A Visit To The Rto Is Joy For Ever

Removing Hypothecation...

What next? Asked my better half as I heaved a sigh of satisfaction [read relief] having been able to finally settle the overdraft we had foolishly gone for at a time when we had just 3 installments to clear before finally qualifying to be the absolute proud owner of our Maruti 800. No HP... No nothing... No HP did I say...? Aaah this is the only hurdle we'll have to clear before calling our Maruti 800 ours I told my wife as I called up an old aquantance who was now a 'Buy-n-Sell' automobile dealer.

After a couple of "Jhalak dikhlaa ja...Jhalak dikhlaa ja..." on the mobile its masters voice finally made an appearance. After rutine two or three "Aur sunao kya ho raha hai?"  I found the iron hot to hammer my Kaam to him. "Bus Teen chaar Hazaar ka kharcha hai... tumhara  kaam ho jaayega... jab bole larka bhej dunga bus aap kaagaz aur note usko de dena, and within three or four days, you'll get your smart card."

"Teen, Char Hazaar S#$L%, friend banke friend ko loota hai..." I murmerred somewhere in my mind as I heard myself telling him yaar abhi to paisa thora tight hai, aagle mahine milta hun.." after a couple of "...aur batao sab thik thaak.." I still don't remember, if it was he or it was me who disconnected the phone first.

I immediately went to do what I do just after the best... look up the www for more info on HP removal... I had a plethora of info feeds all saying I could get the job done accross the table, the same day in just few hundred bucks. I was now even more determined to get the job done myself.

Armed with all [to the best of my knowledge and belief] documents, one fine morning I hired a three wheeler scooter to the battle field at Sarai Kaale Khan in Delhi. Battle field...? no no... it would be unfair to brand the RTO office a battle field. The local RTO office is a 'Peethasthaan'  (School) of learning and a visit, I discovered, is joy for ever.

At the RTO, they work very meticulously and give you information in parts and installments ensuring that you don't go wrong in any way. It helps one save time and energy.

With me, first they asked me for the Car's reg. papers, then the Insurance cover then the PUCC. When all these were found in order, the guy behind the window asked me for address proof. It had to be a drivers license or the voters I card. I said I had both with me and asked him which was more appropriate. With a bored look he said, "koi bhi chalega, get them xeroxed and come back tomorrow."

I knew I had to submit xerox copies of these documents and I had thought I would get them xeroxed somewhere near by the Kalekhan RTO. This is where I started going wrong. Half an hours recee of the area led me to find 7 to 8 shops with boards that read XEROX. But only a couple of them had working machines, the rest had switched business to running the more profitable STD/ ISD booth. While the first of the two shops with working xerox machines was closed  because of "lait nai hai!!" the second 1 block away was partially closed. "come back after half an hour" cooed a cute thing from behind the curtained partition to my "Koi hay?" .

I thanked my luck when after following directions from the locals I found the 9th shop open. By this time I had already put to use my precious 20 minutes. As my papers were being xeroxed in duplicate, I was contemplating if it would have been wiser to wait the half an hour at the cute's shop ;).

Armed with all the documents I marched back to the submission window at the RTA.  The bored guy  glanced at me with a " So you are back again" look. Scared that he would admonish me for coming back, I hesitantly said to him.. " Ssir, the documents have been xeroxed... here they are, please..." even before I could finish, he sprung up saying " Arre Bhaiyya, I told you to come back tomorrow, now who is going to get these attested? Wait a minute, whose Id is this? The name on the registration paper is of a female and the Id proof is of a male. Get the Id proof of the person whose name appears of the registration papers."

I tried to reason," Sir I'm the husband of the car owner who is at present  posted in another state, and more over this is only for HP removal, so pls see if my Id proof can get the work done. See this is a photocopy of my wifes Identity Card and it also carries a M/o Home Affairs Seal. So pls see if there is a way out". "NO NO No." pat came the answer " The papers have to be attested, and the owner has to come personally to get the thing done."  But Sir, that will be a long time. she will not be here till the winter vacations in December and we'll be on vacation during the vacation" I whined in vain.  "Then come back after the vacations. How do I know if you are the husband and not a terrorist.? what will happen if something goes wrong? you say yur wife is in MHA and you dont know the procedure? At the most, I can have your work done if you can get  an affidavit from your wife granting you power of attorney for the purpose. and, remember it has to be on a NJSP." said the clerk. "Sir you are the boss here so pls use your discretionery powers to have this work done. please.. I assure, you will go home a stisfied person, its my personal guarantee. It will make my 1/2 day leave worth the effort" I pleaded. The guy shoved back the papers at me with a strange look as if to say S*#LA must be on some kind of sting on me, thinks I'm a fool..."

