) who is at the helm of the police organisation.

We are in a conflict zone and presumably, the personnel are busy arresting and shooting the relatively legal outlaws of the land. If not, things would have been different. For instance, we could have been more secure if we see them around but not, and in this age, they have as well earned themselves the noble titles of gunmen. We live in a world, where there are more than enough reasons to be afraid of the state and the authority than we fear the thieves and robbers. If that is not enough, the armed sons of the soil are trespassing the public space more than we can remember or even count. But that's another issue.

What's the story, morning glory?!

I had talked to my uncle and he was kind enough to share a few tidbits of the narcotic cell and the drug-related issues in the Imphal valley. I was all ears one refreshingly cold morning.

One of the narcotic cells is located at Lamphel, just adjacent to the Imphal West deputy commissioner's office. Each morning, between 8 and 10, the whole world is theirs. (Ironically the World's Not Yours.) The personnel would start assembling around 7:30, have a light breakfast and lead straight to North AOC, which is locally known as Awang BOC or simply BOC.

Awang BOC is a haven for all the lost. You get the choicest girls for sex. You get heroin. You get the buses that would take you to other parts of the region, which is so artfully called the Northeast India. And Awang BOC is where the personnel of the narcotic cell can just live without-not for the worldly pleasures, not for the big bucks, not for the bus ride to other parts of the world.

The state police also pay visits, always looking for more laurels, for all they have is fake encounter to earn the accolades.

There is such a charm out there.

Your honour, I rest my case

Rewards and honours are secondary. In another words, when the best Myanmar army men are indolent and the country's 15-year anti-drug plan is in haywire, personnel in the defunct-looking office of the narcotic cell have to look beyond ordinary rewards. In such environment, harm reduction methods, intervention programmes, addiction treatments and others are just the 'normal' stuffs that other people do for nothing but livelihood. It's like 'Let them do what they like, like what we do what we like'.

The routine of the narcotic cell is impressive despite its monotony. The money factor is presumably making the daily drive always a fresh experience. They would wait amidst the syringe-laden alley-brimming with people from the lowest to the highest echelons of the society-and you can get some of the purest stuffs. Talking about the quality, besides here, you would hardly find such fine powder anywhere but only in the places of origins located in the well-guarded corners of the Golden Triangle comprising Myanmar, Laos and Thailand.

The personnel of the narcotic cell do not have all day. Perhaps they should apply to the higher police authority to get a bigger truck. Now the Gypsy sits only six people plus the driver and one of the Narcotic experts in the front seat. My uncle adds six is quite a good number. So quickly they have to arrest, lock the bad guys up and go back to their wearisome desks. And it is as easy as pie, in a land of thousands of drug users, to arrest six of them, legally or otherwise. 'Even our driver can afford to buy the latest Samsung smartphones,' adds my uncle. That sounds boasting like they are smooth operators, albeit I know they are not. Nope, simply nope.

Yet it is a pity, the couple of users who work as well in the cell will be dying while serving for the mass, though they always enjoy unasked shots and puffs of the fine white powder. How the rock-bottom-hit users are envious of these couple of gentlemen, who gets shots as much as their bribes and regular salaries?!

Pick them up when they come out after a fix-the chosen six users-lock them up in the narcotic office jail, call their family members and get at least three thousands from each one of them. But not before putting down the names and addresses of the users in black and white on loose A4 sheets. That's how records are documented in this 21st century. Imagine the surprises if they can milk 10K from a user belonging to a 'respected' family. Imphal, by the way, is a small town; people know each other well. And no one knows better than the personnel out here.

When's the party?

A simple arithmetic figures it is 18K a day, calculating three thousands each from six goats of the day. If there is a rich-looking guy by chance, it is like a grand birthday celebration for the narcotic cell.

Add and count: if they can increase the number of arrested users. Four more seats, for example, and they will be getting 30K at one go. Yes, they should seriously talk to the DGP. Their job is not to kill people only-for example, there are concepts like security, alas, which is nonexistent in this part of the world. Their job is not only to plunder and loot the public in broad daylight in the name of providing lowly jobs and employment. It will be wonderful if the authorities can sponsor a new truck, which sits no less than 10 people.

Regardless of the time of the day, the infamous BOC alley is always teeming with people of all sorts-drug users, sex workers, pimps, wholesale masters, NGO representatives, shopkeepers, wanderers and so on. The narcotic cops have an eye for the details. Remember for one day, they have to catch just six junkies.

From the motley crowd, they have to handpick six of them. It is really easy. The only difficulty is to negotiate the amount of ransom with the family members of the users, later in the day or evening, for that matter. Most of the arrested users are freed by latest, in the early evening. What is there to talk after completing a 3K-worth deal? Just let them go!

My uncle indirectly intends to say that they are only doing their job. Obviously. And arresting the sellers is not in their lists of responsibilities. They just have to catch six a day and take money from them.

Say you care no bad reputation; you will not

All of us know money is lesser important than reputation, family names and saving face; and this fact, the family members and guardians of the users know it the best. So as the story continues, Alice is in a real wonderland, Melody is sober and Ebai has got all the protection as usual-all the sellers are stuffed with the pieces attached to their underwear, bras, pockets, blouses and in the farthest, deepest corners of their body, for decorum's sake. Each piece costs 100 bucks but the price is not important for the users, whose only aim is to get a shot or two, no matter what.

After listening to his heroic tales of confronting with the users, I'd like to join my uncle and his gang once in a while, but there is a thing called professionalism. I'm not a cop; I'm just a guy who loves beautiful things that breed happiness. And I feel pity for the narcotic cell as much as I do for the users. But we cannot deny we live so close to each other. We belong to the same ghetto. Sad but true.