Indian Bureaucracy, smart dogs and a thriving busi
09 September 2008 | India, New Delhi
It’s been more than a week since my last update and so much stuff has happened since then that I feel like having been here for at least a month. One gets used so quickly to the new situation and lifestyle, a familiar feeling from my Erasmus period in Poland, but striking nevertheless. I reckon it’s a good sign. Rather than describing everything that I’ve done for the past ten days I will highlight some outstanding events, otherwise I’ll still be writing by tomorrow morning.
A real struggle which gave me a rather hard-paid look into the Indian bureaucracy was the obtainment of my Indian identification card and the registration at the local authorities that goes along with it. One is supposed to do so within fourteen days of arrival, though I honestly couldn’t care less during my first days in Delhi. Even the fine of 1400 rupi my Vietnamese flat mate had to pay due to late or incomplete registration could not spur me into movement till today, and as my fourteen day period runs out tomorrow, I regarded it as the perfect timing to undertake some action. I must admit that without the help of my Aiesec buddies I would still be stuck at the registration office, the bunch of papers that Natasya (Aiesec vice president) took along today and the effort she had gone through obtaining them made me feel relieved that at least somebody knew what we were supposed to be doing. The desk for initial registration (step one out of many) was open till three o’clock, and since we entered the building at one I was under the assumption that plenty of time was available to handle things smoothly. The bureaucratic maze I set foot in however could be subject to many words and terminology, and the local civil servants who endlessly proceeded their ineffective and automatic movements were surely under the impression, or rather had the conviction, that all who were forced by legal trap holes into this local pit of hell had plenty of time available, the word smooth is the very last one that came to my mind at that moment. This impression had not changed much one hour and a half later, when I was still standing in queue in front, or rather around the corner, of the first registration desk, whilst my glances went anxiously to the clock on the wall straight in front of my place in line among many, many other convicts. The crimes the people around me had committed must have been severe and bloody to be sentenced to such a punishment. The question what I was doing there I did not dare to answer, rather I put full confidence in my Aiesec buddy who sat chatting animatedly to somebody at the other side of the phone line. The clock approached alarmingly quickly the stage ‘three o’clock, closing time’ and it was truly the first time that whilst standing in line the time seemed to go too fast. At one minute before three however the agitated looking, bearded man with white turban in front of me seemed to have been bureautically satisfied by the big fat woman behind the desk and managed to walk away whilst being hushed by his wife. Happy beyond measurement that we had made it before three to the first desk Natasya and I received the form I was supposed to fill out. ‘Fill this out and make two extra copies. Then proceed to desk five.’ Well, that did not seem to be too difficult, and the queue in front of desk five seemed to have the magnitude of the number of people that would show up for free issuances of Geert Wilders’ autobiography in Marrakech, so the chances about getting out there without permanent brain damage seemed a bit more plausible. Then a logical question came to mind. ‘Excuse me, where can we find the copy machine?’ The orca fat woman looked at me through heavy lidded eyes, moisture glistering on her forehead, the heavy layers of make-up insufficient to mask deeply grooved lines in her face. ‘We do not have a copy machine.’ Perhaps I misunderstood. ‘Sorry?’ The answer seemed too surrealistic to for the human brain to process. ‘We do not have a copy machine. We are local governmental authority. We do not provide services as such.’ And there we went, past all the security checks we had endured on our way in, out into the open, looking for a copy machine. Fortunately the forces of reason and capitalism were applicable outside the walls of the building as a few locals had outperformed their peers by actually providing the very service I, and among me many other foreigners, requested. So there it was, in a shaggy looking shed, a sign that told us a copy machine was inside and, importantly, that we could actually acquire copies there. After having made the copies we walked back to the bureaucratic fortress, went through all the security and administration checks, and joined the queue in front of desk five. The Chinese guy in front of me seemed to lack any basic understanding of the English language, as his reply to the question ‘Do you have a work visa?’ was a happy ‘Yes’, whereas the subsequent question (But here it says that you have a student visa??) was answered with again a cheerful ‘Yes’. One can imagine the struggle the poor girl at the counter had to go through and I was happy to see her sending the bloke away by telling him he also had to make copies of the documents for the whole family he had brought over, a timid looking woman and two identical looking children, dressed in the same clothing of some post-communistic youth group with full faces, glasses and smooth black hair. They looked a bit like rats in a lab, not having a clue what was going to happen to them. Nevertheless they followed their parents happily outside, as it were some kind of family day and the people around them were not there for the sole purpose of killing innocent people’s mind. The procedures at desk five and the subsequent desk x went rather smooth in comparison to earlier struggles and I was more than relieved to leave the building, well after four pm, with my documents clutched tightly in my hand. One may understand that the previous description of the situation has been elaborated a bit for the sake of the story, but I can honestly say that I hope never ever to return to that place. Indian bureaucracy.. Never will I complain about the queue at the local ‘Postkantoor’ in the Netherlands no more…