Thinking that any further nudging may prompt him to ask for my marraige certificate in original, I retreated with one last question... " Sir, kitna fees laagega iske saath?". "Chaar Sau Sattar... tabh jaake iska smarat carad banega" came the reply. Without another word I walked out of the RTA exit gate happy to have been able to extract information more than I had asked for.

The above is a hilarious presentation of what I faced while trying to get the Bank HP removed from our car papers....and not aimed for serious discussion, though comments and observations are most welcome.... I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this.... :D

A Painting With A Pinch Of Nostalgia

Live and Let Live...

A never ending long goods train blocked what was my 'green channel' to the other side of the railway tracks. A flat rectangular piece of land bordered by chalk dust across the banana laden goods train announced a nondescript station called Naya Azadpur. A man sitting on the stone aggregates nearby and who had kept a steady gaze on me for as long as I waited and waite for the goods train to move away, finally announced “ Saab, gardi ke neechey se line paar kar lo.... yeh gardi toh shaam tak bhi nahi hilegi...”. “Sir, cross the tracks from below the goods carriage... this train is not going to move... its going to stay here this way all day....”. I pointed to the diesel loco at the far end which I thought was rearing to go. “ No no its not going to move till I wave the flag.... and I'll only wave the flag after the train has been unloaded.....” The Railway official smiled at me displaying the rolled up green in his hand. Gingerly I gathered my bags and stooping low, began to cross the carriage with the huge shining wheels ready to screech into motion without warning..... a multitude of thoughts good an bad overcame me as the few seconds taken to cross over to the other side of the carriage weighed upon me like eternity. I noticed that there were others like me who slipped below the carriage to the other side like a common ritual.

In front of me was Kela Godam (Banana Godown) in Asia's Largest vegetable market Azadpur Mandi. The pale yellow snowcemed three storeyed structures forming the skyline beyond announced my new abode. The smell of fresh fruit and vegetables accompanied by a warm breeze took my thoughts away from the distance I quietly covered to Shalimar Bagh, where my late father, had bought a flat for us about 4 decades ago. I was in Lucknow studying Architecture and was not there when Dad had moved in to the new house. Not that I had never visited the new house before I walked my way that day. I had often accompanied my father on his 72 model Lambretta as he used to visit the place in order to make it comfortable for living. Since at the time of allotment, the place was in total wilderness and devoid of population, there was no urgency to shift to the new place. However about 5 years later when the family finally decided to shift, I was in Lucknow due for the annual exams. So finally I was making it to our own home....

As I climbed the stairs I heard a cacophoney on the far end of the wall near the landing of the stairs three floors above from the ground. A sparrow couple was fighting a vicious battle to stave off a couple of larger mynah type of birds (Shaliks in Bengali) who were attracted to a small niche on the wall. Climbing up the stairs, I knew what the matter was. In the niche the sparrows had made their home an had even laid eggs, but, even before I had refreshed myself from the journey, the larger birds had managed to steal the eggs. Later that afternoon, I climbed on the sunshade, where a water tank stands now, above which the niche was and found that the niche had a large opening and every time the sparrows laid eggs, a crow or some other bird would steal them with impunity. The urge to build secure shelter for every one, over came my fear of height or vertigo and I decided to make that niche as safe and as secure for the sparrows. With a chisel and hammer and some cement and a plastic bottle with one end cut off and the opening just enough for a sparrow to move in, I built a shelter for my little friends... a shelter in the true sense of the word and also my first piece of work in the profession. My parents were not too optimistic about the birds returning to the new habitat, but I kept my fingers crossed. My effort was rewarded the next day when I found a tail peeping out of the narrow opening.... I was simple as elated as a student in architecture who had built is first ever project could be.

