Oh, well done, Mr. Pawar. Your lot were never much liked by us plebs to begin with, but you’ve proved once again what we sometimes start to forget: that, much as any civilised state needs policing, you’re as far from a force for the good as it gets, and the sooner we’re rid of the likes of you, the happier we’ll all be.
The reports are confused, of course. Everything in this country has a way of turning either blustery or shrill, only to be forgotten soon after; the casualties are always the facts. All we have to go on are a few non-committal news reports, and your word against that of the people you and your men roughed up last week.
You claim there were security loopholes at the Enrique Iglesias show you were manning, and that the organisers were deliberately unsympathetic to your concerns, which left you no choice but to violently intervene.
The organisers, of course, disagree: they say there was a matter of free tickets. They say you didn’t see eye to eye with them on the number of people you could get in for free, you being such a big man and all. They say they’d already let you let your friends and family in without paying, but you wanted more still; that your having them beaten up was simply an act of showing the world who’s boss in the best of police traditions.
But it’s telling, Mr. Assistant Commissioner, that even when it’s just one man’s word against another’s, no one outside your own crowd of baton-happy oafs seems to side with you.
Normal men and women only know your kind as brutal louts who can’t be brought to account, because you’re under state protection. You can harass whom you want, act on whichever impulse you happen to be in the grips of, extort however much you desire from whomever, force your morality down everyone’s throats backed by the threat of physical harm; in short, you get to do whatever the fuck you please, simply because you’re the police and we can’t touch you.
We suffer daily from your awful administration, your repeated failures at coping with real crime, your spineless willingness to turn the force into a private army for the rich and the powerful, to act in your own interests and in the interests of your friends over those of the law.
Nobody likes you, Mr. Pawar.
And the worst of it is, you’re not alone. You’re not even the worst of them.
I don’t suppose even public disgrace will get you to lose your huge sense of entitlement. I can’t imagine you’ve either the guts or the humility to change, and we can’t make you. You and your army of reprobates will carry on just as you were, and then there’s the small matter of your poor taste in music, because you went and did this all for Enrique fucking Iglesias.