Shackles of Independence

The spirit of this Independence Day was bitter to say the least as it reinforced once more that despite all the progress we have made over the years, freedom still eludes us:

Freedom from bureaucratic hassles…
Freedom from regional bias…
Freedom from misuse of power…

I moved to Mumbai from Kolkata ten years back: I have studied here, I have worked here and I have LIVED here. For all practical purposes, this is MY city and I take as much pride in it as a typical Mumbaikar would, I defend the city when other people criticize it, I frown at pedestrians who spit on the roads or throw garbage and I proudly wear the freedom that the city offers on my sleeve. As a single woman living alone, the city allows me to travel in the middle of the night in public transport, embrace its cosmopolitan culture without being judged and carve out an identity for myself which is not defined by where I come from but rather who I am.

Until, I had the misfortune of running into the web of bureaucratic stronghold when I had to visit the local Passport Office to get my passport renewed. I had heard good things about the new online process and decided to get it done from Mumbai instead of Kolkata, where it was originally issued. What followed can only be described as a nightmare.

I filled out the online form, paid the fees and booked an appointment after ensuring that I have all the requisite documents.

On the day of the appointment, my documents were verified as being in order but due to some system breakdown the rest of the process was not conducted. After wasting the entire day, I returned empty handed. I went back the same week, but I was asked to take a fresh appointment since they were no longer entertaining people from previous days’ slots even though they were the victims of the breakdown.

I got the next date three weeks later. My documents were verified once more and this time I was given the token to go inside. Another official verified the same and since all were in order, they took my photograph and fingerprints. The next step was to get the signatures of the two government officials.

I was called to counter C4, where the lady (first of the government officers), verified the documents, signed and stamped my old passport. I heaved a sigh of relief: finally it was going to be done, my month-long struggle would come to an end and I could now plan my vacation. But one more signature was still pending, so I had to wait.

After almost three hours, I was still waiting. Then I saw my name flashing on the screen and I rushed to the counter C3, eager to get it over with. But I had a nasty shock awaiting me when the man flipped through my passport and documents and demanded another document which was never mentioned on the website nor by anybody else in the five-step verification process that I had just been through. I had brought other documents which were mentioned on the website as valid address proofs (bank statements, rent agreement, credit card statements, company letter) which I showed, but he kept on insisting on the one document that was not even on the list. When I mentioned that his colleague in the very next counter had verified and accepted the documents, he promptly escalated my case to the senior passport official who refused to even logically consider my case, and instead resorted to threaten me. I sat there, looking straight at him, giving him reasons, trying to prove that I had indeed followed the rules they themselves made, pointing out the inconsistencies within their own staff, convincing them that I was a law-abiding, tax-paying, well-educated responsible citizen who had traveled across the world, but all I got was coldness wrapped in a mean, thinly-veiled jealous mind, which simply would not listen, would not co-operate and would not do the right thing.

After eight hours on my third trip to the same office, faced with discrimination, agony and sheer intimidation (including the threat to cancel my passport), I just ran out of there crying, my file still stuck in the bureaucratic red tape (literally).

I was tired of fighting the system, fighting for something which was my right and fighting for some semblance of sanity in a country which treats its citizens like aliens…

Especially if the citizen is not a native of that state and doesn’t speak the language…
Especially if she is a single girl alone and seemingly vulnerable…
Especially if she is independent, financially secure and widely traveled…

With power comes responsibility, but also the right to misuse the same…