For the longest time my sister has had this wish. She wants to learn driving. Why in the world would she want such a thing is beyond me. For I can assure you that driving on Mumbai roads is less of a fun activity and more of a torture. Anyways, who am I to deny her this masochistic wish? So, when she completed her exams recently, we decided to enroll her into a driving school. I have never been a big fan of driving. The fact that it scares me is a secret I never share with anyone. But this time I decided to let go of my phobia and learn driving myself. Two birds with one stone, so to speak...
So on the last Saturday of November '13, we found ourselves sitting in the office of this renowned driving school listening to this lady sell us the sky and the heavens... For just Rs 3000. She was good at what she did. She reeled us in as effortlessly as a child would reel in a couple of hypnotized Marlins. I will leave out the gory details. Its another story for another time. Suffice it to say that we paid up 3500 each for 4 wheeler as well as 2 wheeler licences. Our lessons would start from Monday. And we had to go get our learners licences on Tuesday.
What transpired on Monday and how our lessons progressed is again another story for another post. Move forward to today... 3rd Dec '13, Tuesday...
I have been following the lady's instructions to the letter. And having a very difficult time going about it.
3:45 am... Just past the witching hour. The damn alarm goes off... In normal circumstances, me being a direct descendent of Mr. Kumbhakaran from Ramayana, I would never have perceived the blaring irritating sound. But it had been a sleepless night, with me getting up every hour or so to check the time, lest I don't get up early enough... So putting out the alarm wasn't that difficult. Getting out of the soft warm bed was, though... My eyes were tired, my body yearned to let go again...
Finally, with a seemingly herculean effort (and for a guy who had never ever got up so early, not even during exams, it was a herculean effort), I pushed myself up and went around performing the morning rituals in the dark silence of my sleeping home. The lady at the motor school had given me a Signals Chart and a set of possible questions I was sure to encounter during the computerized test. But the past two days had been pretty hectic and I had never even given them a cursory glance. So I went through them once while answering nature's call (if there is one thing I did manage to retain from my engineering college days, its the concept of multi-tasking)...
I was ready by 4:50. By then I was already late. The lady had instructed me to be there at the Andheri RTO by 5:00... If I was late, even by an hour, I would miss my chance to get the learners licence that day... So I got a rick, and asked the driver to step on it. He got me there in 15 minutes and 60 Rs flat...
This was the first time I was visiting the RTO. I was told to look out for a glass building. In the dark of the pre-dawn, all I could make out was an 8 feet high fence made up of fiber sheets. I asked around and someone directed me to go through the gap in the fence. Beyond the gap was a big commercial building. The road flanking the building was cordoned off on both sides by the fence. So it was devoid of any vehicles whatsoever. A guy asked me where were they taking interviews. Interviews? No idea, I told him. A lady was doing an early morning walk along the road. There were others walking urgently towards the building. I followed them to the building's entrance arch, an there I asked the security people. They directed me to the back of the building.
It was dark. I followed the man in front of me as he entered a hall - an open area covered with roof. There were quite a few people here, standing in what passed for a queue. I went and appended myself to the end of it. It was dark. Only the feeble yellow glare from the far off perimeter light illuminated sections of the otherwise dark hall and made shadows dance on the the opposite wall. There was just a single metal bench, capable of accommodating 3 people, and a small 4 by 4 feet of square block of tiled platform. These were the only seating arrangements available. So there was no choice but to stand. Or to perch on the parapet along the hall's periphery. Or to simply squat down on the dusty floor, as some people were doing. There was an old guy selling tea out of a thermos for Rs 6. Mosquitoes were having a field day with so many different samples of blood to taste. Apart from sipping tea and bearing with the mosquitoes there was nothing much to do but wait...
The guy who had asked me about 'interview' was standing right behind me. The guy I had followed, a middle aged man in his 40s and wearing a wig, was right ahead of me. At such times, your neighbours become your best pals. I am not much of a talker. The wig-man tried to start a conversation. "They should make this process available online", he said. "It would be fast and hassle free, just like they did for the passports"... I would be hearing the same opinion from multiple people multiple times during that day. I nodded but did not add much. And so the conversation ended. Not so with the interview-guy behind me. He kept commenting every now and then, asking questions, expressing opinions. There was a guy ahead of us who was smoking. A really thin fellow, dressed shabbily, with long sparse hairs slick with grease. He had trouble written all over him. I do not know what he was smoking, but it smelt awful. The interview-guy opined, he probably had something stuffed in the cigarette. I simply nodded. I was in no mood for talking and soon even he lapsed into silence.
