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The Green Rug

I iron my dresses on an old green rug. I have an ironing stand, but it feels much easier on the green rug on the floor. It is muscle memory. My hands seem to know the routine. Today, I thought that I should write something about my green rug. I took the photo, and here we go.

I received the rug, about 25 years ago, as a scale item, along with many others. I no longer own the uniform, boots and badges, but the rug remained, for no particular reason. It still looks good and reminds me a lot of the stories associated with my police life. 
It's been more than 22 years since I left the police, but the identity has remained with me. I am often introduced as a former police officer rather than anything else. Apart from the identity, the service has given me a lot of lessons that have shaped my life, for good or bad. The service changed my course of life, my career, my ambitions, my education, my travel, my thoughts and whatnot. 

Whether joining the police was the right decision, I will never know. There is no alternate future to see and compare what my life would have been if I had joined Pulchowk Engineering College and become a civil engineer. I left engineering to become an Assistant Police Inspector without a serious thought. I had very little career guidance and little idea what lay ahead.

Looking back, it seems like an extraordinary leap into the unknown, and now I see everything played out very well.

I remember applying for a job in the police, in parallel to engineering applications. I had a number of opportunities on my hands, and I chose to join the police. Coming from a Newar family in Kathmandu,  I was the first person in our family to join government service.  I packed a metal tin box and departed for the training centre at Kakani. Once again, I was the first one to leave home for a job.  I was anxious and excited; my family was probably more anxious than I was. I was going to live out of my home.
Barrack life was a world of its own. Everything was new and out of order because everything was so organised and in place. I experienced the assembly multiple times a day, and I saw 'district people' gather together. I ate the worst food possible. I had to wash my dress and iron it myself. I had to clean the barracks and compounds. 

I understood the duties and responsibilities. I did night shifts and day duties, along with training, parade and physical exercises. For the first three months, we were confined to the training centre. Every weekend, my father travelled to see me with a bag full of homemade food. I rarely ate it alone. My batchmates probably looked forward to his visits almost as much as I did.

The cold winds of Kakani, muddy punishments, sleepless nights, and physical exhaustion felt brutal then. Today I remember them differently. Those hardships have, in fact, made me stronger and resilient. The training also taught unquestioning obedience. Orders flowed down the chain of command and were to be executed, not analysed. For years, I accepted that as natural. It took much longer to unlearn it and understand that good organisations also need thoughtful questions and critical minds.

The Maoist insurgency had just begun, and jungle warfare training was introduced. For months, we carried rifles and sandbags, endless marches, hunger, and night drills pushed me to limits I have rarely reached since. Looking back, those were probably the strongest days of my life. Running up to the top of Kakani and back was a daily routine. Night marches were accompanied by litches all over the body. Booby traps (dummy) filled the surprise on the way. Rain and Sun, fog and cloud made no difference in daily life.

I also experienced unprecedented levels of corruption and nepotism in the police force. The shameless use of authority and easy acceptance of immoral acts, I believe, resulted in the image the police have in society. Nevertheless, I have immense respect for the organisation.

I left the police after six years. But I never completely left the policeman behind. The discipline remains. The resilience remains. The instinct to prepare for uncertainty remains. Even the habit of ironing clothes on the floor remains. The old green rug has survived for more than two decades. It is, in many ways, the least interesting thing that survived from those years. Along with the rug, many more habitual things remain with me, and they have become a part of who I am. 

(My deployment stories will follow soon)
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Comments

  1. BishwaJune 11, 2026 at 2:47 AM

    Jai Nepal Sir,
    I'm genuinely proud of you and all that you've achieved. Bravo!!!!

    ReplyDelete

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