I moved aside courteously to let him enter. “Not too cold,” he cautioned as I went inside to fetch a glass of water.
I sat down after handing him the glass.
“So what if my DL was issued at Delhi, it’s my ID proof,” I pointed out, holding out my driving license for him to inspect again, but he didn’t bother.
It was a valid license, good for driving a car or scooter anywhere in the country. I had got it made when I drove my father's car around. I also brought along the papers of my apartment’s rental lease and showed them to him.
“This is my proof of residence. I've been staying here for about two years.”
He glanced at the papers studiously. “This- and your DL- are documents issued at two different places- records of two different cities,” he concluded finally as if I was a trespasser belonging to another country. His tone suggested that I was somehow at a disadvantage.
I’d heard that if these junior, clerical cops raised any doubt in their verification report, the passport office wouldn’t issue you a passport, irrespective of the authenticity of your claim. Junior level, corrupt officials in public services had been vested with immense powers to harass and maul the general public whimsically, at will.
Was he hinting at a bribe? I was meeting such a cop for the first time and found his beggarly approach frustrating. Didn't he get a salary?
“Who's your boss?” I asked at length, with a view to throw a scare in him.
But he flashed a crooked, unconcerned smile. “Why do you wish to know about my boss? I'm here to verify your address, not discuss my boss.”
“I'll talk to him whether my driving license and rental lease taken together aren't sufficient id and address proofs for the purpose of my passport application.”
“Go ahead,” he said nonchalantly. “Some people learn the hard way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I'm helping you get an important official document made- your passport- with which you can travel to foreign countries and make a lot of money,” he said in an obliging tone. “I won't come around to verify your address every year, nor ask for a portion of your earnings like the government demands by way of income tax on an annual basis. This is a one time verification which would hold good for the period of validity of your passport.”
“I’m aware of all that. Can you get to the point?”
“I've not met a more miserly man,” he said, using the word 'miserly' as a substitute for 'dumb'. “People are usually smarter.”
“Well, I'm dumb and miserly,” I said in an aggressive tone, challenging him to go on.
He cleared his throat, feeling a little uncomfortable by now with my stiff, unrelenting attitude. “If you apply through an agent or tout to get your passport made, they’d charge you thousands of rupees. Of course, they don’t pocket the bulk of that money. Most of it is distributed upstream as an incentive.”
“Upstream?”
“Forget it. At the end of the day you’d want the officials and clerks at the passport offices to process your application, won’t you?”
“Does some of that money travel up to the ministers too?”
“How can I tell you that? These are confidential things, which the general public in not supposed to know.” He fixed me with a knowledgeable stare. “Returning to touts- even if you go via them, this verification step with the police would still take place. Our demands are nowhere near that of the folks involved in processing your application later down the line.” He paused. “Did you apply for your passport through an agent?”
“No, I applied directly at the passport office.” I replied, staring at him coldly. “You’ve still not come to the point.”
“How straighter can I get?” he asked with a sneer. “If you applied directly at the passport office instead of routing your application through touts, you're already saving a lot.”
“I'm not saving to fill your pockets,” I snapped.
“Usually, people express gratitude to us for getting their work done without hassles.”
“Firstly, you don't get the work done. Get that clear. People like you are an impediment to getting the work done. The passport office does the actual work and issues the passport. Anyway- how much is your gratitude worth?”
“Oh, I don’t take bribes,” he said as if taking affront. “I’m engaged in public service. But sometimes, out of gratitude and a feeling of brotherhood, people try to offer us about hundred bucks to buy sweets,” he added promptly. “You've spent so much time arguing over nothing. Just to save hundred measly bucks- without knowing that I don’t even accept bribes!”
I glared at him.
He shrugged “The choice is yours. I can only assure that there’ll be no delay from my side in your id and address verification.”
“I see.”
“However, since you've applied for your passport directly, the passport office employees might delay it from their side since you've not paid the touts their due.”
“What do you mean?”
“You might still get your passport if you're lucky,” he amended hurriedly. “That’s between you and them. But had you gone through an agent and paid the few thousand they demanded, you'd have definitely got your passport in time- may be earlier too. It’s not that passport officials accept bribes either. Don’t harbor such misconceptions. It’s demeaning to all of us public servant officials. We’re all honest to the core.”
“Got the message, now move ahead.”
“Well, the officials and clerks at the passport offices just try to help touts earn a livelihood- kind of philanthropy, you see- and if the touts offer them something in return out of gratitude, being pleased with them- well, that’s between them. You don’t call such things bribery. In comparison, I’ve demanded next to nothing.”
“So it’s all about being pleased and keeping others happy in return, without a question of bribes?”
“None at all. There’s no question of bribery.”
“Hundred bucks?”
“That’s all,” he smiled as if explaining something to a child. “Go to any other part of the country and you’d normally end up offering between a hundred to hundred fifty bucks,” he added shamelessly.
“And you don’t even accept bribes,” I said sarcastically. “If I’m pleased I pay. It keeps my conscience as well as yours clean since we’ve not acted corruptly and dabbled in bribery.”