The trouble-man, the obnoxious smoker with trouble written all over him, left the group and went out. He appeared an hour later with two guys. One was a thin fellow wearing the skullcap. The other was a stocky fellow wearing a very strong perfume. This was the first time I realized that people were being inserted into the queue. People who came late, but were placed ahead by these agents who had been standing in the queue in their place. All acceptable, except for the fact that it was unfair for people like us who had been standing since before the damn dawn. I taunted the guy indirectly by saying it out to my neighbour - the interview-guy. I am sure the stocky fellow heard me, but he never uttered a word. I let it go at that.
People kept coming and merging into the queue, making it longer and longer. Within the hour, the queue had elongated itself out of the hall, made a u turn, and stretched itself along the slope of the descending path that let to the underground parking below. I left my place for a while to go check out where the queue began. At the other end of the hall is a passage along the building wall, that leads to a similar hall at the other end. The tokens will be distributed here. The queue continued from the first hall, followed the passage, and formed a zigzag snake within the next hall. As I retraced my steps back to my rightful place in the queue, I estimated around 150-200 people ahead of me. It looked like I had a long day ahead.
As I learnt later, on any given day, more than 500 applicants appeared for the learning licence test. And the RTO only took in 400 applications per day. If your number is beyond 200, it will easily eat up most of your day. No wonder people stood in the queue from 1 o'clock in the night...
With no lights and no arrangements to sit, it was a long day ahead for everyone. At least till everyone got their tokens. Once the tokens were distributed, one was free to roam around until your token number is called. They have displayed the timings at which certain range of token numbers are expected to be called. So ideally one can move out and come back by that time. But a word to the wise, as instructed to us by the training institute lady - the timings are tentative. Your token number may get called any time. So it is advisable to stay put if your token number is below 250.
Even in the feeble light, people were reading Signal Charts similar to what the motor training school lady had provided us. Apparently some people find it difficult to memorize all the symbols and so they fail the test. Its not surprising though. All the symbols look similar enclosed in either the usual circle for mandatory signs, or triangles for the cautionary signs. They are logical, but not everybody are able to grasp and retain them.
My sister arrived at about 7:15. They had told her to reach there by 6:45. There is a separate queue for ladies and senior citizens. So the ladies need to come as early as us guys. By then, the queue was already 20 ladies long.
There was now a feeble ambient light as the dawn broke. They switched off the yellow perimeter lights. It had been easy to snooze in the dark. Just to close the eyes and catch half a wink... Now, even sleep eluded me. The minutes began to look longer than they had been before. There was pain in the legs and the back. The body felt sore. When will they open the token counter? Every few minutes, I would take out the signal chart and try to study it, but I was too tired to be able to concentrate.
Around 8:00 someone, probably a peon, went along telling everyone to stand in a single file. The disorderly groups of applicants suddenly shuffled and formed a single line. Now it was easier to have a proper picture of what was happening far ahead in the queue. By now, the queue was in tight formation and we had advanced towards where the passage started.
Suddenly out of the blue, this guy comes along and stands beside us, just out of the queue. Then he calls someone. Asks: "Where are you? I have already reached". And then the slick fellow just inserts himself into the queue right in front of us. I was observing this new-comer right from the start. Eyes dispassionate, lips curled down in a displeased manner, scars on the right cheek and chin... Someone not to be trifled with. I decided to keep mum. No point making trouble.
But if people kept inserting themselves into the queue like this, we would have to wait longer than we actually deserved. It is not bravery that pushes one into bold action. It is necessity. And so, with my heart in my throat going thump-thump-thump, my body literally but imperceptibly shaking, I asked him why he was standing here. He said, he had been in the line before. I knew it was a lie - not from the fact that I had not seen him before (I might be wrong), but from the manner in which he had furtively inserted himself into the line. So I challenged this. The neighbours denied seeing him before. It was the first time the stocky fellow, who was inserted ahead of me, spoke. And it would be the last. After all, with what face would he accuse someone of a crime he himself was guilty of? Anyways, since the others denied seeing him before, I challenged him. Asked him to leave the line. He said, his friend had been standing here before. Which friend? Where was he? He said, the friend was on his way. By now, all my steam had blown out. I was shaking, probably perceptibly. There was no fear in the guy's eyes. Not even concern. It was like he was confident I could do him no harm whatsoever. And worse, everybody had gone silent. They were now spectators enjoying the fun. Without support, I could no longer risk my neck. So I said that let his friend come, then we will see if his friend was actually standing in the line or not... And let it go at that.