The small niche has remained in its place and has seen generations of winged friends... sparrows breed from it for decades, till some years ago when sparrows suddenly disappeared. It was only a few days ago before the Holi of 2012, a chirping caught my attention.... I found a sparrow couple perched on the GI pipe in front of the protected niche chirping happily.... I don't know whether to celebrate or contemplate.... Have the sparrows finally won their battle for survival in the urban jungle?..... The pictures below tell a tale for our children.... “Live and Let Live....”

Can't believe it happened to me...

Oh God!!! Can't believe it happened to me...

Earlier this year my cousin had flown from Canada to visit her ailing father and my ailing mom. My Uncle now retired from the Armed Forces, always had a bag full of tales to keep us, entertained, when all relatives used to get together in big family reunions during the vacations. Most often than not, my late Aunt used to wink and let us know which of his tales were reel life. This ritual had continued for a long time till about the time we began to grow up and learnt to fend for our selves and fly away from the nest. So when heard that my Uncle was ill, I wanted to be with him along with my cousins for some time. My other cousin, was flying from Ahmadabad and I joined him on the flight from Delhi.

His tales connected mostly with travel were the ones I remember most. Tales of how he missed his train in spite of reaching the station on the date of travel only to realise that the train was scheduled at a very early hour of the day which in plain terms would have been a very unearthly midnight hour for a commoner, has remain with us as never ending food for humour. And, after every such tale we would tell ourselves in the mind “I will never let this happen to me...”

My Maternal Uncles must have thought the same as I thought, but, how serious they were in their resolve, was revealed when one morning, my late Dad, picked up the phone and was surprised to hear one of my maternal Uncles announcing that they were heading for Delhi instead of Nainital and that too in a Bus. My job was to intercept the bus on arrival and I must pick them up. The sudden change in plans and destination Delhi and that too by Bus... I had already started to smell humour in the offing.

Apparently, my relatives had planned their trip to Nainital via Lucknow followed by Kathgodam They arrived at Lucknow in the early morn of a bright and sunny day. Since their connecting train to Kathgodam was past mid night, they had plenty of time with them for a quick round-up of the City. They were inspired from a blog that I had written on how after completing my work, I had managed a sight seeing of the City before boarding the late night train to Delhi. “Nawabi Dawat” after a whirlwind round up of the city, they packed some food packed for the train journey and trooped back to the station a couple of hours before the train was due. One of my Uncles thought of enquiring from the enquiry counter if the train was on time. It was here that they realised that their train to Kathgodam had departed at the right time that day, exactly at 0:05 hrs. Well just after midnight. In simple words, they had missed their early morning connecting train. Now the next best destination that came to the mind, was Delhi. Without any second thoughts, they boarded a private bus to Delhi.

This time the laughter was at the cost of my maternal Uncles and Aunt (all very eminent personalities in their respective professions). I announced that since I normally prefer driving to my travel destinations, I am to a great extent, immune to such agonising situations. The last time when I faced a similar situation was on my way to Shimla. The Himalayan Queen was late by thirty minutes and the toy train I had booked was due to depart 15 minutes before the anticipated arrival. The train attendant had assured us that the toy train would only depart 15 minutes after the Himalayan Queen reached Kalka. Sure thing, The Toy Train was waiting for us. So, I never thought that any thing like missing a train could occur with me. However, I would have never known that there could be anyone who thought otherwise, had my family not decided to go on a vacation to North East this year.

The planning started well in advance and my better half roped in my Sister in law and her family for the trip. The destination and the days were frozen, but, since I would not be able to accompany them it was decided to cut short the trip to just 8 days. Tickets were booked about two months in advance and all that was left now was to plan on how to make most out of the eight days. With due respects to all who matter, I knew that since this was almost an all female outing there would be chaos and lots of it just before the d day and also during the trip, so I was not taking any chances. I also started stocking not only for the trip but also for the house hold which would then be under my command. With meticulous detailing, I started with medicines followed by coffee pouches, tea pouches, powdered milk, sugar, maps, travel Info literature, travel gears, clothings, memory cards for the cameras, batteries for the cameras, Cameras, chargers, mobile phones a four way power strip, a multi plug power adaptor, cello tapes, duct tapes, cosmetics etc., etc. Finally with every thing in control, all that was left to do was to prepare a day to day “to-do” list for them and keep waiting for the D-Day.

