Time-honoured customs

I tracked down the new ones, then was subjected to another series of bewildering call transfers. In this case, though, the final sacrificial lamb had managed to be out to lunch. When he was finally tracked down, he asked, quot;Is it only personal effects?quot; quot;Yes, mostly books and research papers,quot; I said, hoping to expedite matters. The agent was most relieved: quot;Then you have to do it all by yourself. We have no licence for non-commercial baggage.quot;

So off we were to Nhava Sheva and the Jawaharlal Nehru Port Trust, specifically the Customs Block, a refuse dump decorated with disused furniture and festoons of waste paper. We climbed paan-stained steps stinking of urine to meet two officials huddled among piles of papers at a solitary desk.

Forms to be filled? Here? What a strange idea! The request itself seemed unsetting. Hadn8217;t your clearing agent supplied them? Somehow, forms were dug out and duly filled in, and we were all set for the inspection.

Oh, no, first the Assistant Commissioner had to give permission to inspect. Was he in the next room? What a silly idea! He holds court in the User8217;s Building several kilometres away. Many hours later, the permission obtained, inspection went ahead and books were revealed to be, indeed, books.

The customs certificate at last! But of course not. It had to be certified and signed by none other than the Assistant Commissioner, several kilometres away. But first, demurrage charges had to be paid to a certain Raju at the User8217;s Office, full of anonymous rooms that bore neither name nor number.

Milling crowds of agents assured us that there were thousands of Rajus here. Finally, it turned out were were in the wrong office and at the right one, did indeed find a unique Raju. Charges were paid with the customary leakages and our luggage located.

quot;But where is the Delivery Order?quot; Our hearts sank. I had all the transport company8217;s papers from Denmark and the customs clearances, but it turned out we needed something from the actual shipper. We rushed thither. quot;This is only a site office,quot; explained the Happag-Lloyd agent blandly. quot;Delivery orders come from Mumbai.quot;

So we hurtled through chaotic Mumbai traffic to Nariman Point, to Jeena amp; Co, who assured us it would take a couple of days. After livid threats and the payment of Rs 800 in extortion money, we had the DO and rushed back. The last stage seemed relatively painless.

What if a few more forms to be filled out? What if fistfuls of money had to be handed to a horde of vultures who descended to claim their share? quot;Is this your first time? Don8217;t you know how things work around here?quot;

In this brave new India where privatisation and babudom are setting into a peaceful cohabitaion Laxman8217;s Common Man, yours truly, can rest in peace. If the owner himself must move heaven and earth to recover his own goods, what a great deterrent it is for the potential thief to even conceive of a crime.

Indeed, he would shudder at the very thought of the horrors that attend ownership.