How innocent the world looked that night before, when I was enjoying a cold beer with some of my flat mates and friends on the balcony, listening to the guitar play of Paulo and chatting about the most random though enjoyable issues one can think of. Long after darkness had set in came the moment that Wojtek, who was looking down from the balcony at the street in front of our house, made us aware of a highly enjoyable scene that took place at that very spot. The local street dogs here tend to become more active (read vicious) at night, trying to chase cars and bark at any movement. So this was the case with the very car whose driver tried to park at the side of the road. The presence of numerous barking street dogs made this task slightly more difficult however, and apparently he got so annoyed by this that he got out of his car and stormed to one of the guards nearby. By guards I refer to the local plebs that is hired by rich people to stand guard at the entrance of one’s house, equipped with a wooden stick they stay awake all night long to scare off possible intruders. Anyway, the driver demands furiously usage of the stick, and as the guard reluctantly hands the weapon over, the first man graphs hold of it with the intention to crack the skull of the closest dog. The dog saw this coming however, probably it was not the first time somebody tried to hit him with a stick, and managed to dodge the assault. The driver, not prepared for this, could not help to stop the flow of his stick. The result was that the guard, anxious what would happen to his stronghold in this world and thus having followed the driver closely, had to concede a full blow of his own weapon. One can imagine the scene after this… Anyway, this live theatre, along with the guitar play of Paulo and the cold alcoholic beverage I cherished in my right hand, are the perfect ingredients to enjoy to leisure after a day of hard work.
The last story I will tell concerns a business meeting I had the other say together with Woijtek, Joao and two businessmen. Via the most remote and unthinkable mediums they had come into contact with us and their offer was a trial period in their company. I will not go into details here, first of all because the majority of you readers couldn’t care less and secondly because I was told not to, but the men were part of a quickly growing industry that was looking for local inhabitants of their potential export markets (i.e. Europe) to act at first instance as consultants and at latter stages as potential means of initiating contact with potential customers. The meeting took place at the lounge of a big five start hotel, where we were seated in softly cushioned chairs and sofas. I had come straight from work, as had the others, be the difference that they ought to be dressed decently (shirt, jeans) at work and that I was wearing a red swimsuit, a blue-white striped polo t-shirt and flip-flops. I hadn’t shaven in a week and a day in Delhi’s slum is a long period of time without a shower. Anyway, the company they were representing was booming and they were looking for young people to join them. The idea was to implement them (i.e. us) immediately at the top to see who could manage to handle that. If so, further cooperation is possible. October fourth the three of us will go to India’s oldest city to partake in a conference. You should see it as a trial, they want to see whether we are suitable and give us simultaneously the opportunity to see what the company is like. Irrespective of the future, this one day assignment must be a nice experience, we get to partake in this conference, flights, food and lodging in a five start hotel (!) is paid for, and we get to see the oldest city of India. At the conference we are supposed to do a presentation, which is already prepared for us, to some crowd of people. In due time I will acquire more information, a second meeting is scheduled soon to finalize and confirm the situation, and then on October fourth, off we go! Sounds like fun eh ;)
Anyway, I think I’ve talked enough by now. The trainee house is great and I’m having a good time at work. I’ve already seen quite something of Delhi and the first trip outside the city is planned the weekend after the next one. Definitely more stories will follow soon! Thanks for all the reactions, on the website and beyond, the feeling that you all keep up reading my stories really makes me feel happy!
Thanks a lot and keep in touch :)
All the best,
Tony
ps..
@ Roy: je kan hier een zwembroek komen halen, dat is het beste wat ik kan geven. Una broekjes heb ik al op de basisschool uitgedeeld.
@ Stefan: Iets van vervoer aanschaffen zit er niet in, ik durf me echt niet op de weg te begeven hier want ze rijden als dolle stieren. Over stieren gesproken, de frequente aanwezigheid van koeien etc maakt t niet echt makkelijker. Internet is nu een vaste utility, t enige dat soms dwarsboomt zijn de frequente power cuts :P
@ Nikki: stappen heb ik nog niet gedaan maar huisfeesten zijn wel frequent. Mn Collegae zijn tof dus dat gaat allemaal prima.. Hoe is t in de gildebroeders zonder de Dikke Pad??
@ Koen: 9 maanden gaat zeker lukken, ik voel me helemaal at easy hier. Eigenlijk wel een onbezorgd leventje als je overal aan gewend raakt. Binnenkort idd skypen man, ff snel afspreken.
