Kolkata Report #7
I had to go to Kolkata Municipal Corporation to pay some overdue taxes. Not overdue by much, but still..
I had fairly easily paid them online last year, feeling thankful for the ease of the process. In the hoary past, some person of the family would have to go to the Municipality's office for the ward, and spend a long time in a queue to make this payment, after spending a long time in another queue to get the bill and payer verified (why the latter, heaven alone knows). It used to be a tedious and exhausting, time consuming process.After this mettle testing exercise, one came away with lighter pockets, than for just paying the amount of the bill, if one could pay for a bill 'adjuster'. Yes, read that as a 'tout', who would work in tandem with the municipality workers on the other side of the counter.
With the marvels of ecommerce and ebilling and epayment, the KMC finally broke loose of the system. Life became easier for all but the touts.
But do they just melt away in the shadows? Probably not. I might have just missed an encounter with one, unless there are people who are still practicing random acts of kindness in this cruel world.
Anyhow, this year, the KMC threw a spanner in the works by requiring people to 'self assess' their taxes, based on the size of the property. We have an old house, whose plans have long disappeared. It is not easy to figure out the exact area. Wanting to be 'pukka' as they say in India (translated- 'firmly correct'), I determined to go to the Municipal office for help. There was even a Municipal appointed and approved document preparer, who was paid by the Municipality for his or her services, and free for the payers. Quite a departure from the past, it seemed.I decided to use this service.
It was a searing hot day with a sopping humidity. I was loath to go out anywhere. The airconditioner was humming non stop, keeping up with the thermostat, which had its work cut out. Wanting to minimise the time spent outdoors, I googled the hours of service of the Municipality office. I was somewhat surprised to see that though most of the Municipality offices closed at time honored 3 pm, this large facility, serving most of the southern district of the city would be open till 5 pm. Or so said google.
It seemed too good to be true. But one never knows. With an effort to improve services, perhaps this was an added benefit, for those who couldn't make it in by 3 p.m. Perhaps, many people would still rush in by 3 pm and and then the last two hours would be a relatively calmer time. I resolved to go at 3 pm.
The offices are on the top floor of a building that also houses a major market called Gariahat, to be reached after.a punishing climb of 3 floors over stairwells of various alignments, past several overflowing garbage cans, and dodging various blind ends of hallways that lead to nowhere. To I arrive at 3.10 pm. The young guard at the door of a large hall near the entrance, tells me that the offices close at 3 pm, before ducking into the hall, past a formidable looking iron collapsible gate.
I try to argue with his disappearing back about the website hours of operation. He glances back and points to a scrap of paper with the hours printed. Yes 3 pm, the closing hour. I have missed the deadline. Or have I? My horoscope in the newspaper did say that I would prevail in every battle and tricky situation of today. So they lied and google lied and I am very annoyed. A older man stands right beneath a 'No Smoking' sign, smoking a cigarette and looking at me with pity in his eyes, I want to hate him for smoking and like him for being kindly. Then suddenly, a scruffily dressed young man approaches me with a little chit in his hand. It is a door ticket docket with a time listed on it as 2.40 p.m.
'Madam', he says in the respected manner in which this word is used in this part of the world, 'I have to leave, because I cannot wait any longer. You can have my ticket, if you like'.
I am a little hesitant, as I process this new development. Is he a tout, offering me a time ticket 'for a small sum'?
He senses my question- 'You can just have it', he says 'I heard you tell the guard that you thought the office stays open till later.I am leaving and this ticket is of no value to me. You can use it if you like'. He is plainly in a hurry. I take the ticket, expecting him to name a price. But he turns and briskly walks away, to a nearby staircase and disappears out of sight. The smoker looks sagely. 'You can take the time ticket and go in instead of that boy', he tells me. I had yet to figure out what the purpose of this hall was, whether it is even where I will find the tax preparer, when I got embroiled in this minor drama!
I ask the smoker in Bengali, 'Is this a general enquiry hall or is it a specific office?
'Ekhanei shob hoy', he replies (translated- This is where everything happens). Ah! I have found the mother lode!
