'Oh These Indians, I Tell You!'

Yesterday, I spent the whole day in London - at the Indian High Commission to be precise...

The Job: Getting a notarised copy of a Power of Attorney Document.

The Intent:  Dilution of autonomy over my financial affairs so that my parents can make my life more easier than what they have already made by also taking over my financial mess and straightening it for me in my absence...

Getting a two minute job done just took an entire day...and thats thanks to a very sluggish bureaucratic procedure and a massive congregation of Indians - making the India House's Consular Affairs office look like a Kumbh mela pandhal.

By the time my train arrived at London Victoria and I tunnelled my way through to Covent Garden by the tube, the clock had struck 10.30...And then, there I was, in Central London, a little lost child with my heavy backpack ( my backpack even when not packed is heavy and does a credible job of making me look like I have the burden of the world on my shoulders)- trying to figure out where exactly I was standing (in general) and the way to India House(in particular)...Google Maps had given me precise directions, including the minutes that it should take me from the station - when I was still not where I should be at the said time, I decided to ask for directions...After all, if I could read a map, I'd have some sense of direction to where my life was headed!!!

That's where I stumbled on 

Revelation 1: It does not matter how long you have lived in London, ask anyone on the street who looks self-assured and you can see the rapid change in him into a confused, blubbering soul - who first attempts to make the GPS on his mobile phone work to help him locate himself, then fishes out his London map from the leather attache and when all fails, looks at you blankly and says, Well..this is Aldwych..the India House must be somewhere nearby....

Well, thanks buster, I thought to myself, as I scrambled like the White Rabbit of Alice in Wonderland, worried about making it to the High Commission in time to get my dirty deed notarised...

Revelation 2: Just because you are in London, don't expect the Indian embassy to look regal and royal, like how you tend to glamorise India when not there...The location is 'very tony' like the Brits call it, and it's bang behind the stately and palatial Australia House- where you can see a lot of comfortble sofas and cozy cushions through the tall glass windows - the India House is all stone too, with different enclosures for 'Private Visitors', a 'Main Entrane' and the entry to the 'Cattle Shed' as I will henceforth call the Office for Consular Affairs, PIO and other similar abbreviations...but that's where the difference between the Western World and Third World kicks in...

Revelation 3: A cattle shed is what a cattle shed does...The lines for a token to enter the hallowed cattledom was five men deep and nearly a kilometre long, just that it was organised to look like a wriggly serpent...Near one of the outer windows, by which the queue snaked, you notice copious amounts of plastic waste - supermarket bags, discarded foil wraps of potato chips, sandwich bags- and even tabloids...truly Indian, isnt it - especially when there was a pristine looking trash can, barely used just about 50 steps away....


Revelation 4: No two Indians can stand next to each other without one thinking that the other is trying to get a better deal out of a rotten situation - so there is fierce distrust of anyone's motive to chat the other up..


Revelation 5: Never trust an Indian to follow the rules of the queue, not try to coax someone two rounds ahead of him to pick up a token for him too...and brazenly cut across all the stupid cattle assembled there and make a beeline for the token counter as if his Dad set India House up...


Revelation 6: 4 and 5 are self-explanatory, 6 is where the Gujjus decide to make snide comments about the Punju couple standing ahead of them and the Sardars deciding to share some jokes across two rounds to someone they just nodded a greeting too...In effect, utter pandemonium in about 10 languages and already small camps emerging within a group waiting for a small piece of chit that tells them they are the 85th person to want similar service on the same day..


Revelation 7: The UK-born Indian will treat the entire experience of standing in a queue waiting for his turn to be a fate worse than being sentenced to life term in Guantanamo Bay and will proceed to make a nuisance of himself by talking in his 'Oh-so-unbearable Northern (read York and beyond) Twat' accent to his buddy- who's making him 'jealous' by bragging about his second beer by noon...

Revelation 8: The woman at the token counter couldn't care two hoots if you missed the 12 oclock deadline by 1/10th of a second, she will still look at you sourly as if you were the fishbone the cat dropped on her priced carpet...and fling a badly torn and printed token at you and expect you to whimper with gratitude


Revelation 9: At no point of time, will anyone tell you what is expected to be done. It's a Blind Man's Bluff...You can wait in the queue for 3 hours before you get to the end where you speak to some low minion of the Ministry who thinks he's the Ambassador's Private Secretary...by the way he also takes particular sadistic thrill in rubbing your nose in something you overlooked...and double pleasure in making you run two blocks to get one photocopied document..


Revelation 10: No place in India or abroad, with Indians in the vicinity can be a disciplined, smoothly functioning place....There will be loud shouts, fierce arguments and rude shove and jolts as people move towards their token call...If you are polite, you are considered 'retarded'.

Final Revelation 11: The India House was exactly two building away from where the London Dork sent me on a wild goose chase for the only mistake I committed - ask him for directions!!!!


Needless to say, my experience at the Indian High Commission was less than Sterling!! And I so empathised with the British woman in the line behind me who had 'ambitions to help her company do business in India'. She didn't know that it would require three visits to the High Commission, and all she prayed as she waited to collect her signed documents, after spending a whole day to get it signed was that she didn't ever have to return...

The magical Indian experience, tasted abroad is just as sweet!!!