“You pay on the lower side too. Don’t forget that. The amount might be higher in Delhi, where your driving license was made.”
“You’ve given me so many choices. Now I’ll give you a choice,” I replied coldly.
He looked up at my tone.
“My aunt is in the union cabinet of ministers,” I lied, using the same approach I’d adopted with Dwapayanan. All these crooks were the same in terms of their meanness and roguishness, and deserved the same treatment. “I can pursue this matter at a higher level and get you suspended for asking a bribe.”
“But I never asked a bribe. I already told you that. Seems you misunderstood.”
“I understood everything quite well. If I complain, automatically witnesses would materialize out of nowhere since she's a minister,” I continued, ignoring him. “You can look up her name in the list of ministers- ending with my surname, Kumar.”
He nodded. Everyone had heard of Mrs. Kumar. He waited for me to spell out the remaining choices.
“So you’ve the choice of giving a successful verification report without taking a bribe,” I said. “Or, I'll pursue this at higher offices to get you suspended for asking a bribe and denying me a timely passport.”
“It doesn't work that way, Mr. Kumar,” he said at last, finding back his voice. “You can't threaten me.”
“One of us is definitely threatening the other,” I replied. “Shall we leave it to the higher authorities to decide who's threatening whom? Or do you prefer to decide right away what you want to do?”
He was about to say something, but hesitated, notin
g the confidence in my tone, and chose to remain silent. Before leaving he made a note in the register he was carrying and turned to me with a sheepish smile.
“Remember, I didn’t ask a bribe. You misunderstood,” he re-emphasized and shrugged. “Whatever it was, as good citizens we should try to help each other, and forgive and forget.”
A few weeks later I received my passport. It was a big win. I narrated the incident to my father.
“It’s good news, but you shouldn't have lied about your aunt being a cabinet minister,” was all he said. “It may also be risky at times to make such false claims.”
I wondered about that. Had I not lied, could I have obtained my passport as easily? On second thoughts, I felt that today I might have managed to frighten him by claiming I was a minister’s nephew, but the day wasn’t far when these people wouldn’t fear ministers either. I’d been plain lucky in that sense. Lies made many things easier in life, especially in a country overrun by thieves and criminals. What was wrong if my lie didn’t harm anybody?
But I thought again about what father had said. Maybe he did have a point. Besides being risky- in case someone reported me for masquerading or throwing around weight by claiming false connections- how did it matter whether I got a passport or traveled abroad? It was more important to keep my conscience intact and stay on the path of righteousness. The rewards for falsehoods were small and temporary.
Though I got my passport, I felt little joy at the prospect of possible foreign travel. Shalini's rejection of my proposal and apparent aloofness over phone returned to haunt me with renewed vigor, refusing to subside. On and off it swamped me. It seemed no matter what I did, whether I drove her around during my trips to Delhi, or cured her sister or ran errands for their family, my status wouldn’t change. She’d continue to tolerate me till she wed someone else. It was beginning to look hopeless. Even I was prepared to admit it now.
Life felt dry like a desert without end. I felt drowsy in the mornings, often with no energy left to see the day through. The lethargy was dreary and insurmountable at times. I felt embarrassed to discuss my problem in the open or seek. Maybe, Shalini was not to blame. Perhaps my situation was the result of the subtle levels of mental harassment I was subjected to by my past and present bosses, on top of the raw wounds inflicted by her rejection.
I wondered if I should dive into my homeopathy books and self-prescribe a medicine for myself. I researched a remedy called Lycopodium but hesitated to try it. I’d read somewhere it could produce unexpected results and since it dealt with various internal organs and diseases, I was confused if I should risk taking it, lest it backfire.
I’d administered homeopathic medicines to others since my college days and seen them work successfully. While it might be difficult to view my own disease objectively, I was young and had time on my side. If I remained determined and patient there was no reason not to find a solution to buoy up my spirits.
When I got my first break from my new job at Eleny a few weeks before my annual appraisal, I hurried home, catching the first train out of Bangalore, eager to meet Shalini. I’d missed her during my last break home from Dwapayanan's clutches but hoped to catch her home this time.
However, it turned out she was traveling again and I couldn't meet her. It was quite disappointing. Was she always traveling? It had been a long time since I’d seen her. I’d seen no signs from her side to indicate she was in the least bit interested in continuing interaction with me. I returned to Bangalore heartbroken again.
She was too busy with her career to think of me. No one should fall in love with a career conscious woman, I thought. I felt like a drowning man who surfaced once in a while to suck in mouthfuls of air with the help of Aurum, before slipping into the dark depths again to choke and struggle.
To keep my mind engaged beyond office hours I downloaded some freeware from the internet to learn music sequencing. I didn't tell my boss this time. It was the most productive use of my spare time. Others downloaded songs and videos on their office machines. I only downloaded freeware or trial software. They kept me busy, as I reveled in composing melodious tunes on songs I wrote around my unsuccessful love life.
