These days, the media are chock-a-block with reports of some luminary or the other being grilled by sleuths of the CBI, the ED, the Income Tax Department and so on. Rajeev Kumar, Robert Vadra, Christian Michel, the list goes.
But what really happens behind those closed doors? How exactly are the proceedings conducted? There are no records of the actual proceedings being made public, and one is left to one’s own sense of imagination and surmises as to what actually transpires… or to reports from a fly on the wall.
Venue: a large room with comfortable chairs arranged around a long oblong-shaped table. At one extreme are a couple of officious looking clerical staff, with desktops, all set to record the proceedings. Alongside the desktop is a recording device, seemingly kept there to strike terror in the “interrogatee”.
The interrogating team, all clothed in tight and flashy safari suits, and all wearing keen expressions, are already seated along one side, when the interrogatee, with the lawyers in tow, shuffle in, exchanging brave looks amongst one another. They get seated on the opposite side, and wish a nervous good afternoon, this being a post-lunch schedule of play. There is a curt nod from the chairman of the interrogation team.
The proceedings begin with some shuffling of papers by the committee chairman, who recognises the interrogatee from the name provided in the rap-sheet, and then he breaks into a warm smile… arrey sahab, aap? heh heh… Nobody told me it was you, he mumbles, shooting an accusing glare at his fellow-interrogators. There is much shuffling of feet, nervous clearing of throats, weak smiles bestowed all around, and finally, loud laughter, in which the interrogate and his team also join in. The air has been cleared, the ice broken.
The interrogatee’s suggestion that the proceedings be indefinitely adjourned, or at least be conducted at a nearby resort, or at his farmhouse, is apologetically declined… yeh saale press-waale sab jagah par hai… This point made by one of the interrogators is conceded, with a mournful nod, by one of the lawyers.
Refreshments arrive. Yesteryear Marie biscuits, and warm tea in plastic cups. Even the clerical staff get disdainful at this, though some of the lawyers, doubtful of the eventual outcome of their client’s fate and his consequent ability to settle their bills, grab some by way of an on-account advance. A lawyer seldom if ever gets short-changed.
Okay, okay, let’s begin, shall we, says the chairman, rustling the sheaf of papers in front of him. Yes, yes, responds the interrogatee, rustling the papers in front of him, and causing a few Rs. 2,000 notes to fall out, which get swiftly pushed under the table. A brief apology is offered, and accepted, apparently for the denomination of the notes being so paltry. Not his fault, as one of the interrogation team members murmurs to another…. yeh RBI waale ne hi gadbad kiya hai . One of the lawyers swiftly crosses over to one of the interrogators, murmurs something about large imitation leather suitcases waiting elsewhere, and understanding looks are exchanged.
The rap-sheet, containing the various charges, is read out, item by item. Violent shaking of the head, in denial, and earnest protestations of innocence, are ignored. The list is long: defalcation, robbery, arson, kidnapping, forgery, money-laundering, even rape …
Each charge is taken up, with the maximum discussion-time on the charge of rape . The lawyers suggest it must be a typo in the FIR, and should read gape . After long back-and-forth exchanges, a compromise charge, of grope , is recorded… and duly denied. The interrogatee feels this is a slur on his libido-quotient.
In between, the proceedings get interrupted, as one of the interrogation team members has to attend to a lengthy phone call, presumably from his wife judging by the accusatory shrieks audible to all, and his placatory responses thereto. A full half an hour is consumed in this exchange.
The item-by-item detailing is getting to be tiring. The chairman has fallen into a light doze. The interrogatee is in a furtive conversation with one of his lawyers, with the word grope mentioned. But work is work.
Finally, the chairman jerks himself awake, looks at his watch, and announces a cessation for the day… bahut ho chuka ha i, he grunts, and there are nods of agreement. We can now start the grilling, he says, with a cheery laugh… And the whole lot depart, for a conveniently located Bar & Grill.
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