After a minute of silence, the wigged middle-aged guy spoke up. He said that there hadn't been anyone between him and the stocky fellow. The guys ahead of him corroborated. The interview-guy behind me stepped in. Suddenly everybody was talking against the interloper. This gave me renewed courage and I told him to step out of the line. He could come back when his "friend" arrived. With so many people suddenly raising their voices, the guy finally broke. Finally, I could see a shadow of concern and doubt, if not outright fear, appear in his eyes. I pressed on, raised my voice even more. And finally the guy, muttering his displeasure, left the line and went away.
United we stand... And people unite... not out of ideals or the sense of what's right, but out of their common selfish interests... But once united, they can achieve what an individual can't. Unfortunately, when it comes to actually sticking out your neck, then all this unity breaks down and each man will save his own ass. I was about to experience this later.
It was utter chaos by now. People were moving up and down the line. For what reason, I was unable to comprehend. The line looked strangely bloated. There were more people ahead of us than there had been when we had arrived. How could this be? I found the answer to this when I saw a new-comer being inserted into the line. Actually the interview-man pointed this out to me. I raised my voice again. Even got the support of my neighbours. But to no avail. The agent comes to me and says, that his guy had been standing in that place. Its not as if he inserted two guys in place of one, he asks indignantly. What could I say to this utterly fair and logical arguement?
After a while the agent came ahead and asked me to swap places with his guy who was maybe 8-10 places ahead of me. Why he wanted to do that was beyond me. And I was the only one to gain from this exchange. But if I accepted his offer, I would suddenly loose my credibility to raise my voice against any interlopers. For I would become a part of the dirty trade. So I vehemently declined. There was surprise and concern on the agent's face, which gave me a strange sense of self-righteous satisfaction.
I guess this happened everyday. It was big business, for there appeared to be many agents. People who were coming in so late were being inserted into the queue much ahead of us even though we had been standing around for hours now. The interview guy pointed out another illegal insertion. This was in the form of a bespectacled guy in white shirt, jeans, a sack over his back, a typical professional... Its surprising how the more educated we are, the less scrupulous we become. It seems that the education system teaches us everything except morals...
I was especially wary of this particular group which had been bloating up for the past hour or so. I raised my voice again... This time a short stocky fellow came to me and asked threateningly what was my problem. But however much I tried, the bespectacled fellow stayed. And I got no support whatsoever from others. There were even more insertions going on further up the line... But we could do nothing about it from here. Any action in such cases needs to be taken by the neighbouring people where the queue is being compromised. But no one raised a voice and the agents were having a milk run. The fact that there was no camera along the passageway probably encouraged such illegal activity.
Finally I gave up. The interview-man kept pointing out illegal insertions to me. He probably wanted to see some justice, but had no guts to step up on his own. Instead he wanted me to stick my neck out. But I resisted.
A few minutes past 9:30, the line finally began to move. It made slow progress. I had another go at the short stocky agent who had recently inserted a new guy right there in front of everyone's eyes. I threatened to call the authorities. He said gladly go ahead. I threatened to pull the new guy out of line myself. He said he would like to see me try. I might have, had I gained support from my fellow guys. But now that the line was moving, nobody gave a damn. It was pure chaos. People were being inserted into the line even so near to the token window. Couldn't the officers sitting beyond the window see all this? There is a board outside the token window that explicitly says that only the applicant should stand in the line. No one else should do so on behalf of the applicant. They have even given a phone number to lodge a complaint if someone notices such an activity. But when each man for his own, what use is the number and the notice?
At the token window, they check the photo copies of the identity and residence proofs you have attached, and if all is in order, they accept your application and hand you a little chit. On it is printed a number. And a hand-scribbled date. Today's date. Jotted using a coloured pencil - probably to avoid embezzlement of such chits. This little piece of paper, smaller than a square inch in size, is the reason for all the struggle that had been going on since the morning... Some paid around 300-500 Rs for it. Others, like me, paid in terms of sleep, time, sweat and mental and physical stress. This was the infernal Token Number... They take in ladies and senior citizens first along with the first few general applicants. So my sister got a token number of 33. I got a token number of 270...
Right besides the open area where I had joined the line so early in the morning is the entrance to the RTO office's own canteen. We went and had a quick breakfast there. The breakfast was strictly ok, but certainly better than one could have expected in a government office canteen. Same could be said about the inside of the office building. It looks like its either been newly constructed, or freshly renovated. Good bright paintwork, proper signs everywhere, clean corridors and walls. For a government office it was pretty impressive.
