Ever since I left Indian shores, I was always of the view that I aint gonna talk like stereotypes. No matter what amount of time I spent abroad, my affinity towards motherland will remain unshaken. However though the litmus test brought in negative shades and that just happened in 3 years.
I was part of this system for 23 long years, and boy it wasn’t a ride of an idealist sort. Always heard about the rampage of corruption that prevails in India. But after experiencing a few years of honest and clean administration abroad all this ends up with an itchy feeling every time I encounter the desi system.
Everything that needs to be done, finds itself juggling between a number of desks until it sees fruition. And not to mention the unwilling instance to depart with money under the guise of chai-pani. Not so impressive is the tale with a Mumbai Police official outside UAE Consulate. Had been there to attest my prestigious Bachelor’s Degree after 5 years. The first impression then was an out of the world experience. I was greeted by the Police officer at the gates, with all the warmth and kindness that I did not expect to find. Just like you’d anticipate from the receptionist of a Multinational. So there I was walking in awe of the hospitality extended and mind you, those weren’t polite words alone, but procedural information extended in addition for my convenience.
I had a change of heart and thought towards Mumbai Police and felt some things do change and of all did their ways. But once a wise man said... People might have many faces, you will encounter the real one while you are shown the door. As proverbial it may get, I faced the same polite and altruist officer on my way out. This time I was greeted with “Sir is the work done? can we have some chai-pani...” and unabashedly he pointed me to a newspaper on the desk... asked me to leave a sum of my liking inside. The point was not that he asked for something unusual, but the deception of service and the resultant expectation.
Taken aback was I and with an intent to register the protest, I did say “India kabhi to badlega” sounding like an idealist. All this said and exchanged only to realise that the juvenile idealist in me hasn’t moved a thing in him. What I got back was his witty repartee “tum kya akele India badloge...” Sensing that he was right in some alternate sense, I still mustered the courage and snarled, “Kahin na kahin se toh shuruat karni padegi...”. Despite knowing that I’d bite dust, I still gave in the dialogue.
I thought I’d done enough to silence him, but then I was probed whether I was from Delhi... And my nay affirmed him that I was an old horse Mumbaikar... somehow the conversation lasted two more minutes. And I left with an ugly feeling, since I had to return the next time to collect the document.
All the way home, it was a war between the cynic and the idealist in me. What concluded in the end were some constructs based on the observation, experience and a partly dead hope.
- India is too big a nation to expect and accept change.
- Though there is hope from this generation and the next, but there are a substantial predecessor still alive and not wanting to part with their way of life.
- People are forced to be corrupt because the salary they draw doesn’t suffice in this inflation. Hence to make ends meet, bribery will prevail.
- I once proposed that the British left two things in India while leaving, one was English, the other was Cricket, but now I know the Red-Tapism and Bureaucracy quantifiably qualify.
- Lastly for every hopeful believer and idealist there are two steadfast on the dark side. Not at all a promising situation.
So no matter what and how much you despise, certain things are there to stay until the next five decades or so.
Incidentally when I approached the office the next time, I still found the same officer smiling at me and making another uncanny move coated with hospitality less expectations. I was determined to remain the idealist, went straight in, did the work and was about to leave. Unexpectedly though, I had a change of heart, my hand dived in the pocket, pulled out a Rs. 50 note and met his. All this for no reason and yet for a reason. What moved me was not the absence of greed the second time, but the genuine humility with which I thought he recognized me.
And then I came home... thought of life abroad minus this babugiri, corruption and God knows what. Took me sometimes to come to term with the fact that, I’d like life much simpler and easier the next time I face such chores. And to me the answer meant hopping into a flight leaving for another destination, but India.
With that a hope crushed... a thought discontinued... In the end the NRI survived and the idealist in me was DEAD...
