What do you have for me, mate?
I have nothing for you.
Give me your wallet and your money
I don’t have my wallet and no money
Give me your money and phone
Or I will smash you
I don’t have any money
Give me your phone, now
Or I will smash you...
And I handed over my Nokia smartphone to the four hooded guys.
January the first, 2011 – I began this New Year by being robbed. I had been sitting on my couch and reading the whole day and even as I heard the clock chime 10:00 pm, I felt I needed a break and a walk. I love to go for walks, anytime of the day or night, as it provides the perfect setting to think and reflect, especially if I have spent the day reading and need to process the new in-fill of information. However I seldom walk in the winters, for obvious reasons, and this winter I had not gone even once for a walk – so this was my first walk. I changed into my tracks and jogging shoes and stepped out into the cold. I went on my regular route, walking down Fairacres Road, and turning a left on to Meadows Lane. I looked up and saw four guys walking towards and then past me. I didn’t take notice of them and continued my walk, with my head trying to make sense of my whole day’s reading of International Politics. My mind was completely preoccupied with E.H Carr’s fabulously written ‘The Twenty Years’ Crisis’, the 1939 classic which attempted to make sense of both the events as well as the theories and ideas concerning International Politics that were dominant during the interwar years (1918-1938), which just as unanticipated by the author, as me of my robbery, had become a founding text and the Bible of the newly evolving academic discipline of International Politics.
Turning a right on to the Donnington Bridge Road, I continued my walk. The January air was fresh and crisp but without the December chilliness that leaves the face stung, leaving a unique sensation which comes from being burnt by cold – fire and ice coming together. But this air was bearable and I rather enjoyed the lash of the cold breeze on my face. Up the Donnington Bridge and down, and then the road has a lonely stretch, with a farm on the left and woods on the right. I have done this walk many times and immensely enjoyed it every time. It’s like suddenly dropping out of the city and into the countryside and then equally suddenly, as properties reappear on both sides of the road, the city resurfaces. It is a short stretch, but takes you through another world. The familiar traffic signal looms large, from then on the Donnington Bridge road would become the Weirs Road, but then this is a good spot to turn back, and the round trip is just about the perfect distance for a short walk or a power-walk as some would say. I turned back and walked once again through the fresh countryside and up the Donnington Bridge. And then it happened – Four guys accosted me and I faintly recognised them as those whom I had earlier crossed on Meadows Lane. All hooded, and couple of them half-masked, and I heard a menacing voice – What do you have for me, Mate?...
I found myself not really afraid of them, but then they were four and I was alone. No one but us five on the bridge, not even a car passed by. What were my options? I could try and run – but then maybe they had a gun or a knife and it could get messy. Maybe I could scream and shout for help, maybe someone will hear me, or maybe not, as the bridge was completely isolate and none to hear me. Also, I didn’t want to have a prolonged encounter with these guys and draw their attention on to me and have them recognise me later on. As this was happening at close proximity to my home, the fear that, being recognised, they might pay me a visit another day was worse than being just robbed and the event forgotten. So I, without making any eye contact and without any act of aggression, sheepishly handed over my phone, fortunately my only belonging on me at that point.
I seemed rather bemused with the whole proceedings. It didn’t really hit me then that I was a victim of crime and was being robbed. It seemed like I was watching a movie clip, and the whole scene shot in less than 30 seconds. I have never been robbed face-to-face, so it was a brand new experience. It seemed surreal and I felt like a spectator, as one part of the audience, rather than being the unfortunate central character of the scene. It all happened so fast and even the memory of it continues to be very blurry.
I stood watching them walk away with my phone and then break into a run. I turned half-dazed and walked, walking right into a lamp-post. As I recovered, I saw 2 more men coming my way up the Bridge, one with a barking dog on a leash, a strange sight, and the other hooded. For some wild reason I felt that these two were part of the group that had just robbed me and so was confused if I should ask them for help. I pointed to the running guys and exclaimed to the two that they had nicked my phone. The hooded one replied that his battery was dead and pointed me to a guy walking on the other side of the road and told me to get help from him.
Even as I crossed the road, probably hearing what I had said to the two guys, the guy across the road stopped and waited. I pointed to him the fading figures of the still-running thieves, and told him that I had been robbed. His first sentence to me was, so are you warning me that I shouldn’t go that way. His words confused me and seeing my bewildered look, he asked me if I wanted to call the police with his phone? Even as I nodded, he handed me his phone. I bet he was equally confused with the sudden happenings around him and in being drawn into a situation he never anticipated. Even as he took his phone out, he made another puzzling statement, he said, I hope you won’t run away with my phone. Now I was really perplexed, but I bet he was more confused than me – so I told him to call the police himself with his phone, but he insisted that I take his phone. But I insisted back that he make the call himself and that I didn’t want to take his phone, but he continued insisting that I take his phone and make the call.
So I took it and asked him if he knew the number for the Police, and he nodded negatively. There we stood, watching the robbers fade into the dark and not knowing the number of the police to call. A number flashed into my blurred mind – 911. I was sure I had heard that number being mentioned for Police, on TV serials and crime movies – forgetting that most of these programs were produced in the US and that this probably was the US Police number, which it was (the UK Police emergency number is 999). But then that was the only number that made sense in my head and so I dialled 911. Amazingly, an operator was there to take my details and promised to sound the alert and send a police car over. As we stood waiting for the police to arrive, I handed the phone back and by then both of us had recovered our basic sensibilities and exchanged names and details. We found out that we actually knew each other. He was a Sanskrit student in the University and we had attended a few courses together and very recently had even attended a common lunch and exchanged pleasantries. He was another academic – no wonder both of us were so confused in real life!
The police vehicle came within couple of minutes with two constables and the next two hours was spent with the police filling out the Crime Report Form. The thoroughness of the Police system was impressive and the effective use of technology in offering the service of protection to the city residents appeared without flaw. Even as I sat with Gareth (the constable) in an over-heated room at the Police Station, trying to remember the event, and being quizzed for as many details as possible, I suddenly felt drained. I didn’t realise, but I had stopped answering questions – It just hit me that I had been robbed and the intensity of the experience of being intimidated by four blokes on an isolated road came at me with a gush. Gareth sensing my empty stare, gently asked me if I was alright. Even as I nodded, he exclaimed, that it is indeed a very unpleasant experience to be accosted by four guys. He reassured me that I had done the right thing and made the most sensible choice under the given circumstances. I asked him, if I should have done anything different and he replied that he would have done precisely the same if he was in my place. Slowly my confidence and humour returned and my normal chatty self took charge. I gave as many details as I could remember – phrases the guys had used and pieces of clothing they wore, just about anything that would help identify who they were, if not this time, at least at some future time. Once the report was finished, and my signatures taken, Gareth gave me his mobile phone and suggested that I call Vodaphone to block my number. Once all the formalities were completed, they were kind enough to give me a ride back to my home.
It is 3:20 am and even as I write this account, primarily to process the event for myself – I can see the blurred image of them four guys running away, running away with my phone, even as I stood rather confused and perplexed on top of Donnington Bridge with the Thames below me too frozen to flow. Even as the memory of this experience further blurs, it is the paradox of ‘victors running and victim standing’ that grabs my imagination...