Finally a day before the D-Day, I sat with my daughters, detailing them with travel plans, dates of travel, times of trains, what they were to carry in their back packs and what they were to carry in the AT strolly. My better half is usually always too busy for these kind of details. Since NE Express is an early morning train from Delhi, incidentally, the only reason we were able to secure reservation when all others were fully booked, we called it an early day but not before I called up our ever dependable Surinder Singh, the cabbie who usually took the girls to school for his services. My Sister in law and her family would reach the station separately from their South Delhi abode.

Surinder Singh honked his presence sharp at 5 am. The girls (includes my wife who was more active than ever frolicking around with my children... needed to be seen to be believed) were all ready. We trooped into the waiting cab. We covered the distance to Old Delhi Station which would other wise take at least 40 minutes in barely 15 minutes. By 5:30am we were on the platform. We now had about 35 minutes with us before the scheduled departure. Well a departure that could take place only after the arrival of the rake. There was a train on the designated platform and the electronic information board announced it was Brahmaputra Mail. “OMG... Brahmaputra Mail is running so late....” I heard myself tell my wife, in the overwhelming cacophony of voices, standing in front of a unreserved compartment. The Platform was jam packed with people jostling with each other. A pall of strange odour from stale body odours mixed with smell of stale sweat and that emanating from the golden yellow left overs on the tracks from under the coach wash rooms, hung over the place. Occasional whiffs stale perfumes fought a losing battle to overcome the stench. I asked a porter where the AC compartment would be and as quickly as possible I moved with my family in the direction he had pointed. On the way we found a a spot with an embedded waiting bench which was strangely vacant. Promptly we occupied it. I took this as a good omen, because this was the first time in my over three decades in the City, that not only my family but even I managed to find a vacant bench in any one of its railway stations. Happy in the mind, we waited patiently for the Brahmaputra Mail to depart.

As we waited patiently my better half ranted on my incorrigible “too early” to the station habit. There was reason for her rantings. She had left behind her spectacles in the early morn hurry. I tried to pacify her saying that I would courier it and that her spects would certainly reach her before she started for Gangtok from Coochbehar. Once in a while a passenger with a strolly in tow or another with a chain of kids and a wife in tow could be seen scurrying from one end of the platform to the other. I could hear my better half telling the girls that the frequency of such sudden “realisational” rush would increase as the time for departure came near. My children giggled every time the spectacle repeated its self. I was starting to get restless. The departure time of NE Express was nearing and still there was no sign of the rake I was beginning to worry if we were on the right platform. An announcement on the PA system confirmed that we were on the right platform, but where on the Earth was the rake?

We were still waiting when I spotted a railway official pasting list of passengers on the coaches of Brahmaputra Mail. This looked strange. The lists should have been pasted as soon as the rake entered the platform. “I hope this fellow is sticking the passenger list on the right”, I told myself as I rose from my new found throne and proceeded to check out what list he was pasting. It was then that I realised that the rake in front of which we had been waiting for the last 30 minutes was not Brahmaputra Mail, but was NE Express. Well the stage had turned upon us. It was time we started scurrying... A man with a extra large strolly behind him and three ladies in tow.... I was smiling in my mind thinking the amusement some other passengers like us were having at our cost. But, all that was not important, with barely 5 minutes in hand, I was desperately trying to reach the first AC coach, so that at the worst, my family would be on board the train and they could eventually find their coach moving through the vestibules. Barely two minutes in hand we found the coach. Luckily the coach was the very first one we reached and the seats in the very first coupe.

