Our bureaucracy is alive and well: part 2

A month ago I ended my article feeling sanguine about my friend’s passport prospects. To recap for readers with a weak memory and other readers who, to their great regret of course, missed the article completely, my friend had, after three unsuccessful attempts to submit his application for a fresh passport, finally collected all the required documents, in the right format, texture and sequence. He now had to go back online, submit a fresh application, seek a fresh appointment and pay up a fresh `2,000.

“All the best,” I had said to him on the phone and added a tennis analogy, as I often do in life’s crisis moments, “Serve well and keep your eye on the ball.”

The good man followed my advice. He went back to the passport office, having practised his serve and his forehand, determined to win this tournament. When he saw that his previous nemesis had been replaced with a new clerk at the desk, he took it was a positive sign that he had been handed an easy draw. But, watching her as she pored over his documents, he realized that this new player was a seasoned member of the circuit. Soon she looked up and said, “This passport was issued in a different city. You can’t renew in tatkaal!” But it was a weak ball. Like Sampras at the net, my friend dispatched it gleefully: “Doesn’t matter. Old clerk said it was okay. Also, the passport instruction booklet carries no mention of this rule if I provide annexure F, which I have.” She was flummoxed. Quietly, she proceeded to examine annexure F before finally accepting defeat by handing the documents to him and asking him to get them signed by the officer before coming come back to her for a token.

My friend then swiftly proceeded to the officer as directed, confident but not complacent. He knew that a first round victory is a far cry from winning the Wimbledon trophy and that this officer was a top-ranked player, a veteran of the tour.  So he handed the papers over to this champion, who immediately began examining them closely – making a tick here and a mark there. My friend waited, prancing on his toes, preparing for a strong service to be fired at him.

Our bureaucracy is alive and well

When an old tennis friend of mine had to renew his soon-to-expire passport, I warned him that the process might be bureaucratic and that he should exhibit patience, tenacity and an unwavering will to win if he hoped for success. He said that I was mistaken, that doing it today was as easy as sitting on a cushioned bench. All he had to do was fill an application form online, submit it online, pay `2,000 online, apply for an appointment online, land up on the scheduled date with the required papers – just his old passport and a proof of residence – in his hand.

“Three days later I’ll have a new passport in the same hand,” he said, sounding smug.

I was curious to know what happened; so I called him a day after his appointment. 

“I missed it,” he said morosely. “The proof of residence proved tricky. I don’t have an electricity, telephone or water bill since I moved to Mumbai recently and am staying in my company flat. The passport office accepts a public sector bank passbook showing my address; so I went to one to open an account. But they asked me for proof of residence. I explained to the manager that I was opening an account in his bank because I did not have the proof and for no other reason. Instead of showing sympathy, the man got annoyed; but then relented to say he’d accept a private bank passbook as proof. Unfortunately private banks require proof of residence too! Luckily my private bank accepts a letter from employer if you’re ‘changing address’. So I transferred the account from my previous city to Mumbai submitting my employer’s letter as proof of residence, then opened an account with the public sector bank submitting the private sector bank passbook as proof of residence, so that I can apply for the passport submitting the public sector bank passbook as proof of residence. It’s like progressing through levels of the computer game Warcraft, but not as much fun. I’ve asked for a second appointment in three days, by when the public sector bank will complete the paperwork.”

When he reached the counter for this appointment, the clerk told him that annexures F and I were missing. My shocked friend said that this was because the website made no reference to them. In a bored voice the clerk informed him that he had heard that story many times before and had not found it gripping on any of the occasions.