When the guard wrenches open the collapsible gate to let out someone, the smoker, now having finished his cigarette, and I enter. The guard challenges me- 'The office is closed, madam'.
'I have a ticket!' I reply triumphantly.
He looks dubious, but he checks the ticket and somewhat reluctantly lets me enter.
The hall is large and mercifully, air conditioned. I sit in the stainless steel chairs along with a crowd of people. This is a new regime and this comfort while waiting is an unexpected delight, compared with the past. My number is about 60 tickets later. It seems that the tickets are being cleared fairly fast, about three to five minutes a ticket, over 4 counters. A young man, sitting next to me, is waiting to pay his taxes as well. He has a tax form in his hand. I strike up a conversation with him. Was it difficult to do the self assessment? I ask. He looks uncomprehendingly at me at first, 'No', he says, 'I just went over to that Dada (big brother) over there at counter number 1, and he generated my bill right away'.
I thank him and rush over to counter 1, which seems outside the purview of the ticket system.
The man there is pleasant. Yes, he is the man in charge of generating the bill.
'What about the assessment?', I ask.
'O shob niye chinta korben na, shob i thik achhe, he says soothingly. (translated- Oh, don't worry about all that, it is all sorted out).
He clicks on various points on his computer screen and my bill gets printed out. They are still making good use of the dot matrix printer here, I note. Why not? If it works, it works.
Before long I pay my taxes and make my way out.
The guard wants to have the last word. 'Madam. I saw how you got your ticket. I was inside but could see you, You did not do the right thing.'
'Your office timings were posted wrong on the internet. Why is it my fault if I used a valid ticket within the time allowed?', I respond.
'That internet timing post is impossible'
'No, that is what it is'
'All Municipality offices close at 3 pm'
'That's not what the website says'
We argue back and forth, mixing up internet, website, wifi access and all similar terms.
'Jai howk, apnar kaaj ta toh holo' he concludes (translated- Anyway, your work got done).
'Haan, holo, Thank you' (yes indeed Thank you).
'No mention, Madam', he says, closing the collapsible gate on me.
May 7, 2018
I had to go to Kolkata Municipal Corporation to pay some overdue taxes. Not overdue by much, but still..
I had fairly easily paid them online last year, feeling thankful for the ease of the process. In the hoary past, some person of the family would have to go to the Municipality's office for the ward, and spend a long time in a queue to make this payment, after spending a long time in another queue to get the bill and payer verified (why the latter, heaven alone knows). It used to be a tedious and exhausting, time consuming process.After this mettle testing exercise, one came away with lighter pockets, than for just paying the amount of the bill, if one could pay for a bill 'adjuster'. Yes, read that as a 'tout', who would work in tandem with the municipality workers on the other side of the counter.
With the marvels of ecommerce and ebilling and epayment, the KMC finally broke loose of the system. Life became easier for all but the touts.
But do they just melt away in the shadows? Probably not. I might have just missed an encounter with one, unless there are people who are still practicing random acts of kindness in this cruel world.
Anyhow, this year, the KMC threw a spanner in the works by requiring people to 'self assess' their taxes, based on the size of the property. We have an old house, whose plans have long disappeared. It is not easy to figure out the exact area. Wanting to be 'pukka' as they say in India (translated- 'firmly correct'), I determined to go to the Municipal office for help. There was even a Municipal appointed and approved document preparer, who was paid by the Municipality for his or her services, and free for the payers. Quite a departure from the past, it seemed.I decided to use this service.
It was a searing hot day with a sopping humidity. I was loath to go out anywhere. The airconditioner was humming non stop, keeping up with the thermostat, which had its work cut out. Wanting to minimise the time spent outdoors, I googled the hours of service of the Municipality office. I was somewhat surprised to see that though most of the Municipality offices closed at time honored 3 pm, this large facility, serving most of the southern district of the city would be open till 5 pm. Or so said google.
It seemed too good to be true. But one never knows. With an effort to improve services, perhaps this was an added benefit, for those who couldn't make it in by 3 p.m. Perhaps, many people would still rush in by 3 pm and and then the last two hours would be a relatively calmer time. I resolved to go at 3 pm.
