The Verdict

May 6^th, 2014

Amazingly I was scheduled to return to court just four days after the last witness for two of the three remaining steps, one called the 313 (named after the section of the Criminal Procedure Code) and the other was the final arguments by the lawyers.  The 313 is merely a formality where they present me a summary of what the police witnesses had testified against me and I say “false” to each and every statement.  I stood in front of the judge and was given a copy.  He asked me if I could read English and then read out the first item, to which I denied as being true.  My lawyer Raju then stood up and said that we already knew that my answer for each clause would be false so the judge instructed me to take the paper, sit down in the gallery and read through all of it as they moved on to other cases.

Half an hour later I was summoned to the front again and handed in the signed form.  There was a brief inaudible exchange between the lawyers and the judge and then everyone pulled out their trusty and well used calendar books and a new date was set in three days time.  What?  Where were the final arguments?  On my way back from the accused bench I whispered in Raju’s ear to ask what had happened with the final arguments and he retorted that we were skipping them.  I left the courthouse disconcerted and headed for my lawyer firm’s fancy new office across the street.  Surprisingly Caroline was there and told me that likely the judge had already identified enough holes in the police’s case that he was going to throw it out...I sure hoped she was right.  I did feel a little miffed that I didn’t get to see top lawyer Peter finish off my case with some final statement along Johnny Cochrane’s famous line for OJ “If the glove doesn’t fit, you must acquit.”  Perhaps Peter could have claimed “If you didn’t see smoke, he didn’t toke!”

The night before my verdict I had some strange dreams, obviously stress related.  One of them was that all of my teeth were falling out.  That didn’t seem like a good omen.

The conclusion of this saga was anti-climactic.  None of my lawyers were present when I was called up just ten minutes into the morning session of May 6^th, 2014.  Shouldn’t they be here?  What if I’m guilty?  Or what if there are any strange stipulations to an acquittal?

As I was called up to the accused bench, butterflies filled my stomach even though I was fairly certain that I wouldn’t be proclaimed guilty.  The judge asked me to confirm who I was and then he looked down at his verdict.  I struggled to hear what he was saying but I did hear the one key word:  ACQUITTED! 

He did not mention the reasons for the decision but I knew that I could find them out later from my lawyers, those were just minor details at that point...it’s over!!!  Judge D’Costa said that my passport would be returned to me in one month.  I couldn’t figure out why it would take so long as I just saw it the previous week during Sachin’s testimony so why does it take so long to take it out of the envelope in the evidence bag and hand it back to me?   Ah, but one lesson I keep getting taught here, is not to look for logic in this country.  Because try and explain this one: the judge said that my bail money of 20,000 rupees ($400) would be returned to me in six months time!?!  Do they think I’m going to stick around another five months for the money?  And being a closed currency it won’t be easy for me to get someone to take the money, convert it to another currency and have it sent to me.  Oh India.

The judge made no mention of me having to wait the standard three months in case of an appeal which is what occurred in that Scottish fellow James’ case; in fact he had to stay for six months.  The police must have really botched my case as there were no final arguments and no appeal period.

I’m a pretty emotionally monotone type fellow but I couldn’t help but break out a small, respectful smile as I left the accused bench and returned to my seat to retrieve my backpack.  I sat for a few minutes contemplating what had just happened and try to let it sink in that it’s actually over.  James’ comment of feeling numb after he had heard his verdict started to make sense to me.  I thought I would feel more elation than I did sitting on that bench, looking up at the judge for the last time.  Perhaps it was the numerous delays, or the continual string of disappointments.  Maybe it was the fact that my life has felt as though it had been in limbo for so long for such a minor infraction. 

Leaving the courthouse elated:

I returned to Arambol Beach, smiling all the way on my scooter.  I immediately headed to 21 Coconuts restaurant for a beer, or three.  I told the staff there, primarily Sanjay one of the managers, that I had been acquitted.  I sat down at one of the tables on the sand just outside of the actual restaurant and was amazed to hear the music of the Dave Matthew’s Band (DMB) playing from the next door restaurant the Sea Horse.  Back in Victoria, most of my friends are wild DMB fans and they’ve sucked me in to liking the music.  It was the first time in my three and a half year stay there that I had heard anything from DMB and wow, did it ever seem appropriate at this time!  Super cool.  I sang along to the entire song.

