"To get your gas cylinder, you'll need a ration card", said Raj. Chandar was perplexed. The last time he checked they didn't sell gas cylinders at the ration shop. He had recently moved to Bombay with his wife and kid and needed to transfer the gas connection from Madras. Technically, he had surrendered the connection and would get a cylinder allotted on that basis. Gas connections were not easy to get but having a 'surrender voucher' was all it should take. So the mention of a ration card threw him for a loop.
"In Bombay", continued Raj, "They do things differently. You have to have a ration card to establish proof of residence". "OK, so I'll apply for one", Chandar said. Raj, with a look bordering on pity, said, "Oh, no, Chandar. It is not that simple. You are renting your flat. Your landlord must be willing to give you a 'no objection certificate'. Good luck getting that. And if you get it, it will still take a couple of months and a lot of persuasion at the rationing office, if you know what I mean, to get a ration card. Even then, you will likely get a temporary card". Most people endorsed this view. One even said that it required the perseverance of Bhagiratha (the legendary king, who through intense penance, had brought river Ganga down to the earth from heavens).
Thus discouraged, a moody Chandar went back home to his family. Their child was only about nine months old and often needed a bottle in the middle of the night. Heating up milk on a kerosene stove took time and made for some trying time as the baby would start crying. As a result, he and his wife were always a little sleep deprived and tended to be cranky. As he dreaded, the first words out of Aarathi's mouth were about the status of the gas connection. He had to break the news to her gently. She did not take it well. "Why don't you go down to the gas agency and try explaining to them?", she asked. Chandar told her what Raj had said. She seemed unconvinced, but said nothing more.
Chandar did some research and found out it was indeed quite difficult to get a ration card for the first time, but slightly easier if you had a previous card. He learned also that his wife's name was still on her family's ration card back in Madras. He arranged for her name to be deleted from that card and a 'Deletion Certificate' sent over to him by express mail. When he saw the certificate, however, his heart sank. Despite the officious sounding name, it was hand-written (in English, luckily) on a quarter sheet that had been torn off a full-sized sheet. The only official looking thing on it was the rubber stamp, but that was in Tamil. It looked fake, but such an amateurish fake that it would be taken as genuine, he reasoned and hoped.
He was now ready to tackle the ration card. When he mentioned this to Raj, the all-knowing Raj advised him to engage one of the touts that usually hang around outside the rationing office to get the card. "It will cost you some money, but it saves you a lot of hassle. Don't even bother going in. You just can't deal with the office staff. The tout will grease the works and get you the card. But don't pay more than Rs. 75". However, another coworker told Chandar that he should just go and talk to the ARO or the Assistant Rationing Officer directly. "Go and speak to him in English. Sometimes that works as he may feel flattered", he said. Raj of course scoffed at the suggestion. "In fact", he warned, "Speaking in English may just put him off" and strongly recommended the tout.
Chandar took the next day off and went to the rationing office. As he got off the auto rickshaw, he was shocked to see a huge crowd. But he was relieved to note that it was actually a political rally that was passing by. Elections were round the corner after the recent assassination of Indira Gandhi. The Congress party was clearly intent on capitalizing on the tragedy with posters proclaiming, 'Boond boond se desh ki raksha'.
The rationing office was an old one-storey building that stood out among the many newer ones around it. As mentioned by Raj, there was a milling crowd outside with a lot of people talking to the so-called touts. Chandar hesitated a little but decided to go inside and try the regular channels. He pushed through the crowd brushing aside the many offers to get him a card the same day and entered the compound. He was surprised to find a kind of urban oasis inside with many trees. The air was cool and the atmosphere peaceful, quite a contrast to the crowd and chaos outside. It was apparently a slow day at the rationing office. The building had tiled roofing and there was a series of windows along a long veranda. He approached the one that had the sign, "Hemant Chavan, ARO". The sign was in Marathi as were all the signs there. Would the staff entertain English here, he wondered. He approached the window with trepidation.
"Hi. I want to apply for a ration card", he said the ARO. To his relief, the ARO replied in English and asked him a few questions. After listening to Chandar's story, he asked if he had a ration card in his name anywhere or if his name was on someone's card. Chandar replied in the negative to both. "Please write a letter certifying to that and bring it to me", he said finally. Chandar quickly did as he was told. The ARO took the letter and the deletion certificate. He wrote something on the margin and then handed them back to him along with an application form. He asked Chandar to fill up the form and take it to Counter 5.
