The (mis) adventures of Vin Sharma

Of course, in my father’s situation the downfall of one man had no relevance to the outside world. My father also did not intentionally choose to impact any actions on anyone else apart from himself, and by no means did my father ever display such a chaotic history of turbulent behaviors as with Moat. The only similarity was the fact that within brief moments both made a decision to end their own lives, be they in extremely opposite circumstances.

I recall clearly the phone call I received from my distressed mother who asked me to travel home immediately. She wouldn’t tell me why, but I sensed the tone of her voice translating as something bad having happened- I never would have guessed what I was to learn later. I try to imagine how I could have felt if say I had switched on the news headlines and heard about my fathers death on TV? I dread to think.

Luckily I was of an age where I could comprehend and digest information well and make my own judgments on the entire situation rather than rely on second hand accounts from other people. My mother was lucky she had young adults as children rather than pre-teens or infants as in the case of Moat, and so she did not need to take on board too much consideration of the impact the news had on us as the offspring of a man who deliberately or by mistake had committed suicide. But the impact was of course naturally immense.

I personally have been haunted by memories and flashbacks of the past and it has taken just under 7 years to even get close to coming to terms with the actions and choices my father must have made within the space of time he must have done so. And my heart goes out to the kids of Moat who will grow up doing the same on such a grander scale. They have been provided with second hand accounts directly from their mother and from family members. They would have had to attempt to understand why the rest of the world was reacting to their father in such a way. They would also I am sure have had their own negative (and I’m sure some positive!) memories of their father both directly and through the accounted experience of others. But fact remains- Moat’s previous girlfriends or wife can easily disassociate themselves from having any ties or affinity with the man but as his children he will always be their father. If not now, then one day they will wish to learn more about what their father chose to do, and they will come to their own conclusions as assumed intelligent adults, as to what caused situations to escalate in their fathers experiences.

Individuals or medical professionals cannot easily diagnose mental health or circumstantial mental breakdowns. Not in the same manner in which Cancer is diagnosed or any physical ailments are treated. And with regards to treatment for the likes of Moat and the kind of treatment often delivered by under-resourced local health services, how do they respond to isolated extreme cases such as with Moat? Should they have sectioned him much earlier, and if so, would this have resolved issues or even helped in any way? One possibility would be that Moat would have been provided with the kind of insight he obviously needed which may have put his life circumstances into some kind of rational perspective in order for him to resolve them like everyone else is expected to do so in society and public life. And what about the support for his family, and again importantly, his children whilst he was erupting in the manner he was when alive? Were local community services aware of their presence and the possible impact their father could have been having on them? I guess we will never know.

As I hear the latest news headlines mentioning the independent police complaints commission inquiry, the police press statements, and the summaries of reports; I am forced to attempt to imagine what really motivated Moat to reach such extreme levels of anger and violence. Anger that was spilled in the direction of specific targets, and against what sounded like institutions and systems with which he developed strong grievances towards.

Even whilst the man-hunt was emerging, and after such time having passed following the horrific incident, I had hoped that we would all learn to reach stages of being able to empathize in some way with what he was going through- maybe even conclude that he was possibly unable to express his arguments in a rational manner due to the unstable state of mind; or the fact that maybe he had never learnt to do so because of his negative experiences. As long as he could be contained and kept alive, it was his personal perspective that was missing from all of the news reports released.

So we the general public will now never know accurately why Moat was fighting, or why he chose to explode in such an extreme way. His family members will have had a more direct insight and may be able to trace back where things had gone so drastically wrong. His children will one day wish to seek the truth behind what happened to their father, and if not now, one day they will actively take steps to come to terms with the brutal demise of the man partly responsible for their existence. I just hope they are given the necessary help and support as they grow up to be able to do so sensitively and in a positive manner. And as someone with no specific religious affiliations, I certainly hope and pray that the restless and unstable soul of Raoul Moat, if at all there is such a thing as soul and afterlife, is at peace wherever it may be. I also express deepest condolences to all he may have impacted in a direct or indirect way and may they all find peace at some point.

With regard to my father, I am slowly coming to terms with his own personal journey, and I have explored all the possible events and feelings that may have caused his demise. My father displayed some signs of feeling mildly depressed but nothing so visible that required him to seek outside help or support. Sometimes I wish he had, because with a close knit family unit like ours and with so many outside avenues of support through extended family, I am sure he would have received everything he would have needed to resolve the internal battles he may have been fighting at the time. I know for sure that he had felt detached and quite lonely following career changes and as a result of an unexpected redundancy. He was also missing his own family who he had both left behind in India many years ago, and many with whom contact had been lost through bereavements.

Regardless of whatever my father may have done, and aside from the relationship he had with others and himself. He was the kindest, the most loving, and best Dad a son can ask for and I can only now understand that my father had not learnt how to express his feelings in the way many of us often take for granted.