@ Joram: Idd patrick, dat probeer ik ook ;)
@ Sedi: volgende keer als ik je weer in het echt zie zal ik hopelijk weer mijn krullen hebben.. Hoop dat je ze tegen die tijd nog steeds kunt waarderen ;)
A real struggle which gave me a rather hard-paid look into the Indian bureaucracy was the obtainment of my Indian identification card and the registration at the local authorities that goes along with it. One is supposed to do so within fourteen days of arrival, though I honestly couldn’t care less during my first days in Delhi. Even the fine of 1400 rupi my Vietnamese flat mate had to pay due to late or incomplete registration could not spur me into movement till today, and as my fourteen day period runs out tomorrow, I regarded it as the perfect timing to undertake some action. I must admit that without the help of my Aiesec buddies I would still be stuck at the registration office, the bunch of papers that Natasya (Aiesec vice president) took along today and the effort she had gone through obtaining them made me feel relieved that at least somebody knew what we were supposed to be doing. The desk for initial registration (step one out of many) was open till three o’clock, and since we entered the building at one I was under the assumption that plenty of time was available to handle things smoothly. The bureaucratic maze I set foot in however could be subject to many words and terminology, and the local civil servants who endlessly proceeded their ineffective and automatic movements were surely under the impression, or rather had the conviction, that all who were forced by legal trap holes into this local pit of hell had plenty of time available, the word smooth is the very last one that came to my mind at that moment. This impression had not changed much one hour and a half later, when I was still standing in queue in front, or rather around the corner, of the first registration desk, whilst my glances went anxiously to the clock on the wall straight in front of my place in line among many, many other convicts. The crimes the people around me had committed must have been severe and bloody to be sentenced to such a punishment. The question what I was doing there I did not dare to answer, rather I put full confidence in my Aiesec buddy who sat chatting animatedly to somebody at the other side of the phone line. The clock approached alarmingly quickly the stage ‘three o’clock, closing time’ and it was truly the first time that whilst standing in line the time seemed to go too fast. At one minute before three however the agitated looking, bearded man with white turban in front of me seemed to have been bureautically satisfied by the big fat woman behind the desk and managed to walk away whilst being hushed by his wife. Happy beyond measurement that we had made it before three to the first desk Natasya and I received the form I was supposed to fill out. ‘Fill this out and make two extra copies. Then proceed to desk five.’ Well, that did not seem to be too difficult, and the queue in front of desk five seemed to have the magnitude of the number of people that would show up for free issuances of Geert Wilders’ autobiography in Marrakech, so the chances about getting out there without permanent brain damage seemed a bit more plausible. Then a logical question came to mind. ‘Excuse me, where can we find the copy machine?’ The orca fat woman looked at me through heavy lidded eyes, moisture glistering on her forehead, the heavy layers of make-up insufficient to mask deeply grooved lines in her face. ‘We do not have a copy machine.’ Perhaps I misunderstood. ‘Sorry?’ The answer seemed too surrealistic to for the human brain to process. ‘We do not have a copy machine. We are local governmental authority. We do not provide services as such.’ And there we went, past all the security checks we had endured on our way in, out into the open, looking for a copy machine. Fortunately the forces of reason and capitalism were applicable outside the walls of the building as a few locals had outperformed their peers by actually providing the very service I, and among me many other foreigners, requested. So there it was, in a shaggy looking shed, a sign that told us a copy machine was inside and, importantly, that we could actually acquire copies there. After having made the copies we walked back to the bureaucratic fortress, went through all the security and administration checks, and joined the queue in front of desk five. The Chinese guy in front of me seemed to lack any basic understanding of the English language, as his reply to the question ‘Do you have a work visa?’ was a happy ‘Yes’, whereas the subsequent question (But here it says that you have a student visa??) was answered with again a cheerful ‘Yes’. One can imagine the struggle the poor girl at the counter had to go through and I was happy to see her sending the bloke away by telling him he also had to make copies of the documents for the whole family he had brought over, a timid looking woman and two identical looking children, dressed in the same clothing of some post-communistic youth group with full faces, glasses and smooth black hair. They looked a bit like rats in a lab, not having a clue what was going to happen to them. Nevertheless they followed their parents happily outside, as it were some kind of family day and the people around them were not there for the sole purpose of killing innocent people’s mind. The procedures at desk five and the subsequent desk x went rather smooth in comparison to earlier struggles and I was more than relieved to leave the building, well after four pm, with my documents clutched tightly in my hand. One may understand that the previous description of the situation has been elaborated a bit for the sake of the story, but I can honestly say that I hope never ever to return to that place. Indian bureaucracy.. Never will I complain about the queue at the local ‘Postkantoor’ in the Netherlands no more…