My sister's token number was announced around 11:15. She came out by 12:30. Meanwhile I had a chat with an aged man who told me that when he had come here yesterday to get information about the office timings, there had been a guy who told him that he would get him a very early number for just Rs 300. So that was the amount you paid to save your time at the expense of many others who have been waiting in the line from early morning. My sister went home. I had to wait till 1:15 when my number was finally called out.
Apart from the long queue to get the token and the long wait until your number gets called, the rest of the process is pretty efficient and streamlined. Yet another thing I never expected in a government office.
The first step involves the verification of your original documents. I had my passport. It would serve as my address proof, my identity proof and my birth date proof. In my sister's case, she had to attach a number of documents: PAN card, Aadhaar Card for identity and birth proofs, Ration Card and electricity bill for address proof, and mother's (or father's) election card (in case of unmarried female)... Anyways, all these documents are verified by one of the three RTO inspectors sitting in there. If all is well, they send you ahead to the cash counter to pay your fee for the licence. I was applying for both four wheeler and two wheeler licenses. So I had to pay 30 Rs for each. They attach a receipt to your application form and usher you ahead to the data entry counter. Here your details, the ones you have filled in the form, are entered into the system. In order to avoid further hassles due to a wrong data entry, it is very important that you fill up your form very clearly and in best and legible handwriting. The next stop is where they save your biometric information. This included a photograph, taken using a web cam mounted atop the monitor (try to smile at the cam. Otherwise you will look like a wanted-dead-or-alive criminal with a sour expressionless face.), the finger print of your left hand thumb using a small scanning device, and an image of your signature using a stylus on a digital pad. Pretty sophisticated eh? Yup, looks like government offices are going digital in a big way... Then we were made to wait some more while the previous batch was giving the final test.
While we waited, the bespectacled white-shirted professional guy who had been illegally inserted into the line, and about whom I had fought with the agent, was standing right in front of me. He was chatting with a young fellow, who looked so young, he might have been a school going teenager. This one had come even later, and had secured a place right besides the bespectacled professional guy. The bespectacled pro says in accented English: "You know what I hate most?"... And without waiting for a response. "This damn waiting. That's what I hate most. Waiting"... Yeah right, I thought. Talk about waiting. We have been doing that from 5:15 in the morning you f***ing idiot. They continued to chat in their accent about foreign food, cooking, culture in UK, pubs, foreign music... Their accented chatter grated on my ear. What's with so many Indians trying to speak in accent every time they converse in English? Why cant they just speak in a neutral accent?
Anyways, I was soon spared further auditory torture when we were ushered into a spacious enough waiting room. Here, they had displayed huge, detailed and accurate signal charts. There were signs I had never seen before, not even on the signals chart the motor training school had provided me. I kept looking at the signs, revising them, memorizing them. One of the RTO sub-inspectors, a young fellow in full khaki uniform, advised us to do the same.
After a while he ushered us into a big hall. There were row after row of seats. It could accommodate nearly 50-60 candidates. In front of each seat was what looked like a podium. On the top of the podium, covered from three sides was a little electrical panel. It had 3 buttons - red, amber and green, the colours of the traffic signal. Each podium had a seat number. There was a number hand-scribbled over the receipt attached to our forms. He asked us to sit according to our corresponding numbers. On the wall in front of us was a screen. There was a projector hanging from the ceiling which was now displaying a list of candidates on the screen. Each name was mapped to their respective seat numbers. We were asked to verify our seat numbers. Which is important - you don't want someone else to take credit for your brains, or luck, or both...
After the seat numbers were verified, they began the test. The test compromised of 20 questions. Multiple choice types with 3 options and 1 correct answer out of them. The target was to attempt at least 12 correct answers in order to pass. The question and the options were displayed on the screen in two languages simultaneously - English and Marathi. At the same time they were read out by an automated voice in Marathi. After the question was read out, a buzzer was sounded. After the buzzer, we had 10 seconds within which to press the button corresponding to the answer. As soon as the countdown, which was also being displayed on the screen ended, another buzzer sounds to indicate time up. Pretty intricate working procedure, I should say.
I found a few questions bit difficult. It was a good thing I had revised from the charts displayed in the waiting room. For there were quite a few questions related to signs that were present in that chart, but not in the signals chart given to me by the training school.
Finally the test was over. After a while they flashed the results on the screen. Six candidates had failed. They were asked to leave and cone back after 7 days. I had scored 17/20. They made us wait. And while we waited, they passed around a suggestions book and asked us to jot down any suggestions which might help them improve their process. I was very tempted to write down about how people were illegally inserted into the line for token number. But the register never reached me. For they began distributing our learning licences - laminated cards with your black-and-white pic on it. I received two, one for the four-wheeler, and the other for two-wheeler.