A week later I needed a few things in Mapsa, the small nearby city, and I went to this cramped little electronics store/photocopy centre/Internet cafe called Deejay’s Electronics.  I had visited the store with Naomi a month before and the owner Diego, who had amazingly remembered my name from the previous year, introduced us to an Iranian couple in their early 60s.  While I procured my items from the staff behind the counter, Naomi, who recall is from Israel) struck up a conversation with the couple and it was amazing to see how quickly borders could dissipate between supposed foes (at least according to our governments and media) and new friendships could bud.  It was fantastic to see that in general people from any corner of the world are good people.  We all want the same basic stuff: food, a roof over our heads, a safe place to raise and educate our children and a decent paying job.  This scene replays itself over and over thousands of times a day across our globe.  Let’s hope it can have a lasting effect.

Diego knew of my predicament and was overjoyed when I told him that it was over.  A very sincere, intelligent and gentle man, he had once worked on a freighter and had passed through the Strait of Juan de Fuca, right by my home city of Victoria in Canada.  I couldn’t help but like this guy and it was reinforced when he told me that he had a present for me to celebrate my recent vindication.  He reached up to the top of the shelf behind him full of digital clocks, speakers and phone accessories.  His hands presented to me a bar of organically made soap.  The symbolism, whether meant or unintentional, was not lost on me.  I could now wash my hands of this case.  Incredible India.  Dhanyavad Diego (Thanks Diego)!

During my ordeal I had to try and look on the bright side of my predicament.  In a way I was on a “legally enforced vacation” or that it was “an adult time out”.  Every tourist season a multitude of foreigners returned again and again so I obviously wasn’t stuck in such a bad location.  I’m very thankful that I hadn’t been arrested in a big nasty smelly city like Delhi or Calcutta.  I was stuck on a tropical beach where I could paraglide and the cost of living was cheap.  And Goa itself is “India Light”.  It’s probably the closest to Western culture that it gets in this country. 

I was also fortunate that I met some amazing people, both foreigners and locals.  For a lot of the time my neighbour was wispy bearded Martin, a city gardener from Sweden, with whom I got along with swimmingly.  We played lots of games such as Chess, various card games especially a Swedish one called Halsta and of course Asshole, Carrom board (an Indian table top game similar to Crokinole) and a computer game called Tropic Euro.  When I crashed my paraglider on Sweet Lake Beach he immediately became my nurse.  During a couple of the seasons he worked on writing a book, a satirical comedy about the farcical nature of our invisible borders that we place around the world to demarcate countries which involved pig smuggling of all things.  Unfortunately he wrote it in Swedish so I was of no help in proofreading.  He was easily my best friend in Arambol.  I wish you the best with the book Martin.

Regrettably meeting all of these foreigners had a bad side effect; I learned that I was sympathetic to the plight of vampires.  Huh?!?  Vampires?  Well I felt like I was the constant.  People came and people went and yet I remained the same.  I could understand the torment Dracula faces with the fact that you can meet someone, grow close to them and then they disappear and yet you remain.  And the cycle repeats itself over and over.  You have to retell the same stories, ask the same questions, build the same bonds and then they’re gone.  But you have to look at the positive, meeting and interacting with so many from individuals from different cultures and backgrounds is a godsend (says the supernatural non-believer atheist...maybe I should have picked a better word).

Additionally I made some fantastic Indian friends too.  The managers of the Olive Garden restaurant where I was arrested, brothers Manu and Panna were super helpful, friendly and sympathetic to my predicament.  They took care of me as I travelled north to Himachal Pradesh, their home state. 

