Delhi daze

I flew down to the capital last month. The flight landed, and the plane doors opened to a collective gasp of dismay as a wave of dry, hot air rolled in and raised the temperature of the aircraft by 15 degrees in less than 15 seconds. It was a promise of what lay in store: heat and dust.

We had to get a document registered, and the document required both my husband’s and my signatures. I could have given him a power of attorney, but he wanted me to hold his hand as he navigated through the horror that is an Indian government building — a journey he would have found too depressing to contemplate on his own.

To be fair, the office itself was a decent workspace, but the building it was housed in was nothing short of a nightmare. There were wires and steel poles jutting out up above, and the walls were smeared with everything from cobwebs and dust to pan streaks. And although, being in India, I am unfortunately accustomed to the sight of paan-smeared walls, never have I had the misfortune to come across so many shades of orange blobs on the floors. Did people just walk around spitting on the floor ahead of themselves as they went about their day? I’m waiting for the day paan chewing and smoking are banned in public places.

My husband, being my husband, had forgotten to carry his Aadhaar card or PAN card or a photograph with him. On asking around, we were told that there was a photo booth right around the corner. We trekked up a nasty staircase, and there, in front of a tiny shop, was a man seated on a desk, staring at a computer screen.

“Do you do passport photographs?” I inquired. He nodded and gestured to someone who came out holding a small digital camera. Even as I wondered where the studio was, he asked us to stand against the wall. There was no lighting, there were no backdrops, it was all very strange yet straightforward. Our photos were taken and as we waited, my husband fished out photographs of his Aadhaar and PAN card from his phone. The man seated at the desk took my husband’s phone, WhatsApp-ed the pictures to himself and took the required printouts.

Five minutes later, we were all set. We had all the documents and photographs we required. The ease with which this had transpired, was a pleasant surprise.

Once we were done with the documents, we crossed puddles of what I could only hope was water and reached the other block, which housed the Registrar’s office. On reaching the office, everything went on like a breeze. Literally, since the office was air-conditioned. Less than 10 minutes later, we were out of there. Our agreement had been registered, our fingerprints and photographs taken once again, and our existence verified.

It was a strange, surreal, unpleasant if interesting experience. One I hope I don’t have to repeat for a long, long time.