Chandar was elated as getting the form, surely, was a major breakthrough. But the form was in Marathi. While he could read the script, thanks to having learned Sanskrit, and could survive in Bombay with his broken Hindi, Marathi was a different story. As he was looking the form over from side to side trying to figure out words like 'aayu' and 'mulga', he saw the clerk at Counter 5 beckon to him. He had guessed Chandar's plight and to his surprise, offered to fill out the form for him. Chandar was relieved and gave the answers to the questions in Hindi. The clerk smiled as he took down the address. "My cousin too lives in the same building", he said to Chandar. That seemed to seal the deal. Chandar could come back in a week and pick up the card subject to verification. As he took the receipt and walked out, Chandar could not believe what had happened. Perhaps these government workers do not deserve the bad reputation they have, he thought.
He decided to go the gas agency and try his luck there too. Even though he did not have the ration card, the receipt might do the trick. At the gas agency, the moment he produced the Surrender Voucher from Madras, the sales clerk flipped it over and asked, "What's your address?" and wrote it down. He was then asked to to pay the deposit and just like that, he got his new gas connection! This was unbelievable. There was absolutely no demand for the ration card. The clerk then proceeded to ask Chandar if he wanted to apply for a second cylinder and Chandar had to grip the desk to keep from falling. Of course he wanted to apply and he did.
After all the formalities were through, Chandar asked when the gas cylinder would be delivered. The clerk told him that the delivery staff were on strike and he could not say. "Ah, my luck has at last run out", thought Chandar, but luck as still on his side. The clerk then added, "If you like, you can just go to the warehouse and pick it up yourself".
Thus it was that Chandar arrived home by an auto rickshaw with the gas cylinder. He was eager to surprise Aarathi and managed to carry the cylinder by himself up four flights of stairs (the auto driver refused to help). This was real hard work. He had to pause at every landing to catch his breath. He felt a wave of sympathy for the striking delivery boys and made a note to himself to tip them well the next time they delivered.
At last, he reached his door and let out a weary but triumphant sigh. He felt quite the same way a caveman might have felt when dragging home a kill. Aarathi squealed with delight on seeing the red cylinder and asked him how he had managed to get it. When he explained all that had happened, she said, "So you're telling me that you could have done this two weeks ago. And all this time I have been struggling", deflating his smug satisfaction in an instant. It was not quite the hero's welcome he had hoped for. But she added softly, "Well, you carried that thing all the way up here. Why don't you rest up? I'll make you a nice cup of chai on the gas stove".
The next day at work, Raj all but fainted when he heard the story. And Chandar became a legend of sorts for obtaining the ration card without resorting to touts.
"In Bombay", continued Raj, "They do things differently. You have to have a ration card to establish proof of residence". "OK, so I'll apply for one", Chandar said. Raj, with a look bordering on pity, said, "Oh, no, Chandar. It is not that simple. You are renting your flat. Your landlord must be willing to give you a 'no objection certificate'. Good luck getting that. And if you get it, it will still take a couple of months and a lot of persuasion at the rationing office, if you know what I mean, to get a ration card. Even then, you will likely get a temporary card". Most people endorsed this view. One even said that it required the perseverance of Bhagiratha (the legendary king, who through intense penance, had brought river Ganga down to the earth from heavens).
Thus discouraged, a moody Chandar went back home to his family. Their child was only about nine months old and often needed a bottle in the middle of the night. Heating up milk on a kerosene stove took time and made for some trying time as the baby would start crying. As a result, he and his wife were always a little sleep deprived and tended to be cranky. As he dreaded, the first words out of Aarathi's mouth were about the status of the gas connection. He had to break the news to her gently. She did not take it well. "Why don't you go down to the gas agency and try explaining to them?", she asked. Chandar told her what Raj had said. She seemed unconvinced, but said nothing more.
Chandar did some research and found out it was indeed quite difficult to get a ration card for the first time, but slightly easier if you had a previous card. He learned also that his wife's name was still on her family's ration card back in Madras. He arranged for her name to be deleted from that card and a 'Deletion Certificate' sent over to him by express mail. When he saw the certificate, however, his heart sank. Despite the officious sounding name, it was hand-written (in English, luckily) on a quarter sheet that had been torn off a full-sized sheet. The only official looking thing on it was the rubber stamp, but that was in Tamil. It looked fake, but such an amateurish fake that it would be taken as genuine, he reasoned and hoped.
