She was late to pick up her children. She rushed out with just her her wallet and her car keys.
On reaching the school, she found the road clogged with vehicles and people. She circled the school and parked in the first spot that was available.
She was fuming - at herself and the state of the roads. Her meeting at "Clean India" office had stretched beyond the scheduled time, and she had left behind the team discussing an article on how to avoid paying the traffic policemen the bribe.
"Madam," one boy had said softly. "One option is to go pay in the court. But when someone is rushing to work, late for an appointment or an equally valid reason..."
She had shaken her head vehemently. "That's no reason why! The process can be automated and the details noted down. The license number is there, and the registration plate. So the person can be let off then, but can pay later. If he does not within a day or two, the vehicle can be confiscated."
The idea found some supporters while others demurred on the cost of administration. She had had to leave then.
She walked into the school and saw her tiny tots near the gate, sulking. "All our friends left," they complained.
"Sorry babies," she hugged them and walked them to the car. The big lock in the front wheel infuriated her. She saw the traffic policeman talking to another owner whose car had been locked too. She walked up, her children in tow. She managed to swallow her anger and said, "My car..."
The man turned. "One minute."
He finished with the previous owner. As the two walked towards her car, she complained, "There is no No Parking sign here."
"There madam," he showed her one a few feet ahead, "and there," he pointed one behind.
She blushed. "But where is the parking space?"
He shrugged. "With minimum two cars per family, where can we find so much parking space?"
She stood uncertainly.
"License madam?" he asked politely.
She peeped into her car and remembered that it was in her handbag. And her handbag was in the office. One of her tiny tots started crying. She looked at the man, unable to meet his eyes. "It is in my bag at work."
He turned away. "I need it to punch it for receipt," he said, pointing to an POS billing device. She stood silently. "Ok, pay 150," he said.
She looked at him shocked and was about to protest. But the man was already on to the next defaulter, handing him the receipt. She reluctantly pulled out the money. "I can show the license in the police station later," she tried bargaining, her mind protesting against paying the man and encouraging bribery.
He shook his head. She knew he had no way to trust her. She handed it and wondered how "clean" she was.