The long day was finally over, as I made my way home, with a licence to learn driving...
So on the last Saturday of November '13, we found ourselves sitting in the office of this renowned driving school listening to this lady sell us the sky and the heavens... For just Rs 3000. She was good at what she did. She reeled us in as effortlessly as a child would reel in a couple of hypnotized Marlins. I will leave out the gory details. Its another story for another time. Suffice it to say that we paid up 3500 each for 4 wheeler as well as 2 wheeler licences. Our lessons would start from Monday. And we had to go get our learners licences on Tuesday.
What transpired on Monday and how our lessons progressed is again another story for another post. Move forward to today... 3rd Dec '13, Tuesday...
I have been following the lady's instructions to the letter. And having a very difficult time going about it.
3:45 am... Just past the witching hour. The damn alarm goes off... In normal circumstances, me being a direct descendent of Mr. Kumbhakaran from Ramayana, I would never have perceived the blaring irritating sound. But it had been a sleepless night, with me getting up every hour or so to check the time, lest I don't get up early enough... So putting out the alarm wasn't that difficult. Getting out of the soft warm bed was, though... My eyes were tired, my body yearned to let go again...
Finally, with a seemingly herculean effort (and for a guy who had never ever got up so early, not even during exams, it was a herculean effort), I pushed myself up and went around performing the morning rituals in the dark silence of my sleeping home. The lady at the motor school had given me a Signals Chart and a set of possible questions I was sure to encounter during the computerized test. But the past two days had been pretty hectic and I had never even given them a cursory glance. So I went through them once while answering nature's call (if there is one thing I did manage to retain from my engineering college days, its the concept of multi-tasking)...
I was ready by 4:50. By then I was already late. The lady had instructed me to be there at the Andheri RTO by 5:00... If I was late, even by an hour, I would miss my chance to get the learners licence that day... So I got a rick, and asked the driver to step on it. He got me there in 15 minutes and 60 Rs flat...
This was the first time I was visiting the RTO. I was told to look out for a glass building. In the dark of the pre-dawn, all I could make out was an 8 feet high fence made up of fiber sheets. I asked around and someone directed me to go through the gap in the fence. Beyond the gap was a big commercial building. The road flanking the building was cordoned off on both sides by the fence. So it was devoid of any vehicles whatsoever. A guy asked me where were they taking interviews. Interviews? No idea, I told him. A lady was doing an early morning walk along the road. There were others walking urgently towards the building. I followed them to the building's entrance arch, an there I asked the security people. They directed me to the back of the building.
It was dark. I followed the man in front of me as he entered a hall - an open area covered with roof. There were quite a few people here, standing in what passed for a queue. I went and appended myself to the end of it. It was dark. Only the feeble yellow glare from the far off perimeter light illuminated sections of the otherwise dark hall and made shadows dance on the the opposite wall. There was just a single metal bench, capable of accommodating 3 people, and a small 4 by 4 feet of square block of tiled platform. These were the only seating arrangements available. So there was no choice but to stand. Or to perch on the parapet along the hall's periphery. Or to simply squat down on the dusty floor, as some people were doing. There was an old guy selling tea out of a thermos for Rs 6. Mosquitoes were having a field day with so many different samples of blood to taste. Apart from sipping tea and bearing with the mosquitoes there was nothing much to do but wait...
The guy who had asked me about 'interview' was standing right behind me. The guy I had followed, a middle aged man in his 40s and wearing a wig, was right ahead of me. At such times, your neighbours become your best pals. I am not much of a talker. The wig-man tried to start a conversation. "They should make this process available online", he said. "It would be fast and hassle free, just like they did for the passports"... I would be hearing the same opinion from multiple people multiple times during that day. I nodded but did not add much. And so the conversation ended. Not so with the interview-guy behind me. He kept commenting every now and then, asking questions, expressing opinions. There was a guy ahead of us who was smoking. A really thin fellow, dressed shabbily, with long sparse hairs slick with grease. He had trouble written all over him. I do not know what he was smoking, but it smelt awful. The interview-guy opined, he probably had something stuffed in the cigarette. I simply nodded. I was in no mood for talking and soon even he lapsed into silence.