But on a daily commute in and out of our wonderful city called London, the fact that we are now imposed multiple choices for the type of train ticket we wish to purchase; this I find to be one of life’s most annoying of decisions lately and a reason why I wonder how good for us an element of so many choices can really be.

As I envisage a day in the not too distant future when we get to go as far as personalizing the printed font or the background images of our travel billets to match our shoes or our exaggerated personalities even, I recall why I usually force myself to keep schtum about the growing modern day idiosyncrasies. It is through fear of being deemed as some kind of pre mid-life Victor Meldrew caricature, and at such a prematurely prime age at that too! But enough is enough I say, even to the prepubescent young guns that may be reading my rant. May there be lessons for us all in my following words:

Firstly, I should have known better than not to have planned my entire journey meticulously prior to departing from my abode, like some kind of OCD suffering military General- totally unlike the spontaneous free spirit I consider myself to be. But when purchasing my train ticket at the station kiosk and to be asked whether I would like a peak, super off-peak, superior peak, grandiose latte off-peak or a measly common as muck regular ticket... I’m left well and truly baffled. I question whether I’m the only schmuck in this predicament, and as I glance around it seems that I am. Everyone else seems to be confidently going about his or her business. Not a whiff of confusion elsewhere! I reticently ask- “So what is the difference between each of my options” - I’m told it depends wholly on what time I choose to embark on the train and equally what time I am looking to make my return journey.

In addition to this pickle, I later learn that I am unable to purchase what was traditionally known in the game as a 1-day travel card option... and the reasoning for this?? Well, I’m told this is only now open to the under -age kiddie commuters or the over-aged retired folks. Being neither, I am only obliged to add virtual currency onto the super elusive Oyster card. Here is when further confusion kicks into my brain space and I’m again expected to make my choice clear from a multitude of strange options. I thought Oysters were meant to be aphrodisiacs... I wonder as the burden of carrying this bright blue card with apparent super-powers has put me right off any kinky behaviour! And talking of kinky-

“Whatever you do... touch in and touch out!!” – I get warned about this twice by the rather incoherent member of staff. I wonder what it means but decide not to ask too many questions so as not to appear ignorant to the mysterious ways of urban travel schpeel.

Travelling on the tube I notice how everyone appears to look more wide-eyed and twitchier than normal. I wonder if it is as a result of the amount of tube advertising... now also in TV screen format around the stations to allow the commuters more ‘choices’ as passive consumers.

I haphazardly manage to figure out what ‘touch in and touch out’ means and ensure I do so, although on a few tube transfers I notice how this is made difficult by not having conveniently placed barriers or devices to touch. I’m forced to locate one by taking slight detours.

Now whilst on the penultimate point of my overall journey, I find myself on the Bakerloo Line heading towards Waterloo. Two very butch and quite scruffy ticketing inspectors join the train accompanied by four other uniformed ticket inspectors. They aggressively demand for us all to touch their star trek hand-held devices in order to confirm we are not making illegal journeys. I wonder if this also counts as a touch in... or out... or shake it all about ritual, and again I’m left quite baffled. Surely everyone travelling on a tube is unable to make a journey without adequate fares paid, and if by any chance they had it would be quite likely as a result of some confusion, human error or a similar state of bemusement as I found myself in.

I make it safely, and with my sanity still in tact to the other side of the tube, and now I am requested to show my ticket again (now for the 8^th time altogether from my entire journey!). The inspector quite abruptly informs me that my ticket is not valid during the peak period within which I am looking to travel home. Apparently the information I was given in the morning was incorrect; post 6pm is not off peak as I was instructed, it is in fact post 7pm when the off-peak period commences again. I’m being criminalized by the, again, rather burly member of staff and he has played both judge and jury within the space of a 3-minute interrogation. A small section of my brain involuntarily wonders whether doughnuts are granted as daily rewards to London Transport staff for enduring mundane questions from dumb customers like myself- hence the fact so many I have encountered have been so tubby. I glance at my watch and the time at this precise moment of my existence was 6.43pm. After much debate and reserved deliberation on the part of the inspector I am charged an extra £9 for the journey. “Cha ching!” goes that small section in my brain again.

A fellow passenger points out to me that this is a common experience for many commuters when faced with what they termed as being herds of uniformed ticketing mafia folk. Not all of course, but a visual majority of public service staff who through discontentment or subliminal training methods choose to act as robotic enforcement officers to an unsuspecting and quite baffled general public.

“This kinda thing doesn’t happen oop norf... it seems to be the London experience now!” was a response from another rather biased northern gentleman on the train.

In a spontaneous manner and in an equally impulsive accent I console myself- “Forgeth abowt eet!!” I whisper this under my breath. And probably the best advice I can offer for my fellow commuter-ati’s who on occasions, may also find themselves in a similar state of deluded reflection at the end of one journey home. “Just forget about it!”

Not sure why i'm minded to tail this rant with the words of Jarvis Cocker- 'Running the world' -one of the most unusually catchy anti establishment songs which can be related to my sentiments...