That India has a special sense for
bureaucracy (in the sense that it makes bureaucracy
into something special) I had learnt already when I was doing my visa
application in The Netherlands. Everything that I thought would smoothen up the
process was lacking, and everything that was there seemed to be hindering
efficiency. (Efficcienccy, ah! What a delicious word it is). After I’d
shed blood, sweat and tears to finally receive my visa, I should have known
that the bureautorture was far from over… Let me share with you how me and my
five companions succeeded in registering at Pune policestation, to give you an
idea of the torture I am talking about. If somewhere along the line you get
tired, just remember that we had to live through this in real life.
It was Wednesday. They told us: the registration opening times are 3-5 pm. Are you sure? Yes I’m sure. Are you really sure? Yes I am sure! Okay, so we went. Upon arrival at the police-quarters gate, we had to sign in. Backpack-looking bags were not allowed in, so I had to carry my stuff. (All same-size bags were fine, as long as they just didn’t look like a backpack: first non-logic). The police staff looked deadly serious, like everything they were doing was just deadly serious (which it is, of course). We arrived in a building packed with people bustling around between numerous different counters. Luckily, we brought a local with us who could ask in Maharathi where we had to go. (Actually, he is not just any local; he is our hero, our angel, our saviour; our Santosh). We went to one of the counters to have our documents checked. (Passportcopy/visacopy/bonafide certificate/A-form/C-form/learning agreement/lease contract/etc/etc). Conclusion: we registered too late, so had to go to the penalty counter. We went to the penalty counter. We waited. It was our turn. They told us we needed a special receipt to go to the penalty counter, available at counter number two. So we went to counter number two. We waited. We attained the receipt. They told us to show the receipt at counter number two point two. We waited. We showed our receipts at counter number two point two. We went back to the penalty counter. The person in charge was taking a break. We waited for long. The penalty was high, too high. We didn’t want to pay so we tried to bribe someone. We failed. We paid the penalty fee: 30 USD.
Next step: back to counter number one and show our proof of payment to receive the next receipt. ‘You are late!’ they told us. -It was already past 5 pm. ‘Why did you come so late? We open at 10 in the morning.’ We experienced a moment of frustration (…). Santosh charmed the woman so she gave us the next receipt which we needed to go to counter number three: the scanning counter. We waited. It was our turn. They told us to first go to counter number three (that is, the actual counter number three. You see; this numbering is all an expression of my addiction to an organized world. What do you think, that the counters actually had numbers? Ha ha!). So we went to counter number three. Here, two women were entering all the data on the documents into strange looking computers. The women were not so fast. The line was long. After 15 minutes, the first person’s credentials were entered into the computer. We waited some more. Santosh charmed another woman so we could go to counter number four first (you see, he is awesome). We waited at counter number four. They scanned our documents. They entered our data in the computer system. We went to counter number one. They checked all our documents again (which was highly needed). It was 7 pm. We were done. We registered. We succeeded! Next time, more on bureautorture, Pune University, traffic, pimp villa and.. Ganesha festival!
It was Wednesday. They told us: the registration opening times are 3-5 pm. Are you sure? Yes I’m sure. Are you really sure? Yes I am sure! Okay, so we went. Upon arrival at the police-quarters gate, we had to sign in. Backpack-looking bags were not allowed in, so I had to carry my stuff. (All same-size bags were fine, as long as they just didn’t look like a backpack: first non-logic). The police staff looked deadly serious, like everything they were doing was just deadly serious (which it is, of course). We arrived in a building packed with people bustling around between numerous different counters. Luckily, we brought a local with us who could ask in Maharathi where we had to go. (Actually, he is not just any local; he is our hero, our angel, our saviour; our Santosh). We went to one of the counters to have our documents checked. (Passportcopy/visacopy/bonafide certificate/A-form/C-form/learning agreement/lease contract/etc/etc). Conclusion: we registered too late, so had to go to the penalty counter. We went to the penalty counter. We waited. It was our turn. They told us we needed a special receipt to go to the penalty counter, available at counter number two. So we went to counter number two. We waited. We attained the receipt. They told us to show the receipt at counter number two point two. We waited. We showed our receipts at counter number two point two. We went back to the penalty counter. The person in charge was taking a break. We waited for long. The penalty was high, too high. We didn’t want to pay so we tried to bribe someone. We failed. We paid the penalty fee: 30 USD.
Next step: back to counter number one and show our proof of payment to receive the next receipt. ‘You are late!’ they told us. -It was already past 5 pm. ‘Why did you come so late? We open at 10 in the morning.’ We experienced a moment of frustration (…). Santosh charmed the woman so she gave us the next receipt which we needed to go to counter number three: the scanning counter. We waited. It was our turn. They told us to first go to counter number three (that is, the actual counter number three. You see; this numbering is all an expression of my addiction to an organized world. What do you think, that the counters actually had numbers? Ha ha!). So we went to counter number three. Here, two women were entering all the data on the documents into strange looking computers. The women were not so fast. The line was long. After 15 minutes, the first person’s credentials were entered into the computer. We waited some more. Santosh charmed another woman so we could go to counter number four first (you see, he is awesome). We waited at counter number four. They scanned our documents. They entered our data in the computer system. We went to counter number one. They checked all our documents again (which was highly needed). It was 7 pm. We were done. We registered. We succeeded! Next time, more on bureautorture, Pune University, traffic, pimp villa and.. Ganesha festival!
This reminded me of the scene from 'The Twelve Tasks of Asterix' where they have to obtain the A38 permit in that crazy office.
ReplyDeleteYou are my heroes, guys, keep on going! :D