The trouble-man, the obnoxious smoker with trouble written all over him, left the group and went out. He appeared an hour later with two guys. One was a thin fellow wearing the skullcap. The other was a stocky fellow wearing a very strong perfume. This was the first time I realized that people were being inserted into the queue. People who came late, but were placed ahead by these agents who had been standing in the queue in their place. All acceptable, except for the fact that it was unfair for people like us who had been standing since before the damn dawn. I taunted the guy indirectly by saying it out to my neighbour - the interview-guy. I am sure the stocky fellow heard me, but he never uttered a word. I let it go at that.
People kept coming and merging into the queue, making it longer and longer. Within the hour, the queue had elongated itself out of the hall, made a u turn, and stretched itself along the slope of the descending path that let to the underground parking below. I left my place for a while to go check out where the queue began. At the other end of the hall is a passage along the building wall, that leads to a similar hall at the other end. The tokens will be distributed here. The queue continued from the first hall, followed the passage, and formed a zigzag snake within the next hall. As I retraced my steps back to my rightful place in the queue, I estimated around 150-200 people ahead of me. It looked like I had a long day ahead.
As I learnt later, on any given day, more than 500 applicants appeared for the learning licence test. And the RTO only took in 400 applications per day. If your number is beyond 200, it will easily eat up most of your day. No wonder people stood in the queue from 1 o'clock in the night...
With no lights and no arrangements to sit, it was a long day ahead for everyone. At least till everyone got their tokens. Once the tokens were distributed, one was free to roam around until your token number is called. They have displayed the timings at which certain range of token numbers are expected to be called. So ideally one can move out and come back by that time. But a word to the wise, as instructed to us by the training institute lady - the timings are tentative. Your token number may get called any time. So it is advisable to stay put if your token number is below 250.
Even in the feeble light, people were reading Signal Charts similar to what the motor training school lady had provided us. Apparently some people find it difficult to memorize all the symbols and so they fail the test. Its not surprising though. All the symbols look similar enclosed in either the usual circle for mandatory signs, or triangles for the cautionary signs. They are logical, but not everybody are able to grasp and retain them.
My sister arrived at about 7:15. They had told her to reach there by 6:45. There is a separate queue for ladies and senior citizens. So the ladies need to come as early as us guys. By then, the queue was already 20 ladies long.
There was now a feeble ambient light as the dawn broke. They switched off the yellow perimeter lights. It had been easy to snooze in the dark. Just to close the eyes and catch half a wink... Now, even sleep eluded me. The minutes began to look longer than they had been before. There was pain in the legs and the back. The body felt sore. When will they open the token counter? Every few minutes, I would take out the signal chart and try to study it, but I was too tired to be able to concentrate.
Around 8:00 someone, probably a peon, went along telling everyone to stand in a single file. The disorderly groups of applicants suddenly shuffled and formed a single line. Now it was easier to have a proper picture of what was happening far ahead in the queue. By now, the queue was in tight formation and we had advanced towards where the passage started.
Suddenly out of the blue, this guy comes along and stands beside us, just out of the queue. Then he calls someone. Asks: "Where are you? I have already reached". And then the slick fellow just inserts himself into the queue right in front of us. I was observing this new-comer right from the start. Eyes dispassionate, lips curled down in a displeased manner, scars on the right cheek and chin... Someone not to be trifled with. I decided to keep mum. No point making trouble.
But if people kept inserting themselves into the queue like this, we would have to wait longer than we actually deserved. It is not bravery that pushes one into bold action. It is necessity. And so, with my heart in my throat going thump-thump-thump, my body literally but imperceptibly shaking, I asked him why he was standing here. He said, he had been in the line before. I knew it was a lie - not from the fact that I had not seen him before (I might be wrong), but from the manner in which he had furtively inserted himself into the line. So I challenged this. The neighbours denied seeing him before. It was the first time the stocky fellow, who was inserted ahead of me, spoke. And it would be the last. After all, with what face would he accuse someone of a crime he himself was guilty of? Anyways, since the others denied seeing him before, I challenged him. Asked him to leave the line. He said, his friend had been standing here before. Which friend? Where was he? He said, the friend was on his way. By now, all my steam had blown out. I was shaking, probably perceptibly. There was no fear in the guy's eyes. Not even concern. It was like he was confident I could do him no harm whatsoever. And worse, everybody had gone silent. They were now spectators enjoying the fun. Without support, I could no longer risk my neck. So I said that let his friend come, then we will see if his friend was actually standing in the line or not... And let it go at that.
