Since standing in a queue has become the test of patriotism, here is my attempt, dear prime minister, to set the record straight.
At the outset, let me admit I haven’t stood in a queue for cash since November 8. I admit I am among the kind who deputed someone else. I confess I haven’t gone without food either, the last of my family’s scrapped currency went into treating ourselves to a bottle of Blender’s Pride.
That’s not to give people ideas, sir, but while chemists may be sending people away, liquor outlets are not turning any money down.
Getting back to the point, sir, the first time I stood in a queue on my own, without parents doing the legwork, was for admission to Delhi University. It isn’t the best of seasons to be out in the Delhi heat, sir, and we stood in several lines stretching onto the road, only to be told at the small window through which four people thrust their hands together inside, to hand in papers: “It is lunch time”. I confess, sir, that we often stomped out cursing, sat on the sidewalk (when we still sat on sidewalks), spoke about a revolution, and headed straight to the American Centre for university prospectuses.
Our whole college life was about queuing up and waiting, sir. For classes, forms, professors, marksheets, and especially for the rare DTC bus, on broken seats at shelters needing repair. The standing didn’t end with the bus, sir, as you might appreciate, and often involved men pushing against us. I must confess, sir, I may have raced to get a seat ahead of others on the bus, even flashed a victorious smile when I got one.
The first freedom from queues came after 1991, sir, when even with a little money, a world of choices opened before us. We chose not to line up if we could, with the next store, the next restaurant, the next job, the new private buses on offer. I admit, sir, I started questioning the virtue made of “small sacrifices” then. So at the bank where I had an account — all hard-earned money, I assure you — we were thrilled when they devised a system of giving numbers so that we didn’t have to spend the day in queue.
However, phones remained a luxury, and one of my longest-lasting queues was for a landline. The wait for a phone then was long, and longer if it broke down. So one day, my sister and I went to Nehru Place, one of those places, sir, you hopefully will never encounter, barged into an officer’s room and stood there till our work was done.
My other encounter with bureaucracy and queues was at the passport office, where I once queued for six hours and almost got crushed in the stampede at the counter. Yes, that happens, sir. Sometimes queues end in stampedes.
You would well remember, sir, the time before mobile phones, when one had to make what they dubbed a “trunk call”. At the lone phone booth near where I stayed in JNU, I lined up every other night to call my parents in Chennai. It’s a strange place, JNU — you should try it sometimes, sir. As young men played basketball nearby, I never felt uneasy heading out alone at night. However, as the operator’s voice warned about fast-depleting money, and people pressed against the phone booth door looked on impatiently, I couldn’t help but be short with my mother at times, sir. So when you talked about grateful mothers at old age homes giving their blessings to you as their sons had deposited some money in their accounts after the demonetisation, I thought long and hard, sir. About that mother.
The last time I stood in a queue of any consequence was for my children’s admission in nursery school. Standing with the form, in lines stretching out once again onto the road, trying to sneak a look at the papers in the hands of other parents, I never wondered at the absurdity of it. This was one queue which we all accepted without question. I wonder what you think of that, sir.
I don’t stand in lines any more, not by choice anyway. I Uber, I
Paytm, I
Google, I Amazon, I Kindle, I ATM. The few times I have to stand in a queue, of no size at all, I admit, I almost always pick up a fight with people trying to jump the line. Oh yes, there is that peril too, sir, about queues. Many will jump the line. I wasn’t sure what to call such people. But now, sir, you have told me what they all are: Blackmarketeers.
So no, sir, I won’t stand in a line anymore. I am done doing my bit.
