Straight Face

Hit-and-run at the RTOI had often wondered why Delhi motorists do so well in the hit-the-pedestrian sweepstakes. Last year, 2,123 people ...

Hit-and-run at the RTO

I had often wondered why Delhi motorists do so well in the hit-the-pedestrian sweepstakes. Last year, 2,123 people were killed on the Capital8217;s roads. This year we8217;re not doing too badly either 8212; the first two months have already notched up a tidy score of 319 dead. With some application and effort we should overtake last year8217;s tally by the time December comes along.

But the riddle remained. Why is it that we Delhiites become the personal emissaries of Lord Yama the moment we get behind a steering wheel? The experts put it down to road rage. Negotiating through miles of Delhi traffic is so taxing for the system, they say, that the only way motorists can give vent to their frustration is to mow down a couple of pedestrians just by way of recreational diversion.

I would have gone along with this theory, if I didn8217;t have to renew my driving licence last fortnight. Now, I firmly believe, the reason for all that road rage displayed on our thoroughfares should rightly beattributed to the Regional Transport Office or the RTO. Non-motorists may not grasp the full import of what the RTO signifies in a motorist8217;s life. Let me put it this way, it is the closest that a human institution can come to being a Godhead.

The moment you step into its paan-stained precincts, you realise you are in sacred space. It sort of reminds you of the Eternal Clearing House that we will all have to visit once we have shuffled off these mortal coils. The RTO works its magic through Windows and, I may add, did so decades before Bill Gates made his millions on the concept.

Window No. 10 for doctor. Window No. 16 for registration. Window No. 18 for 8220;forum8221; to rhyme, no doubt, with the 8220;horun8221; which you 8220;blow8221; with abandon. Once you fill the forum8217;, you go to Window No. 22 for attesting it, Window No. 25 for checking it, Window No. 32 for submitting it. Window No. 25 is for a computer photograph8217; computers here work at specially decelerated speeds. Window No. 21 is for signature ofauthorising authority. Window No. 288230;Now Window No. 28 is really special 8212; it8217;s from where you finally get the licence. It remains closed most of the time. Once in, say, half an hour, it can suddenly open to reveal a man who reels out a long list of names. The 150th name on his list could be yours, so it8217;s vital that you read his lips carefully.

I have only two quarrels with this window system. First, each window has a crowd that is at least one mile long, composed of angry, sweating, muttering people who look as if they could riot any moment especially when privileged fat cats get to jump the queue thanks to 8220;contacts8221; in the PMO. Second, these windows do not follow the rules of mathematical progression. If you think that Window No. 28 is located next to Window No. 27, you had better think again. Window No. 28 is actually next to Window No. 5 and on another floor all together and don8217;t, for a moment, imagine that Window No. 5 is next to Window No 4. In any case, Window No. 3 is not actually WindowNo. 3, but bears the words 8220;Leddies Toilet8221; right across its facade.

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These windows are manned by individuals who over time have been rendered immune to all notions of human charity. They can, for instance, fling a form back at you after you have waited an hour to reach where you are with just a couple of words by way of explanation: 8220;Pura bhar do.8221; Fill it out completely. Before you can question them on its inadequacy, you would have lost your coveted position in the queue.

They are shifty, these men and women, who can decide to do a 8220;tea break8221; on you just like that. But it8217;s the boards that carry the legend 8220;lunch break8221; and 8220;Closed8221; that hang like the blade of Dr Guillotine8217;s apparatus over everyone in the queue.

There are a few who thrive in this cesspool of paper and red-tape. 8220;B-ware of Touts8221; reads a large sign at the RTO. But even as it displays this sign, the RTO knows it shares a symbiotic relationship with the tout. Without the RTO, there would be no tout. Without thetout, there would be no RTO. Now no self-respecting tout would like to be known as a tout. His preferred designation is that of 8220;agent8221;. An 8220;agent8221; is useful in that he has rare insights into the system. For instance, he knows right away that Window No. 28 is situated next to Window No. 4.

If I have painted the RTO in too sober a hue, forgive me. It has it moments, I promise. For free entertainment, you can bone up on the unique contributions that Indian babudom has made to the English language. And it8217;s not just the 8220;Leddies Toilet8221;. The word 8220;permanent8221; has, for example, been permanently modified to 8220;parmanet8221;. In case you don8217;t know where to apply for a duplicate licence, just look for the 8220;Duppliccate Lisence8221; sign. And just when you want to scream with frustration, there8217;s a nice little board that says: 8220;Silence is gold8221;.