After a minute of silence, the wigged middle-aged guy spoke up. He said that there hadn't been anyone between him and the stocky fellow. The guys ahead of him corroborated. The interview-guy behind me stepped in. Suddenly everybody was talking against the interloper. This gave me renewed courage and I told him to step out of the line. He could come back when his "friend" arrived. With so many people suddenly raising their voices, the guy finally broke. Finally, I could see a shadow of concern and doubt, if not outright fear, appear in his eyes. I pressed on, raised my voice even more. And finally the guy, muttering his displeasure, left the line and went away.
United we stand... And people unite... not out of ideals or the sense of what's right, but out of their common selfish interests... But once united, they can achieve what an individual can't. Unfortunately, when it comes to actually sticking out your neck, then all this unity breaks down and each man will save his own ass. I was about to experience this later.
It was utter chaos by now. People were moving up and down the line. For what reason, I was unable to comprehend. The line looked strangely bloated. There were more people ahead of us than there had been when we had arrived. How could this be? I found the answer to this when I saw a new-comer being inserted into the line. Actually the interview-man pointed this out to me. I raised my voice again. Even got the support of my neighbours. But to no avail. The agent comes to me and says, that his guy had been standing in that place. Its not as if he inserted two guys in place of one, he asks indignantly. What could I say to this utterly fair and logical arguement?
After a while the agent came ahead and asked me to swap places with his guy who was maybe 8-10 places ahead of me. Why he wanted to do that was beyond me. And I was the only one to gain from this exchange. But if I accepted his offer, I would suddenly loose my credibility to raise my voice against any interlopers. For I would become a part of the dirty trade. So I vehemently declined. There was surprise and concern on the agent's face, which gave me a strange sense of self-righteous satisfaction.
I guess this happened everyday. It was big business, for there appeared to be many agents. People who were coming in so late were being inserted into the queue much ahead of us even though we had been standing around for hours now. The interview guy pointed out another illegal insertion. This was in the form of a bespectacled guy in white shirt, jeans, a sack over his back, a typical professional... Its surprising how the more educated we are, the less scrupulous we become. It seems that the education system teaches us everything except morals...
I was especially wary of this particular group which had been bloating up for the past hour or so. I raised my voice again... This time a short stocky fellow came to me and asked threateningly what was my problem. But however much I tried, the bespectacled fellow stayed. And I got no support whatsoever from others. There were even more insertions going on further up the line... But we could do nothing about it from here. Any action in such cases needs to be taken by the neighbouring people where the queue is being compromised. But no one raised a voice and the agents were having a milk run. The fact that there was no camera along the passageway probably encouraged such illegal activity.
Finally I gave up. The interview-man kept pointing out illegal insertions to me. He probably wanted to see some justice, but had no guts to step up on his own. Instead he wanted me to stick my neck out. But I resisted.
A few minutes past 9:30, the line finally began to move. It made slow progress. I had another go at the short stocky agent who had recently inserted a new guy right there in front of everyone's eyes. I threatened to call the authorities. He said gladly go ahead. I threatened to pull the new guy out of line myself. He said he would like to see me try. I might have, had I gained support from my fellow guys. But now that the line was moving, nobody gave a damn. It was pure chaos. People were being inserted into the line even so near to the token window. Couldn't the officers sitting beyond the window see all this? There is a board outside the token window that explicitly says that only the applicant should stand in the line. No one else should do so on behalf of the applicant. They have even given a phone number to lodge a complaint if someone notices such an activity. But when each man for his own, what use is the number and the notice?
At the token window, they check the photo copies of the identity and residence proofs you have attached, and if all is in order, they accept your application and hand you a little chit. On it is printed a number. And a hand-scribbled date. Today's date. Jotted using a coloured pencil - probably to avoid embezzlement of such chits. This little piece of paper, smaller than a square inch in size, is the reason for all the struggle that had been going on since the morning... Some paid around 300-500 Rs for it. Others, like me, paid in terms of sleep, time, sweat and mental and physical stress. This was the infernal Token Number... They take in ladies and senior citizens first along with the first few general applicants. So my sister got a token number of 33. I got a token number of 270...
Right besides the open area where I had joined the line so early in the morning is the entrance to the RTO office's own canteen. We went and had a quick breakfast there. The breakfast was strictly ok, but certainly better than one could have expected in a government office canteen. Same could be said about the inside of the office building. It looks like its either been newly constructed, or freshly renovated. Good bright paintwork, proper signs everywhere, clean corridors and walls. For a government office it was pretty impressive.
My sister's token number was announced around 11:15. She came out by 12:30. Meanwhile I had a chat with an aged man who told me that when he had come here yesterday to get information about the office timings, there had been a guy who told him that he would get him a very early number for just Rs 300. So that was the amount you paid to save your time at the expense of many others who have been waiting in the line from early morning. My sister went home. I had to wait till 1:15 when my number was finally called out.