Some of the Indian tandem pilots became good buddies too.  Young and good looking Raj was one who stood out.  Only 25 years old he is wise beyond his years.  Martin and I joked that he sometimes spoke in  “Rajisms”  Such as:

-          Time takes no holiday

-           Efforts makes results

-          Every coin has two sides

-           Dreams have no expiry date

Then there were my four legged friends.  Previously I wrote a whole entry about the dogs I befriended.  I grew up with a little Cocker Spaniel but as an adult living alone in an apartment and working full time, it didn’t seem fair to own a dog.  However I was afforded the luxury of being a pseudo dog owner of good ol’ Pester, the” red brown dragon”.  He was a super loyal dog and a great companion for my last year in India.  I hope you fair well my friend, howl on.

I was lucky that in a way I was the perfect candidate to be arrested by the cops.  Prior to travelling I had quit my job so I wouldn’t have lost it by being detained indefinitely in India.  I am not married and have no kids so I wouldn’t be missing them and them me.  At the time I didn’t own any real estate so that was not an issue to deal with from afar.  I had saved up money to travel the world and with the unfortunate death of my father at the start of my travels in 2010 I had received some inheritance.  Couple that with the relatively cheap cost of living compared to Canada, I had no monetary issues during my 3½ year stint in India. 

As I’ve already mentioned, I also met some other foreigners who were in the same boat.  Apart from Scottish James, I was surprised how lackadaisical, apathetic or lost many others seemed to be about their predicament.  Perhaps a slight hang over from my IT days but I kept a record of each time I was summoned to court, what happened and what was supposed to have happened.  I took records of everything I could hoping that I could control the little pieces that I could. I pressed my lawyers for as much information as I could get, although comprehending it was another matter.  Conversely, one Swiss guy wouldn’t know who the next witness was in his case or how many times he had gone to court to hear the person’s testimony and it had not happened.  And he didn’t seem to care.

Then there’s the matter of just keeping your head screwed on properly.  I heard rumours of an Austrian guy on the next beach over who had gone slightly crazy and kept to his hut most of the time other than going out to fish in order to earn a meagre income to survive.  I saw another foreigner in court wearing a t-shirt that read “Rehab is for quitters”...Dude seriously?  That’s not going to score you points with the judge.  But regardless, I hope that their long journey finally comes to a positive conclusion as it is a system that tries to beat you down, in super...... slow.............motion.

So here are some staggering stats related to my case:

-          I went to court 47 times

-          Surprisingly I also went to a police stations 47 times

-          During my “administrative tour” of India, I visited:

o   2 courthouses

o   8 police stations

o   5 hospitals

o   1 clinic

-          It took 265 days to get a charge sheet, which normally takes 90 days

-          It took 206 days for the pre-trial stages

-          It took 775 days for the testimony of 7 witnesses which is an average of 3 months per witness

-          In total it took 1246 days to deliver a not guilty verdict from being caught in possession of 1000 rupees ($20) of hashish

And now one of the stranger stats...if you recall that when I was apprehended, I was rolling a joint behind my book “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”.  One character talks about a group of highly intelligent pan-dimensional beings that are search for the “Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, The Universe, and Everything”.  A super computer crunches away on the problem and eventually spits out the seemingly too simplistic answer of “42”.  Why am I bringing up this odd fact?  Well, I was 39 years old when I was arrested and 42 when I was acquitted and finally left India.  And from start to finish the ordeal took, well, 42 months.  Hmm...interesting.

I.N.D.I.A. = I’ll Never Do It Again?

Well much to the surprise and dismay of my family, I think I will return one day.  I was a bit shocked when some locals and a few foreigners asked “So you gonna be here next season?” (meaning 3-4 months later...are you kidding me?  It’s taken a long time to finally be able to leave!).  It may be a number of years until I’m back but there’s something mysterious and enticing of old Mother India.  She has the power to send your senses on a roller coaster ride while confusing yet stimulating and enriching your mind.  You will be repulsed and yet at the same time attracted.  She will demonstrate to you the simple lives can mean happy lives.  That working for the future in a mad rat race is not as important as living in the now. You can choose whether to be happy and life is what you make it.  (How many more clichés can I come up with?!?)

I know that I will and already do look back at this chapter of my life with fondness.  The positives outweigh the negatives and I feel richer for the experience. 

भारत शुक्रिया

(Thank you India)