Journal Of A Bangladeshi Cop (Part-1)

Dear Readers,

Welcome to you all in reading my journal. My heartiest thanks for the time and effort you have taken to undergo such a Herculean task!

Hitler said, “Five years of war gives you the knowledge of 20 years in University”. I am not a big fan of this Nazi dictator; however, my experience is sort of similar to what he said. Within 5 days of my   field training I had to raid the dens of drug dealers, arrest warranted criminals at dark night, check recovered Phencidyl bottles, visit crime scenes in BD-India border and what not!

Well, I am not saying I have gathered a great amount of knowledge, hey, don’t get me wrong. Men in uniform in our society are not considered as the intellectual types-we all know that. However, for an NSU graduate who is more of a study-hard-party-harder person, I must say I find my present life quite “different” from my regular one. And I can’t help the temptation to share some part of it with you guys!

On the 5th day of my practical training and the last day of the year 2011, I am writing this journal right after coming back from investigating an unnatural death case (and that’s the second one today). This is police life for you, when your friends are dancing on New Years Eve in DJ parties, you are literally “dancing” with the dead.

Today I will tell you about some of the things I faced today. Today there were two unnatural death cases. First one, a day laborer, committed suicide because his wife was suffering from incurable blood cancer and it was impossible for him to see his beloved one dying. The second one, a girl 21 years of age, killed herself because she had a fight with her mom.

The case of day the day laborer raises a big question to us all. Despite all the songs of progress and development, we still live in a country where a viable option for the family member of a cancer patient is to commit suicide. That man has foregone his own sickness that came from working in the brick field; he spent the last penny he had to save his beloved wife. I came to know from his relatives that he told his wife-“I love you very much and I will do everything I can to save you from cancer. I promise, I will not see you die.”

This man kept his promise. He did not see his beloved wife die.

The second case is also a heart rending one. That girl got married less than a year ago. While visiting home, she asked 100 taka from her mom to buy a new dress. Her mom replied-“Don’t you see how poor we are? Why don’t you just die instead of pressing me for money?”

A beloved daughter, she did exactly what her mom asked her to do.

In my NSU days I often had 3-item set-lunch menu for 150 taka in the Boomer’s café. Never in my wildest dream had I thought that some day I would have to write report about a girl of my sister’s age who died for just 100 taka.



I don’t know what the police training has done to me; I was surprised to see myself totally unmoved by the sight of two dead bodies in a single day. What surprised me even more; blood relatives of both the dead persons were almost as unmoved as me, if not more. Yes, they cried a little when their statement was taken-but that’s nothing compared to what we see in urban area. These people are faced with harsh realities of life; they know that mourning won’t bring them food for tomorrow. So, they just accept the tragedy and start the process of moving on.

In my opinion we, the so called educated and polished class should learn a thing or two from these people. When I compare my pains with the pain faced by them, I feel like punching myself for being so occupied with so little discomfort. Even with slightest discomfort many of us break down and refuse to move on. They refuse to accept the gifts life has offered them-they enjoy a distorted pleasure in tormenting themselves for no good reason.

Next time, when such   “discomforts” starts clouding my reasons to move on, I will just look back to what I have experienced today. I will look back to the father who was telling me how he found his daughter dead, or the son who found his dad writhing in death-pain. If they can endure what they have endured, we should simply laugh at our little discomforts. Shall we??

Ok folks, that’s all for today!


N.B- No matter how weird the name of my Thana sounds (Damurhuda Model Thana); it’s quite an amazing place. I consider myself quite lucky to be attached here for my probation period. I am adding a picture of my workplace with the post.

First published: January 2012