The Hindu Business Line : Of winding queues and endless wait...

"HOPE you are coming to office," asked Kurup, one of my many bosses. "Boss, I am taking a day off to stand in a queue at the rationing office," I replied and one could hear Kurup laughing. "So you will be watching the India-Pakistan Test match at Karachi. Why fib at your age?" he said stiffly. "I am watching the debut of the new TV channel, Times Now, absorbing Giri's Gyaan and predictions on interest rates by Ruki," one whispered a reply. Even as Kurup hung up, Rama inquired grimly, "I hope you will come along to the rationing office."

Not for the first time one realised the ordinary torments of our dear, honest Prime Minister Dr. Manmohan Singh caught between Sonia Gandhi and the Left. At 9.15 a.m. one switched off Times Now, took an auto with Rama to the rationing office at Rajendranagar in Borivili East. Swarming humans were waiting in wavy queues leading to a bouquet of counters of the rationing office and one became a part of the Mumbaikar swarm. By 9.30 a.m. one joined the long katar (queue) unsure of the need to mark time under a hot sun (for my bosses, the minutes wasted could have been spent to get precious exclusives) on the road.

The men and women ahead of me had landed by around 8 in the morning to get the job done as the rationing office opens at 10 a.m., shuts for a one-hour lunch break from 1 p.m. to 2 p.m., reopens till 3 p.m. and then it is fun time for the lower division and higher division clerks. Seemingly, the Maharashtra Government, has issued an order to computerise all ration cards; for this indeed, noble purpose of having an eye on the citizenry, the Mumbaikar has to stand in one queue for getting a form, a second queue with the attested form bearing photos of the family chief, a third queue for those who have no residence or shifted to new places and more queues and more queues.

A team of IAS officers lounging in the air-conditioned chambers of Mantralaya has devised the sadistic scheme to get the Mumbaikar visit the rationing office at least five times over three months, if not more, as it would help the poor citizen if the job is done in five minutes. My wife had made three visits spending at least a total of five hours in various katars as in our case the name of Dakhi had to be deleted, the lady having married and gone her way.

On the prescribed day, Rama stood in the katar for deleting names while one stood in a 100-individuals long line to present a form having my colour photograph as the family chief at the top and fully attested.

Waiting in katars gives a taste of ordinary life which editorials in learned newspapers can never provide. Any way, computerising ration cards will not figure as edits, not being a matter of international concern.

"Jiske pass paisa hai we katar me nahin khade rahte (Those who have money do not stand in queues)," remarked a middle-aged woman, who had hit the road by 8 in the morning. We were chatting and comparing our completed forms when a young fellow told me, "Uncle, aap ka form fully attested nahin hai (Your form is not fully attested)." I felt like crying as it was already one hour into standing in the line but held back with a long puff at a large-size Four Square. "Tho abhi kya karne ka (So what should I do)," one asked.

Five minutes away from the queues is located a vada-pav shop popularly styled the Phadke shop where a woman making tea attests forms. Along with the young fellow one went to Phadke shop where the lady demanded the original ration card. One politely told her Rama was standing in a queue to present the original ration card to delete my daughter's name.

To please her one bought two cups of tea, a vada-pav and a cigarette and she obliged by affixing a stamp and signing across the face of the stamp. One thought accredited government officials alone could attest any form of any variety and not a lady at Phadke shop. We came back to the queue, which had not moved as preference was being given to senior citizens, who could prove their old age. I did not have anything on hand to prove anything and waited.

That's when one heard of senior citizens shorting the process by offering to submit forms of others for a nominal fee of Rs 100. Then there were two agents filling forms for Rs 20 per form.

By about 10.30, two policemen came along but left not smelling a chance to make quick money. An old lady with her grandson lost her place in the queue when she made it to Phadke shop and the young man standing ahead of me helped her into the queue with none objecting.

"Sab, bholte hain ration card nahin hai tho Mumbai se uda thenge (Without a ration card one will be driven out of Mumbai)," said the woman draped piecemeal in years of slum-living.

At 12.45 one got to the window, a lady clerk accepted the form, and gave a receipt. "Abhi ky karne ka hai (What should one do now)," I asked and prompt came the reply in English, "Kaka, frame the receipt and hang it in your drawing room."

More Stories on : Lifestyle | Reflections

Article E-Mail :: Comment :: Syndication :: Printer Friendly Page

Stories in this Section
Sparring session

Of winding queues and endless wait...

Reversing trend, Percept puts film into brand

Ready to rock