A very long day
Monday, 24. November 2008, 13:39:59
This is a follow-up to this post.
Today, on the persistent urging of mother (bordering on nagging), I stood in the seemingly never-ending line for the election ID card. I stood in the queue at 11:00. And surrounded by chatty strangers, time seemed to stand still. At 12:30 I reached the counter, but as fate would have it, the counter closed for lunch. 'Come at 2:30', the man at the counter said brusquely.
I was indignant. The cruel face of bureaucracy had reared its ugly head. Grudgingly and constantly muttering expletives under my breath, I walked away, returning back at 2:30 sharp. Fortunately, this was a shorter queue. But, as is typical Indian behaviour, women elbowed past me, old men elbowed past me, office-goers cut in line, and practically everyone behind me took advantage of my timidity (arising from my inability to bellow at them in Kannada). After an hour and a half of waiting, I took the serial number and stood in another line to get my photo taken.
I had to wait for another half hour (4:30,if anyone is keeping count). I sat down in front of the officer, and stared with absolute shock at my details on the computer. My name was altered from a typical Indian name to something from Star Trek. They butchered Dad's name too. After correcting all the minor details, it was time for the photograph to be taken.
'Stare at the web camera', the officer said coldly.
'Which one is it?', I queried.
'All right, I've already taken the photograph. Please wait outside. Your ID card will be laminated and issued in 5 minutes'
'But, I didn't even look at the....'
'I said wait for your ID to come', the officer interjected angrily, his eyes hiding a sort of demonic fury.
That 'five minutes' turned out to be a half hour wait. I stood outside, in the chilling wind and slight drizzle, constantly peeping into the room for any sign of my card. Then, from the lamination machine, the attender removed a bunch of shiny cards and headed for the door, headed towards the anxious public waiting outside. There in his hand was an object that would validate my role as a citizen, as a participant in this glorious democracy, by conferring on me the right to vote. Like an apparition, this attender seemed to glide towards us slowly - my eyes continued its fixed gaze on the cards, with a sort of avaricious need.
An almost inaudible 'ting' rang out from the room. The attender, to our dismay, dropped the cards on a table near the door. 'Tea Break, people. Come after 20 minutes' .
That was the tipping point. The crowd turned hostile, threatening to turn into a raging mob. They clamoured
menacingly for the cards. Expletives were screamed; even the docile 80 year old lady standing beside me indulged in this insanity. The attender was taking aback, and in haste (fuelled, obviously, by fear) he distributed the cards with an efficiency unseen from any government worker.
At last, at 5:00, I had the voters ID in my hand. I scanned it scrupulously, observing its every little detail. The picture was horrible; it captured an animated face - taken while I was still talking to the officer. But, the name was correct.The age - correct. The date of birth - woefully wrong. The address - D'oh, wrong again. It's just a software glitch, they said, fill out another form and submit it another day to obtain the corrected ID card.
As I reflect back on the day, I can't help but feel angry, as if cheated of my fundamental right by the inefficiencies of a sluggish government bureaucracy. And is it all worth it? my cynicism asked. The ruling political party bows down to any sort of pressure, the opposition openly cavorts with Hindu terrorists, and the others aren't even worth a second thought.
Today, on the persistent urging of mother (bordering on nagging), I stood in the seemingly never-ending line for the election ID card. I stood in the queue at 11:00. And surrounded by chatty strangers, time seemed to stand still. At 12:30 I reached the counter, but as fate would have it, the counter closed for lunch. 'Come at 2:30', the man at the counter said brusquely.
I was indignant. The cruel face of bureaucracy had reared its ugly head. Grudgingly and constantly muttering expletives under my breath, I walked away, returning back at 2:30 sharp. Fortunately, this was a shorter queue. But, as is typical Indian behaviour, women elbowed past me, old men elbowed past me, office-goers cut in line, and practically everyone behind me took advantage of my timidity (arising from my inability to bellow at them in Kannada). After an hour and a half of waiting, I took the serial number and stood in another line to get my photo taken.
I had to wait for another half hour (4:30,if anyone is keeping count). I sat down in front of the officer, and stared with absolute shock at my details on the computer. My name was altered from a typical Indian name to something from Star Trek. They butchered Dad's name too. After correcting all the minor details, it was time for the photograph to be taken.
'Stare at the web camera', the officer said coldly.
'Which one is it?', I queried.
'All right, I've already taken the photograph. Please wait outside. Your ID card will be laminated and issued in 5 minutes'
'But, I didn't even look at the....'
'I said wait for your ID to come', the officer interjected angrily, his eyes hiding a sort of demonic fury.
That 'five minutes' turned out to be a half hour wait. I stood outside, in the chilling wind and slight drizzle, constantly peeping into the room for any sign of my card. Then, from the lamination machine, the attender removed a bunch of shiny cards and headed for the door, headed towards the anxious public waiting outside. There in his hand was an object that would validate my role as a citizen, as a participant in this glorious democracy, by conferring on me the right to vote. Like an apparition, this attender seemed to glide towards us slowly - my eyes continued its fixed gaze on the cards, with a sort of avaricious need.
An almost inaudible 'ting' rang out from the room. The attender, to our dismay, dropped the cards on a table near the door. 'Tea Break, people. Come after 20 minutes' .
That was the tipping point. The crowd turned hostile, threatening to turn into a raging mob. They clamoured
menacingly for the cards. Expletives were screamed; even the docile 80 year old lady standing beside me indulged in this insanity. The attender was taking aback, and in haste (fuelled, obviously, by fear) he distributed the cards with an efficiency unseen from any government worker.
At last, at 5:00, I had the voters ID in my hand. I scanned it scrupulously, observing its every little detail. The picture was horrible; it captured an animated face - taken while I was still talking to the officer. But, the name was correct.The age - correct. The date of birth - woefully wrong. The address - D'oh, wrong again. It's just a software glitch, they said, fill out another form and submit it another day to obtain the corrected ID card.
As I reflect back on the day, I can't help but feel angry, as if cheated of my fundamental right by the inefficiencies of a sluggish government bureaucracy. And is it all worth it? my cynicism asked. The ruling political party bows down to any sort of pressure, the opposition openly cavorts with Hindu terrorists, and the others aren't even worth a second thought.
(0%)
WIDGETIZE
roccstar2 # 27. November 2008, 16:19
But hell there's nothing like a mob to get those darn govt. officials to get cracking at their work...
Kingnutin # 28. November 2008, 08:47
I_ArtMan # 29. November 2008, 06:38