The offices are on the top floor of a building that also houses a major market called Gariahat, to be reached after.a punishing climb of 3 floors over stairwells of various alignments, past several overflowing garbage cans, and dodging various blind ends of hallways that lead to nowhere. To I arrive at 3.10 pm. The young guard at the door of a large hall near the entrance, tells me that the offices close at 3 pm, before ducking into the hall, past a formidable looking iron collapsible gate.
I try to argue with his disappearing back about the website hours of operation. He glances back and points to a scrap of paper with the hours printed. Yes 3 pm, the closing hour. I have missed the deadline. Or have I? My horoscope in the newspaper did say that I would prevail in every battle and tricky situation of today. So they lied and google lied and I am very annoyed. A older man stands right beneath a 'No Smoking' sign, smoking a cigarette and looking at me with pity in his eyes, I want to hate him for smoking and like him for being kindly. Then suddenly, a scruffily dressed young man approaches me with a little chit in his hand. It is a door ticket docket with a time listed on it as 2.40 p.m.
'Madam', he says in the respected manner in which this word is used in this part of the world, 'I have to leave, because I cannot wait any longer. You can have my ticket, if you like'.
I am a little hesitant, as I process this new development. Is he a tout, offering me a time ticket 'for a small sum'?
He senses my question- 'You can just have it', he says 'I heard you tell the guard that you thought the office stays open till later.I am leaving and this ticket is of no value to me. You can use it if you like'. He is plainly in a hurry. I take the ticket, expecting him to name a price. But he turns and briskly walks away, to a nearby staircase and disappears out of sight. The smoker looks sagely. 'You can take the time ticket and go in instead of that boy', he tells me. I had yet to figure out what the purpose of this hall was, whether it is even where I will find the tax preparer, when I got embroiled in this minor drama!
I ask the smoker in Bengali, 'Is this a general enquiry hall or is it a specific office?
'Ekhanei shob hoy', he replies (translated- This is where everything happens). Ah! I have found the mother lode!
When the guard wrenches open the collapsible gate to let out someone, the smoker, now having finished his cigarette, and I enter. The guard challenges me- 'The office is closed, madam'.
'I have a ticket!' I reply triumphantly.
He looks dubious, but he checks the ticket and somewhat reluctantly lets me enter.
The hall is large and mercifully, air conditioned. I sit in the stainless steel chairs along with a crowd of people. This is a new regime and this comfort while waiting is an unexpected delight, compared with the past. My number is about 60 tickets later. It seems that the tickets are being cleared fairly fast, about three to five minutes a ticket, over 4 counters. A young man, sitting next to me, is waiting to pay his taxes as well. He has a tax form in his hand. I strike up a conversation with him. Was it difficult to do the self assessment? I ask. He looks uncomprehendingly at me at first, 'No', he says, 'I just went over to that Dada (big brother) over there at counter number 1, and he generated my bill right away'.
I thank him and rush over to counter 1, which seems outside the purview of the ticket system.
The man there is pleasant. Yes, he is the man in charge of generating the bill.
'What about the assessment?', I ask.
'O shob niye chinta korben na, shob i thik achhe, he says soothingly. (translated- Oh, don't worry about all that, it is all sorted out).
He clicks on various points on his computer screen and my bill gets printed out. They are still making good use of the dot matrix printer here, I note. Why not? If it works, it works.
Before long I pay my taxes and make my way out.
The guard wants to have the last word. 'Madam. I saw how you got your ticket. I was inside but could see you, You did not do the right thing.'
'Your office timings were posted wrong on the internet. Why is it my fault if I used a valid ticket within the time allowed?', I respond.
'That internet timing post is impossible'
'No, that is what it is'
'All Municipality offices close at 3 pm'
'That's not what the website says'
We argue back and forth, mixing up internet, website, wifi access and all similar terms.
'Jai howk, apnar kaaj ta toh holo' he concludes (translated- Anyway, your work got done).
'Haan, holo, Thank you' (yes indeed Thank you).
'No mention, Madam', he says, closing the collapsible gate on me.
May 7, 2018
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