How I got my licence to kill on Indian roads..

India has laws on driving - a legacy of the Indian law-makers who gifted us one of the most comprehensive Constitutions in the world. Hats off to them for their efforts in penning out all possible eventualities and outcomes possible. But I guess they overlooked the fact that the Government and the 'system' which would be given the responsibility of running the constitution would be made up of lesser mortals. Or that success is 1% strategy, and 99% execution.

Cut to 2011 in one of the bristling metropolitan cities. An ordinary Indian, a aam admi, if you will, wanted to get a driving license. A fairly simple deal - you go to the nearest motor vehicle department (MVD), get a learner's license, give a driving test after 30 days and on successful completion, you are rewarded for your efforts with a driving license that allows you to kill, er, drive on Indian roads.
My well-wishers advised me to enroll in the nearest motor school instead, pay a sum of Rs 3,000 and get my license. Being a contrarian, and arguing that I knew how to drive already - I have driven on American roads for more than three years - I decided to take the road less trodden.
I reported fairly early at 11:00, armed with multiple copies of my documents, to the nearest MVD. The MVD is a fairly bristling center - an entire economy thrived around it. From food-vendors to doctors to lawyers, each of whose services I found I would require fairly soon in my quest for a driving license. As I entered the imposing institution, I was swarmed with some half-a-dozen folk, all of whom wanted to help me out with various services.
The charitable folk call them 'agents' who, for a 'small' fee, help you navigate the corridors of power. How hard could it be to get a basic license? I declined their services and courageously entered the inner offices. After consulting some half-a-dozen babus, whom I had disturbed from their afternoon siesta, I luckily landed up at Mr. X's office.
'You want a license?',he laughed. I was probably the first joker in months who wanted to apply 'directly'. He looked at my filled up application form (duly downloaded from the web - the MVD's got tech savy, didn't you know? ). He laughed again and pointed out that this form would not do. I needed to get the application form and fill it again. Cut a long story short, another half an hour by which time I became familiar with the complex maze of the Government machinery, I landed up again at Mr. X's doorstep.
He laughed again, returned to servicing the paperwork of endless agents, and looked back at me with a pitiful look that would have outdone the manner a tiger eyes his prey. He studied the form, declared that I needed to first deposit Rs 70 and then come back with the form.
I met the helpful 'agents' again. One contested that I was doing him a disservice, snatching away his daily bread by daring to do my own legwork. Another smirked. The third laughed at my pitiful self running around for the past one hour when he could have got it all done in a jiffy. I egged on alone.
Finding the cash counter, waking up the cashier and cajoling him to take my seventy for the coveted receipt took all of half an hour. I returned back to Mr. X, my patience waringly thin. Mr. X could not believe his eyes seeing me again. He religiously declared that since it was past 12:00, he would not be looking at the forms for the day, and I could jolly well go to hell.
I protested. Mr. X proclaimed that I better shut-up or else he would see to it that there were so many errors in my form that...
That did it. I thundered out loud and clear. That drew the attention of Mr. Y, apparently Mr X's senior. He studied my form. The address line in my passport gives my old IIT hostel address. "IIT? You live at IIT KGP?" For the uninitiated, IIT is a three letter word that is considered next to mecca for the middle class Indian, who dreams of an engineering degree from that sacred institution and greener pastures outside India. When I returned from the US, I was summarily rejected from three interviews in Kolkata by three engineering firms who summarily told me three times that I was overqualified, that I would not do. At the time, I would have been happy to tear away the IIT degree.
Mr. Y was genuinely impressed, and quickly declared that his friend was a professor at IIT KGP. "Eta kore de na! (Please get it done.)", he instructed Mr. X with an apologetic smile. My curses for the IIT degree were clearly misplaced. IIT might not have taught one too much about engineering, but it certainly helped one in the quest for a driving license in India!
Needless to say, Mr. X's equation with me changed from that point in time. The errors in my form were quickly obliterated. In fact, Mr. X became my friend, philosopher and guide.
There was more leg-work and waiting periods as other officers blessed my application form. By six, I had successfully completed my formalities and received my learner's permit.
Thirty days later, Mr. X again came to my rescue when I wanted my permanent driving license. The driving test in India comprises of you driving the car around a park with a qualified driver by your side. The test inspectors have decided that it is far too dangerous to 'test' a prospective candidate. The job has been outsourced to qualified drivers roped in, by the prospective candidate, of course. If the candidate can coax a qualified driver to sit with him during a drive, that is good enough for the test inspector. And in any case, as long as a candidate comes from respectable channels (motor schools or friendly agents or contacts), candidates are not to be denied their basic right to kill, er, drive.

Reflecting back on my episode, I ask myself why is it that I was the only joker to go get my license from the MVD. I was at the MVD on two different occasions and spent a fair amount of time there, and I can safely attest that apart from agents and the admin staff of motor training schools, there really was no one else. One can argue that the vast majority of people wanting to get a driving license don't know how to drive and so the motor training school is the obvious choice. But then again, I know at least ten people who knew how to drive, having learnt it from their parents, or drivers, but who still used the services of the motor school to get a license. All ten told me that they just did not want to go through the harassment of getting their own license but would rather that the agent do it for them. Giving the agent a commission of Rs 500 so that he can oil the Government machinery is not really graft or corruption. It is merely what the 'system' demands!

We Indians have voiced out in support of Anna Hazare. Numerous emails have been circulated. We all want a hero to come fight our war against corruption.
But, when it comes to our small little battles at the bureaucrat's office, we will meekly surrender because we don't want to get harassed. We will join in the vociferous crowds or candlelight vigils, all in masses where we can't be singled out, where we will have the safety of numbers. But when we have to fight our lone wars, we submit without a fight for fear of retribution.
Witness the hypocrisy of an Indian society which will not get harassed, would rather crucify itself at the altar of corruption, but at the same time cry out loud and clear against graft in all its forms! You and I have succumbed to the temptation far too often. If Anna Hazare and his elk are to win, if corruption is to be rooted out, mere voices or masses will not help. We will have to learn to fight our small little battles ourselves.