DESI 2 PARDESI

          The majority of the Indian population board their first flight overseas with a nailed perception that they would return someday. Few succeed and many succumb to the independence abroad. I am a proud Indian and always wanted to be nevertheless situations change the way you think and force you to think otherwise.

         
           On March, 5th 2012, I boarded my flight to India. It was one of the doleful trips I had ever experienced. Yes, I was on my way to perform the last rites for my dad. The usual exuberance during my trips to India was evidently missing. My heart pounded at an alarming pace just to conceal my fear of facing my mom. After being airborne for almost nineteen long hours, I was immensely tired and my eyes failed to regenerate moisture. Having completed the security check, I pushed myself towards the baggage claim. I was frantically searching for my baggage, when a stranger offered to help me locate my bag. I was in no mood to boo him away and continued searching for my bag. Even before I could pull my luggage out, my companion had pulled it out for me. I thanked him for the hospitality and he remarked “500 rupees per bag sir”. Floating in dismay, I replied “Why should I pay you sir? I never asked for your service”.”We take dollars too, sir” said he. Since I was in no mood to wrangle, I ended up paying him 20$.Imagine, its more than thousand rupees for an illusionary service. I was caught in-between frustration and depression. I thanked god for greeting me in the best possible manner.          
         
           My uncle and my father in law were waiting to pick me up at the airport. We all boarded the Qualis to my apartment in Annanagar, Chennai. My heart was palpitating vigorously and my brain was constantly regenerating the images of my dad. It was 1:30 am when we reached my apartment in Annanagar. I knew I was in India and I am obligated to tip the driver hence I tipped him hundred rupees.”Sir, come on, pay me more” demanded the driver. For Christ’s sake, please understand the situation. I am paying you 10% as tip but still you are demanding for more money. Hell with you guys. I glanced at him disgustingly and stormed out of the car. Soon after consoling my mom and failing miserably to console myself, I sat down with my relatives to understand the course of action for my dad’s funeral. We left to the cremation ground near Perambur and religiously followed the formalities to bid good bye to my dad. In view of the fact that we had to dissolve my dad’s ashes, we were about to leave, when the crematory official boy waved at us to stop. The boy said “We are poor, give us some money for collecting your dad’s ashes”.I respected his request and gave him a hundred rupee note.”Sir, you are in Canada, Can you not pay me more” said he. I was frantically searching my purse for Indian currency, when another boy came running asking for more money. During the entire rite, I never saw that boy but still he wanted money. Buddy this is India wake up. My uncle came to the rescue nonetheless the boys started bitching about my dad.”Sir we do this for a living, tip us more sir. If you fail to pay us more your father’s soul will not rest in peace” shouted the boys.“Will you guys stop this?”I retorted. I grabbed my uncle’s purse and gave them Rs 200 each. In India, do we not respect a soul? Would my dad’s soul rest in peace? Oh god ,why is every process tainted here? I left that place depressed and ignorant of what was in store for me.


         In India, performing the last rites is a rich affair and if you are a NRI, be prepared to lose a fortune. Not many realize the cash involved in this funeral business. It was a month after the chaos had subsided, I was asked to perform the 3oth day rite. I was effusively praising the priest for his involvement in conducting the prayers for my dad. It wasn’t long before he went to my mom scratching his head. “Madam, I have conducted in such a manner that your son needs to worry only about the sixth month death anniversary of his dad” said he. My mom smiled, as she had anticipated this act and gave him Rs 1000 in addition to the Rs 1500 we had agreed to pay him. His scratching didn’t subside. I gave him another Rs 500 and he received it with a sheepish grin. Days passed by and I habitually paid the priests more than what was agreed upon. After all, paying more was the only way to appease my dad’s soul. It’s a tradition to invite Brahmins during these rites for food. As agreeable as it sounds there were a few uninvited Brahmins who claimed they should be paid as well. The head priest had no idea nor we had any idea about those Brahmins but still they invited themselves. The priest said “Sir, pay them something or else they won’t leave ”.I am obliged to pay them sir .After all you are my auditor and I would pay whenever you request me to. I know am a NRI. Interestingly, these Brahmins decided what they would wear for these rites and what they will accept as gifts post the rituals. Few demanded silk dhothis, few strictly accepted cash and few demanded silverware. Come to think of it, being a NRI one is expected to be a mobile ATM and I faithfully agree.