I’d sit in office late into the evenings after finishing work and learn how to use MIDI arrangers and VST instruments in sequencers to compose musical arrangements. Like me other young people too sat late in the office but I found most watching videos downloaded from the internet or listening to streaming music. On a couple of PC's I also caught sight of pornographic material as I made my way to the dispenser to drink water or the restroom to relieve myself. I usually ignored such people. Each had his own way of looking at life, but the growing depravity in the country’s young folks was nonetheless dismaying.
I worked on my music software diligently. The first of my tunes that I set to music was the song I’d written about my love for Shalini. It was around this time I also got into the habit of storing my musical creations on a personal USB drive.
After I’d settled into my job and made a few friends, I learned the truth behind my hiring more than a year later. Someone told me over lunch in the office cafeteria that my boss's boss was an MSITian too, though not from my alma mater, MSIT Kanpur. I already knew as much. What I didn’t know was that he’d seen my resume, been impressed, short-listed me and desired to give me a break in the private sector. He knew the stuff MSITians were made of. It had been as simple as that. Ramesh had merely carried out his order to please him. That was the reason he’d not asked uncomfortable questions while interviewing me. It was his way of boss management. Do what the boss says to earn your rewards, without factoring in ethical considerations or personal prejudices.
I remembered again how professors had pampered us in college. One had even gone so far as to say, 'Once you've competed successfully in JEE against thousands of other aspirants for the two thousand odd seats in the five MSITs, you've proved yourself once and for all to the world. Remember this always- you've proved yourself once and for all in this life. You're a class apart.'
It was a heady feeling to be an MSITian. There had been only five MSITs at that time, ensuring quality education to the brightest students, unlike the manifold increase in their numbers now. Of late there was a trend to destroy the quality of these institutions by mindlessly increasing the number of MSITs and watering down the selection criteria, so that in the end MSIT graduates would be as mediocre as those who didn’t make it to the MSITs. This country had a way of degrading everything that spoke of quality.
I sympathized with Ramesh. He certainly wouldn't be feeling heady about hiring me blindly, but he hoped to be rewarded by pleasing his boss. He worked for his boss, even if the boss's decisions were wrong. In any case lady luck was on my side, whether their drivers to hire me were right or wrong. This job had come after a barren patch of meager salary at the imaging organization, enabling me to enter the better earning league. I wasn’t complaining.
My boss was the sneaky kind, but didn't mess around with me openly. Things were slowly starting to fall into place. People like these rose in the management hierarchy by using boss management techniques. I was determined not to rise by blindly accepting a superior person's decisions solely on the basis of his seniority to me.
The only solace was that my jobs paid me well progressively, though I realized later in life that they were sugarcoated pins. One didn't need a prestigious MSIT degree or a degree from any other premier institute to go through crap jobs simply to earn money, just as I wouldn't have needed one had I painted my way to fame or sold music successfully for a living. It would be so nice if such realizations dawned on us before we spent away a lifetime in futile pursuits, ultimately turning into hardened realists or frustrated defeatists.
Had I tried, I might have managed both things simultaneously- studied at college as well as painted at the embassy which offered me an opportunity to paint murals during my breaks from college. But I was never worldly wise, and gave up such opportunities too easily. More tha
n once I thus walked away from the gateways leading to fame and fortune, the very things I always sought in the core of my heart. Somehow I was never able to strike the iron when it was hot. A painting career at nineteen may not only have brought me fame and money but would also have undoubtedly impressed my girl, besides scores of others...
Maybe, being perennially late on the scene of success reduced me into a one woman man- though it was something I never regretted. Shalini was the girl I loved through school and the girl I loved through college, and still loved madly, totally wrapped in her thoughts. She had the sweetest smile and the softest words, though on occasions she managed to speak unpalatable things, like when she rejected my proposals for marriage. But despite that I loved her insanely, even after I started work, though with the cringing suspicion that my ardent love affair was without a future.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In my first formal appraisal after over an year- since my first rating within in a quarter of my joining had been a default rating for new joiners- Ramesh gave me an average performance rating. The project had got canceled midway so at first glance his rating seemed fair enough- till I learned he’d given better ratings to a few others in the same project. I’d worked as hard as the rest of them and felt pissed off.
The rating reeked of partiality, possibly guided by his hidden animosity and jealousy of my credentials of belonging to the same fraternity of MSITians as his boss that had led to my recruitment. The project was canceled for everybody, the reason for cancellation being a change in the company's priorities- nothing I had a say in. I wasn’t even in sales. I was in the software maintenance department, called systems, working somewhere in the background. Then why was I singled out in the project to be given an average rating when my teammates got better?
I failed to control my urge to be outspoken and walked into his cubicle. Before locking horns with him I told a couple of peers in the team that I’d make him upgrade my rating. 'Don't get into a confrontation,' one of them cautioned. 'Remember, the boss is always right.' Perhaps he had a point, but I simply had to know the reason behind the unjust rating or I wouldn't be able to rest in peace. That was the problem with my conscience. Just as I couldn’t tolerate wrongs being done to others, I couldn’t tolerate wrongs meted out to me either.
Will She Be Mine? Page 11