He was now ready to tackle the ration card. When he mentioned this to Raj, the all-knowing Raj advised him to engage one of the touts that usually hang around outside the rationing office to get the card. "It will cost you some money, but it saves you a lot of hassle. Don't even bother going in. You just can't deal with the office staff. The tout will grease the works and get you the card. But don't pay more than Rs. 75". However, another coworker told Chandar that he should just go and talk to the ARO or the Assistant Rationing Officer directly. "Go and speak to him in English. Sometimes that works as he may feel flattered", he said. Raj of course scoffed at the suggestion. "In fact", he warned, "Speaking in English may just put him off" and strongly recommended the tout.
Chandar took the next day off and went to the rationing office. As he got off the auto rickshaw, he was shocked to see a huge crowd. But he was relieved to note that it was actually a political rally that was passing by. Elections were round the corner after the recent assassination of Indira Gandhi. The Congress party was clearly intent on capitalizing on the tragedy with posters proclaiming, 'Boond boond se desh ki raksha'.
The rationing office was an old one-storey building that stood out among the many newer ones around it. As mentioned by Raj, there was a milling crowd outside with a lot of people talking to the so-called touts. Chandar hesitated a little but decided to go inside and try the regular channels. He pushed through the crowd brushing aside the many offers to get him a card the same day and entered the compound. He was surprised to find a kind of urban oasis inside with many trees. The air was cool and the atmosphere peaceful, quite a contrast to the crowd and chaos outside. It was apparently a slow day at the rationing office. The building had tiled roofing and there was a series of windows along a long veranda. He approached the one that had the sign, "Hemant Chavan, ARO". The sign was in Marathi as were all the signs there. Would the staff entertain English here, he wondered. He approached the window with trepidation.
"Hi. I want to apply for a ration card", he said the ARO. To his relief, the ARO replied in English and asked him a few questions. After listening to Chandar's story, he asked if he had a ration card in his name anywhere or if his name was on someone's card. Chandar replied in the negative to both. "Please write a letter certifying to that and bring it to me", he said finally. Chandar quickly did as he was told. The ARO took the letter and the deletion certificate. He wrote something on the margin and then handed them back to him along with an application form. He asked Chandar to fill up the form and take it to Counter 5.
Chandar was elated as getting the form, surely, was a major breakthrough. But the form was in Marathi. While he could read the script, thanks to having learned Sanskrit, and could survive in Bombay with his broken Hindi, Marathi was a different story. As he was looking the form over from side to side trying to figure out words like 'aayu' and 'mulga', he saw the clerk at Counter 5 beckon to him. He had guessed Chandar's plight and to his surprise, offered to fill out the form for him. Chandar was relieved and gave the answers to the questions in Hindi. The clerk smiled as he took down the address. "My cousin too lives in the same building", he said to Chandar. That seemed to seal the deal. Chandar could come back in a week and pick up the card subject to verification. As he took the receipt and walked out, Chandar could not believe what had happened. Perhaps these government workers do not deserve the bad reputation they have, he thought.
He decided to go the gas agency and try his luck there too. Even though he did not have the ration card, the receipt might do the trick. At the gas agency, the moment he produced the Surrender Voucher from Madras, the sales clerk flipped it over and asked, "What's your address?" and wrote it down. He was then asked to to pay the deposit and just like that, he got his new gas connection! This was unbelievable. There was absolutely no demand for the ration card. The clerk then proceeded to ask Chandar if he wanted to apply for a second cylinder and Chandar had to grip the desk to keep from falling. Of course he wanted to apply and he did.
After all the formalities were through, Chandar asked when the gas cylinder would be delivered. The clerk told him that the delivery staff were on strike and he could not say. "Ah, my luck has at last run out", thought Chandar, but luck as still on his side. The clerk then added, "If you like, you can just go to the warehouse and pick it up yourself".
Thus it was that Chandar arrived home by an auto rickshaw with the gas cylinder. He was eager to surprise Aarathi and managed to carry the cylinder by himself up four flights of stairs (the auto driver refused to help). This was real hard work. He had to pause at every landing to catch his breath. He felt a wave of sympathy for the striking delivery boys and made a note to himself to tip them well the next time they delivered.
At last, he reached his door and let out a weary but triumphant sigh. He felt quite the same way a caveman might have felt when dragging home a kill. Aarathi squealed with delight on seeing the red cylinder and asked him how he had managed to get it. When he explained all that had happened, she said, "So you're telling me that you could have done this two weeks ago. And all this time I have been struggling", deflating his smug satisfaction in an instant. It was not quite the hero's welcome he had hoped for. But she added softly, "Well, you carried that thing all the way up here. Why don't you rest up? I'll make you a nice cup of chai on the gas stove".
The next day at work, Raj all but fainted when he heard the story. And Chandar became a legend of sorts for obtaining the ration card without resorting to touts.
