Tags:
Journalism of Courage
In England 30 years ago, I passed the driving test for cars but failed that for motorcycles because I had ridden too slowly. I had taken the test on a borrowed machine which had the gear shift on the wrong side. A week later, though, I rode my steed to victory. What struck me were routine efficiency and precise information. On writing a single letter, I was told where to go. All went smoothly: no hitches, no time wasted.
My recent experience when I sought to renew my driver8217;s licence in the Capital was, shall we say, different. The Delhi Government8217;s web site gives a particular number for the office of its Transport Department. MTNL8217;s directory site lists the same number. However, only a fax machine can communicate with it. I was then directed to another number, which was constantly busy. I then found the number of the Motor Licensing Officer. This too was perpetually busy.
I walked around and entered the air conditioned room, which contained three officials. When I was told that work was still being done, I asked why the window was shut.8221;Because no one comes after 2 and because the money collected is taken to the accounts section.8221; How does a person know, on seeing the closed window, that the earth still revolves around the sun? No answer.
But they kindly asked for forms to be brought. The task of paying the fees was also assigned to a clerk. The web site specifies Rs 150 as fees, Rs 90 for photograph and lamination. In reality I had to pay Rs 220 and Rs 90, respectively. The site asks for two photographs, but Form 9 wants three. The official to whom I pointed out the contradiction said my information was old. Who was responsible for feeding current information to the web site? The man did not know and appeared not to care.
My photograph was then taken, but the light pen with which I was to sign refused to work. For over 90 minutes I watched the technician try and get it going. When I spoke to one of the officials, he said, 8220;Technical problem. What can we do?8221; I asked if he drove a vehicle. He said he did. I asked if it had a spare tyre. He said it did. Why on earth did he need one, I asked.
The technicians begged me to return the next day. They worked not for the Transport Department but for a private firm under contract. I had scolded the officials, so they had given the technicians hell. I went the next day, spending more time and energy and bringing up the distance covered to 40 km. The Delhi Government speaks of Bhagidari. I call it Bhagadauri.
