An unforgettable rendezvous!

It was a hectic day, in fact. One I can never forget. It all began when I suddenly needed a residential certificate from the local revenue office. I generally avoid going to government offices having heard about the pains one has to undergo for getting official certificates, despite producing all the necessary and relevant documents. And that best explains why I lack a driver’s license till date.

Having lived in this city for almost two decades, I never thought it would be such a royal pain on the neck to get a residential certificate from the local authorities. Still, fearing of unduly delay and wasting a lot of time loitering around the premises of a dingy old government office, I thought of going through improper channel.

I called up a friend of mine, who happened to be a deputy collector, and briefed him my necessity. He was prompt enough to call up his subordinate, the revenue officer of my locality. He asked me to meet the officer and assured that things would be taken care of.

I went to the revenue office the next morning at around 10:30 and was about to step in the said officer’s room, when I was stopped by a class IV employee who resembled a ruffian. When I said I wanted to talk to the officer, he said she had not yet come and would usually come around 11:30 am. As I stood wondering when the government offices changed the office timings, I got the weird idea of calling up the officer and say that I was waiting for her. Thankfully, my deputy collector friend was kind enough to give me her number.

I called up the madam and she said it was not she who had to issue the certificate but her junior officer, Village Revenue Officer (VRO), to be precise. I approached the VRO and with due respect, I asked him what was the procedure of procuring a residential certificate. “Procedure? What procedure you are talking about? Actually what do you want?”

“Sir, I want a residential certificate and the revenue officer asked me to approach you,” I said. “How come you know her?” “Sir, I spoke to her over phone.” “How did you get her number and who the hell you are?” “I’m a resident of so and so area and for the past 10 years I have been living in that so and so house.”

He grudgingly asked his subordinate to give me an application form, which was in the local language that I never learnt to read. When I stood there helpless, he said there were people outside the office who filled the forms for a price. I approached one of them and he asked me to give him Rs 50 for the job. He said since the application needed some signatures of gazetted officers, it would cost me more. I had no way other than parting with the money.

However, he kept his promise and after a long wait of 30 minutes, the man gave me back the application with necessary signatures. By the time I went to VRO with the application, he gone out. I waited there for almost three hours and I just wanted to submit my application and leave the place, but his subordinate would never accept. He asked me to hand over the application form to VRO himself.

Finally, the VRO came after five hours and it was almost evening. After I made a furor, he finally checked my application and other documents submitted for the purpose and sent to the typist to make the certificate. The typist kept it with him for hours and finally when I lost my patience, the VRO asked me to go and collect it personally from the typist. I went inside his room and then he asked me to come some other day or pay him money and collect it then and there.

I, angry and completely frustrated with this tomfoolery, called up the deputy collector. However, he had to get the district collector himself involved and finally when I stepped out of the office with the certificate, darkness was almost descent on the city’s skyline!

I drove back home with a determination never to obtain any official certificate for the rest of my life! Ha…