Apart from the long queue to get the token and the long wait until your number gets called, the rest of the process is pretty efficient and streamlined. Yet another thing I never expected in a government office.
The first step involves the verification of your original documents. I had my passport. It would serve as my address proof, my identity proof and my birth date proof. In my sister's case, she had to attach a number of documents: PAN card, Aadhaar Card for identity and birth proofs, Ration Card and electricity bill for address proof, and mother's (or father's) election card (in case of unmarried female)... Anyways, all these documents are verified by one of the three RTO inspectors sitting in there. If all is well, they send you ahead to the cash counter to pay your fee for the licence. I was applying for both four wheeler and two wheeler licenses. So I had to pay 30 Rs for each. They attach a receipt to your application form and usher you ahead to the data entry counter. Here your details, the ones you have filled in the form, are entered into the system. In order to avoid further hassles due to a wrong data entry, it is very important that you fill up your form very clearly and in best and legible handwriting. The next stop is where they save your biometric information. This included a photograph, taken using a web cam mounted atop the monitor (try to smile at the cam. Otherwise you will look like a wanted-dead-or-alive criminal with a sour expressionless face.), the finger print of your left hand thumb using a small scanning device, and an image of your signature using a stylus on a digital pad. Pretty sophisticated eh? Yup, looks like government offices are going digital in a big way... Then we were made to wait some more while the previous batch was giving the final test.
While we waited, the bespectacled white-shirted professional guy who had been illegally inserted into the line, and about whom I had fought with the agent, was standing right in front of me. He was chatting with a young fellow, who looked so young, he might have been a school going teenager. This one had come even later, and had secured a place right besides the bespectacled professional guy. The bespectacled pro says in accented English: "You know what I hate most?"... And without waiting for a response. "This damn waiting. That's what I hate most. Waiting"... Yeah right, I thought. Talk about waiting. We have been doing that from 5:15 in the morning you f***ing idiot. They continued to chat in their accent about foreign food, cooking, culture in UK, pubs, foreign music... Their accented chatter grated on my ear. What's with so many Indians trying to speak in accent every time they converse in English? Why cant they just speak in a neutral accent?
Anyways, I was soon spared further auditory torture when we were ushered into a spacious enough waiting room. Here, they had displayed huge, detailed and accurate signal charts. There were signs I had never seen before, not even on the signals chart the motor training school had provided me. I kept looking at the signs, revising them, memorizing them. One of the RTO sub-inspectors, a young fellow in full khaki uniform, advised us to do the same.
After a while he ushered us into a big hall. There were row after row of seats. It could accommodate nearly 50-60 candidates. In front of each seat was what looked like a podium. On the top of the podium, covered from three sides was a little electrical panel. It had 3 buttons - red, amber and green, the colours of the traffic signal. Each podium had a seat number. There was a number hand-scribbled over the receipt attached to our forms. He asked us to sit according to our corresponding numbers. On the wall in front of us was a screen. There was a projector hanging from the ceiling which was now displaying a list of candidates on the screen. Each name was mapped to their respective seat numbers. We were asked to verify our seat numbers. Which is important - you don't want someone else to take credit for your brains, or luck, or both...
After the seat numbers were verified, they began the test. The test compromised of 20 questions. Multiple choice types with 3 options and 1 correct answer out of them. The target was to attempt at least 12 correct answers in order to pass. The question and the options were displayed on the screen in two languages simultaneously - English and Marathi. At the same time they were read out by an automated voice in Marathi. After the question was read out, a buzzer was sounded. After the buzzer, we had 10 seconds within which to press the button corresponding to the answer. As soon as the countdown, which was also being displayed on the screen ended, another buzzer sounds to indicate time up. Pretty intricate working procedure, I should say.
I found a few questions bit difficult. It was a good thing I had revised from the charts displayed in the waiting room. For there were quite a few questions related to signs that were present in that chart, but not in the signals chart given to me by the training school.
Finally the test was over. After a while they flashed the results on the screen. Six candidates had failed. They were asked to leave and cone back after 7 days. I had scored 17/20. They made us wait. And while we waited, they passed around a suggestions book and asked us to jot down any suggestions which might help them improve their process. I was very tempted to write down about how people were illegally inserted into the line for token number. But the register never reached me. For they began distributing our learning licences - laminated cards with your black-and-white pic on it. I received two, one for the four-wheeler, and the other for two-wheeler.
The long day was finally over, as I made my way home, with a licence to learn driving...
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