       Every day was an experience and every experience stressed how corrupt India was becoming. It was my uncle who had to wait till eternity at the corporation office to collect my dad’s death certificate. Regrettably, he was asked to leave the office everyday citing various reasons for not issuing the death certificate. On the day we received the death certificate, we prided ourselves because we achieved it without paying an extra penny. Earning an Olympic gold medal may not be a distant possibility but corruption free service is indeed impossible. Our well wishers stressed the importance of the ‘Legal Heirship Certificate’ and its significance in all our legal proceedings. Hence we went to the Taluk office to apply for the legal heirship certificate and were admonished severely because we had already filled in the forms. Later we realized that the officer charges Rs 100 for completing the forms. Indeed we spoiled his income .We were made to wait for an hour before meeting the Taluk officer and we had to tip the assistant for our forms to reach the officer’s desk. The officer threw our forms into a dinghy bundle and requested us to come back after two months. When I clarified the time for processing our application, the officer bluntly commented “Your dad expired two days back and not a month before. If I were you I would not ask more questions and leave”. We exchanged a caustic glance and I left.


       Being the sole wage earner of my family, I had to decide on our company’s’ fate. Primarily my task was to nominate my mom as the successor of my dad in our company. Evidently our company’s account was placed on hold and the bank requested the ‘Legal heirship certificate’ to release the hold. We were bemused because a frozen account disallows cash deposits from our clients. We approached the bank to inquire if they would allow cash deposits into our account. I marched towards the manager’s room and knocked on his door.”May I come in sir”. Please take your seat” said he”.”May I know if you would allow our clients to deposit their payments? We can assure you, we will not issue any cheques against our account, just the deposits would do” said I.”You do not instruct what the bank should do rather we decide what’s the procedure. I won’t repeat again” he rebuffed. “I agree sir but it’s too late for us to stop the automated client deposits” I replied. He looked at my mom and said “Next time please don’t bring this boy along. It’s a rule and we follow rules and not suggestions”. I was about to retort nonetheless my mom clenched my arm tightly and I became an epitome of patience. My mom thanked the manager and left the room politely. The days passed slowly and we received our legal heirship certificate after a month and a half. Many said we were blessed to receive it within a short span of time. Needless to say the actual processing time is one week. Besides, we paid our area MLA, a local agent and the Taluk officer to get the work done. Our next step was to release the funds in my dad’s account. I filled in a zillion forms and submitted them at the bank. The bank officer informed us that it would be sent to the head office for review and would take a minimum of one week. We promptly called the bank after a week requesting an update and to our dismay the head office had misplaced our forms and we were left without an option but to resubmit. During this drill of resubmission the bank official who handled our case was transferred to a different branch and our file remained unattended. Subsequent to our constant persuasion, our file was reviewed and had reached our bank. We received a call from the bank to collect the funds the following day. The next day, we realized the officer in charge had called in sick and the bank officials were inquiring the reason for our presence. We were puzzled because none had any clue about our file. One of the officials even hinted a resubmission. Meanwhile, my mom’s eyes welled up and she started crying profusely. The manger who was patiently watching this came to our rescue and without further delay handed over the cheque to my mom. Crazy people. For legally claiming my personal funds, why am I undergoing so much pressure? Isn’t there a process, these nationalized banks follow? Atleast, they should feel sorry for the delay and treat the customers with care. I left the bank after consoling my mom and forcing her to realize the bubble we live in.


         Despite trying hard, we always had to wait indefinitely for all the legal formalities. Money ruled the roost. We held our currency bills like the Olympic torch in all the government offices we visited. The worst experience was with the government officials. The sales tax department cited silly reasons and minted money. For every visit from the sales tax department we had to pay for their lunch, gasoline and tip their drivers too. One such promising gentleman told my mom “Madam we are charging only Rs 10,000 extra because you are a widow. We normally charge twice this amount”. Is that something to be proud about? Its bribe, a discount will not make it sound less tainted. I was patriotic; I relished my stay in India until few years back. I was in my own cocoon without experiencing the bitterness outside. Situations indeed changed our perspectives and I had been a victim too. The experiences made me an alien in India and I have decided to be an alien elsewhere. The transition is in the process, Desi to Pardesi.