It was only as I began to deboard the train that the realisation dawned up on us that my in-laws were still missing. My better half looked at me with blank face when I asked her “Where are they?” A flurry of frantic calls and teleconferencing between my sister in law and my wife, my children and their son, my spouses brother in law and yours faithfully on one mobile phone and my brother in law on another mobile phone, and, who was at his home packing for his train to Bhubaneshwar later in the day, revealed that my relatives had finally managed to reach the station in time. Almost at the same time the coach jerked into a motion commencing the journey. With the sound of horns slowly fading away, the train rolled away from me faster and faster. I followed it till I reached the staircase from the over bridge, at a time when the guards compartment overtook me. At the top of the staircase, I found my spouse's brother in law panting downwards with my nephew and sister in law in tow behind the porter he had hired. As I pointed towards the 'X' that was gradually zooming out, without any words exchanged, my spouses brother in law rushed past me in hot pursuit of the 'X' that was moving away from us more swiftly than ever before. The strange look on his face was like as if asking me what prevented me from holding that train a minute longer. Only one more person who was in hot pursuit was the porter he had hired. My Sister in law and my nephew joined me at the foot of the staircase watching in disbelief that this was happening to us.

A minute later, I don't know if it was the end of the platform or it was “happy realisation” that there was no use fighting a lost battle that my spouses brother in law suddenly decided to stop and turn back. With him stopped his man Friday clad in Red Shirt and a white dhoti (loin cloth) that didn't give way in spite of the valiant run. With a bag tucked under each of Friday's arms and a strolly that had been taking a happy stroll sitting on his head, slowly returned our soldiers bruised by humiliation but not defeated. A battle had been lost but certainly not the War. A onlooker advised us to rush to Ghaziabad, where we would probably intercept this train. Off bolted our man with a shocking red back pack on his back and a red porter following him along with two grown ups and a child in tow... it looked like a flick right out of a comedy film. While we were rushing out of the station, I was conferencing with my better half on the train and a friends off the train. I had shoved into my daughter's back pack copies of the relevant pages of the time table. My wife had told me that they were not need. Now I was slowly complementing myself as she referred to the pages as we zeroed on to Tundla the nearest station an d the most sure one from where my relatives could board this train. The next best option would be to try and intercept it at Kanpur. But, now the problem was how to reach Tundla. The time table came handy again. We found out that Kalka Mail follows this train for quite some time before overtaking it just before reaching Tundla. NE Express had a long stop at Tundla, giving them enough time to catch up. But, by the time all this realisation settled in, my in-laws had almost reached Ghaziabad (20 mins flat incredible speed the cabbie had driven) and I was on my way back home on the Metro.

While I was explaining the situation to my spouses brother in-law, I over heard my wife on my other phone say “we just passed by them, we just passed them... they are standing on the platform....”. “Pull the Chain...” was my immediate response because I thought this to be the best inconvenience to save a lot of other inconveniences. On the other phone my spouses brother in law was yelling “pull the chain....pull the chain....” it was only after he had calmed down that I could tell him that I could not pull the chain because I was on board the Delhi Metro headed for home and not on the North East Express he was chasing. All said and done, my in-laws managed to board the Kalka Mail from Ghaziabad and were finally on their way to Gangtok... well not really so till they overtook North East Express. The TT on Kalka Mail was cooperative and had spoken to the TT on NE Express on wireless. Almost the same time I de boarded the Metro train, my better half informed me that the TT on NE had come to inform her that her 'consignment' was safe and on board Kalka Mail and will be delivered at Tundla.

I still can't believe that this happened to me well... us..... ME.... sitting for minutes in front of the train to board yet almost managing to miss it..... and... US.... we managed to play a role we never thought we would ever play..... five people in a row chasing a train......

The comedy of errors however didn't end here. On another train my brother in law ( my wife's brother) who had left for Bhubaneshwar with his in laws on Bhubaneshwar Rajdhani Express later the same day, hit the highest by managing to do the impossible.... Pull the Chain... Privy to our teleconferencing, the idea of pulling the chain in an emergency was embedded in the back of his mind, it erupted when the train they were on decided to leave behind his Father in Law , who had stepped out for a stroll on a station. Like a worthy son in law, my brother in law pulled the chain.... the train came to a sudden halt sending shock waves far and near. Within minutes, all sorts of security personnel, some carrying AK47 and others with SLRs and yet others with just the “laathis” (canes). Train staff, station staff, engineers and every one, one can think of graced the occasion breathing “whys and you know what this can cost you...” on his neck and sharing nasty expressions as bonus.... cooolllll.... so folks except for the one in the Lavatory, please don't pull any other chains, particularly when travelling on Rajdhanis.

All who have been with me so long, please do not disclose this to my cousins.... my over 45 years of unblemished travel history is now in your hands.