How innocent the world looked that night before, when I was enjoying a cold beer with some of my flat mates and friends on the balcony, listening to the guitar play of Paulo and chatting about the most random though enjoyable issues one can think of. Long after darkness had set in came the moment that Wojtek, who was looking down from the balcony at the street in front of our house, made us aware of a highly enjoyable scene that took place at that very spot. The local street dogs here tend to become more active (read vicious) at night, trying to chase cars and bark at any movement. So this was the case with the very car whose driver tried to park at the side of the road. The presence of numerous barking street dogs made this task slightly more difficult however, and apparently he got so annoyed by this that he got out of his car and stormed to one of the guards nearby. By guards I refer to the local plebs that is hired by rich people to stand guard at the entrance of one’s house, equipped with a wooden stick they stay awake all night long to scare off possible intruders. Anyway, the driver demands furiously usage of the stick, and as the guard reluctantly hands the weapon over, the first man graphs hold of it with the intention to crack the skull of the closest dog. The dog saw this coming however, probably it was not the first time somebody tried to hit him with a stick, and managed to dodge the assault. The driver, not prepared for this, could not help to stop the flow of his stick. The result was that the guard, anxious what would happen to his stronghold in this world and thus having followed the driver closely, had to concede a full blow of his own weapon. One can imagine the scene after this… Anyway, this live theatre, along with the guitar play of Paulo and the cold alcoholic beverage I cherished in my right hand, are the perfect ingredients to enjoy to leisure after a day of hard work.
The last story I will tell concerns a business meeting I had the other say together with Woijtek, Joao and two businessmen. Via the most remote and unthinkable mediums they had come into contact with us and their offer was a trial period in their company. I will not go into details here, first of all because the majority of you readers couldn’t care less and secondly because I was told not to, but the men were part of a quickly growing industry that was looking for local inhabitants of their potential export markets (i.e. Europe) to act at first instance as consultants and at latter stages as potential means of initiating contact with potential customers. The meeting took place at the lounge of a big five start hotel, where we were seated in softly cushioned chairs and sofas. I had come straight from work, as had the others, be the difference that they ought to be dressed decently (shirt, jeans) at work and that I was wearing a red swimsuit, a blue-white striped polo t-shirt and flip-flops. I hadn’t shaven in a week and a day in Delhi’s slum is a long period of time without a shower. Anyway, the company they were representing was booming and they were looking for young people to join them. The idea was to implement them (i.e. us) immediately at the top to see who could manage to handle that. If so, further cooperation is possible. October fourth the three of us will go to India’s oldest city to partake in a conference. You should see it as a trial, they want to see whether we are suitable and give us simultaneously the opportunity to see what the company is like. Irrespective of the future, this one day assignment must be a nice experience, we get to partake in this conference, flights, food and lodging in a five start hotel (!) is paid for, and we get to see the oldest city of India. At the conference we are supposed to do a presentation, which is already prepared for us, to some crowd of people. In due time I will acquire more information, a second meeting is scheduled soon to finalize and confirm the situation, and then on October fourth, off we go! Sounds like fun eh ;)
Anyway, I think I’ve talked enough by now. The trainee house is great and I’m having a good time at work. I’ve already seen quite something of Delhi and the first trip outside the city is planned the weekend after the next one. Definitely more stories will follow soon! Thanks for all the reactions, on the website and beyond, the feeling that you all keep up reading my stories really makes me feel happy!
Thanks a lot and keep in touch :)
All the best,
Tony
ps..
@ Roy: je kan hier een zwembroek komen halen, dat is het beste wat ik kan geven. Una broekjes heb ik al op de basisschool uitgedeeld.
@ Stefan: Iets van vervoer aanschaffen zit er niet in, ik durf me echt niet op de weg te begeven hier want ze rijden als dolle stieren. Over stieren gesproken, de frequente aanwezigheid van koeien etc maakt t niet echt makkelijker. Internet is nu een vaste utility, t enige dat soms dwarsboomt zijn de frequente power cuts :P
@ Nikki: stappen heb ik nog niet gedaan maar huisfeesten zijn wel frequent. Mn Collegae zijn tof dus dat gaat allemaal prima.. Hoe is t in de gildebroeders zonder de Dikke Pad??
@ Koen: 9 maanden gaat zeker lukken, ik voel me helemaal at easy hier. Eigenlijk wel een onbezorgd leventje als je overal aan gewend raakt. Binnenkort idd skypen man, ff snel afspreken.
@ Joram: Idd patrick, dat probeer ik ook ;)
@ Sedi: volgende keer als ik je weer in het echt zie zal ik hopelijk weer mijn krullen hebben.. Hoop dat je ze tegen die tijd nog steeds kunt waarderen ;)
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