Roasting at the Registrar’s
You can call them what you will but to The Man from Madras Musings they will always be registrar offices even though they are known by other names these days such as e seva maiyam etc. And it is usually in summer that MMM has the misfortune of having to go to these places. Not that he would love to go there at any other time of the year for in his view such offices are constructed with a view to providing minimum comfort, you could even say complete lack of it, to those employed within and those who have to go there. But when commanded to do so by his good lady also known as She Who Must Be Obeyed, MMM had no option other than to comply. He therefore girded his loins and proceeded towards the registrar’s.
It so happened that this was the hottest day of the year – thus far that is. Even while going there MMM had the feeling that he was something that had been placed in a cauldron above a fire with instructions to stir until golden brown. And on reaching the office he did not find conditions improved in any way. The building itself was large and at one time was clearly designed to have air conditioning. But you know how it is with government offices – they provide the capital equipment but rarely any funds for maintenance. The air conditioning units were plainly visible high up near the ceiling but the cobwebs that had formed all around them indicated that they had not been in operation for some time. As though in compensation a couple of very noisy but slow ceiling fans had been provided and it was only their steady groan that indicated that they were working. Of air circulation they did very little.
It was into this oven like atmosphere that MMM stepped in rather like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego entering the divine fire. Facing him were his inquisitors – a man sweating profusely, and beside him a lady who though not sweating was clearly suffering the agonies of heat. MMM could only sympathise with them. Here he was cursing his fate for having to step into this building on a hot summer’s day but on the other hand were these two who would have to be working there day in and day out for a minimum of eight hours. On a day like this work had slowed down to a snail space and quite understandably so but what was beyond MMM was the fact that Internet speed too seemed to have dropped considerably. Consequently there was a considerable queue that was building up awaiting service and there was a good bit of chafing going on among those present.
MMM took his place at the tail end and watched. It soon dawned on him that the queue was just a figure of speech so to speak for people were standing one behind the other merely because they could all not crowd the counter such being its size. But they all asked their questions almost simultaneously to the lady or the gentleman on the other side. There was one person enquiring about patta, another one trying to get a name change done, a third wanting to furnish a death certificate, a fourth claiming that the entry that had been made in her name was entirely incorrect and a fifth who took MMM’s breath away asking calmly if a living person could be declared dead. In all this chaos MMM was the only one who chose not to get involved and wait patiently his turn. Something in his demeanour seems to have touched a chord with the lady at the counter for suddenly she stood up and asked everybody around if they had noticed MMM. Heads turned and MMM looked down at his shoes wondering as to what he had done. And then came the lady’s voice “Did you see this Saar has not opened his mouth ever since he came here? Why can’t you all be like him? Please be silent.”
If you got the idea that MMM was the local hero after this, perish the thought, for he was instantaneously disliked by everyone else in the queue. Someone even muttered that it was all very well for idle rich to come once in a while but he, the mutterer that is, was coming here practically every day to solve his problem and nothing much was happening. MMM preferred to remain quiet until his turn came and he was called.
On presenting his identity card the computer was queried and after a considerable wait it threw up responses which clearly had nothing to do with MMM. The lady at the counter was puzzled and asked MMM if he had ever lived at several addresses that she listed out. To all of this MMM replied in the negative. She then turned to the man by her side and they went into a deep confabulation. At the end of it they rather sheepishly acknowledged that MMM was pure as driven snow and that the fault was the system. It had become so slow that it was updating the previous record all the while and now they did not know how many records had been wrongly entered during the day. It was MMM’s turn to shudder but they assured him that all would be well for they had pressed a reset button and thereafter everything went swimmingly. Coming away clutching his sweat-soaked papers MMM wondered about the fate of all those who had called at that office since the morning.
The CM’s Official Road
The Man from Madras Musings resides off an arterial road of the city connecting the beach to yet another arterial road that connects to the Mount. It so happens that this arterial road, by which MMM means the one that his house is just a cutting away from, happens to be the route that practically every chief minister of the state has taken while going to office in the last 33 years. It has come to be designated as a VIP route which means it is always in ship shape and the sidewalks are kept clear. They are in fact repaired rather too frequently. The lights work. Which is all to the good. The only disadvantage as far as the average passer by is concerned is that the road would be closed for around 20 minutes four times a day – once in the morning when the CM would go to office, next when the CM returned for lunch, again when the CM went back to office and yet again when the CM went home, to a well earned rest.
However before you ran away with the idea that MMM was lucky to be living on such a road (or just off it), let him assure you that it is all not a bed of roses. Did you know for instance that no drainage work has been permitted in the last 33 years in this entire area because cutting the main road for inspecting the drainage is simply not possible with the chief minister zooming in and out as and when required? Likewise do you know that proper road laying procedures cannot be followed on the main road because there is no question of milling it and then laying a fresh coat of tar? Layers of tar have been piled on and as a consequence MMM’s street and several others of its kind are now several feet below the main road. Therefore when it rains, the water does not drain from the streets to the main road but in the opposite direction.
It was therefore with a sigh of relief that MMM got to know that the newly elected chief minister does not reside anywhere in the vicinity. He apparently is far away in one of those posh newer localities by the ocean. But even while rejoicing in this good news MMM could not help wondering as to how the man, no matter how fit he was, could probably manage a car journey twice a day running into probably a couple of hours. Fortunately this was not four times a day because as has been well publicised, the chief minister has his lunch out of a tiffin carrier which he brings from home everyday. But imagine MMM’s shock when he came to know that the blow was soon to follow fall on this VIP road where MMM roosts. Apparently the chief minister has decided that he has had enough of toing and froing from his seaside resort and wants to move closer to the action. The place that he is selecting or pondering over is rumoured to be close to where Mater Dei once had her castle. Which means the new chief minister will be taking the same road and it will be back to four times a day blocking, and never will there ever be a look at the drainages.
MMM very sincerely requests the chief minister look at some of the other upmarket localities in the city which will not require him to take this particular road to office. Or he could think of a helicopter service. Or even better why not get the government to build him an official residence somewhere close to his office itself which he could just walk to instead of taking a convoy of cars?
– MMM