And Then, The Cashew Tree Shed a Dozen Leaves

License to loot!

A visit to the regional transport office a few days ago opened up an interesting world in front of my prying eyes. Nothing new, did you say? True, it has been the same always in pockets like the RTO and similar corridors infested by the babus who live happily on the taxes I pay year after year. This time around it was, in fact, comic relief for me.

I happened to be at the RTO, with a close relative of mine, trying to wade through the crowd of hapless motorists waiting for their turn to pay the new Road Safety Cess slapped on motoring men and women in Kerala. Clerks who virtually did nothing but managed to appear working hard were dime a dozen. So were the counters. Most of them preferred to stay empty even as the crowd grew thicker by the minute.

The proceeds of the cess levied from me and my brethren, along with penalty, interests and fees, will be credited to a consolidated fund, proclaimed a newspaper. Only then did I know there is this thing called Cess which I too have to pay. Wondered what it means. The newspaper had the answer to that too. After deducting the expenses of collection and recovery, the remaining amount of the cess will be transferred to the Kerala Road Safety Fund.

So that was it. Road safety has turned a concern for the government. But then where are the roads where I could drive on, I begin to wonder. Every day from and to office, I encounter fresh potholes and mini ponds in the middle of the highways. Speeding madmen who call themselves drivers, toll collectors in front of a bridge made ages ago, trenches they dig in the middle of the night so that no speeding car or truck accelerates away without paying up and many other distractions ranging from ministers, escort policemen and the ISRO bus drivers who think they own the roads, leave me frightened while on the road.

The government's concern for the citizens' safety is worthy enough to be applauded. So what do we do to make ourselves safe? Pay Cess, silly. The pockets have been long waiting to filled. Oh yes, did I beat about the bush a bit? Coming back to the point, cut back to the RTO scene. There I was standing shoulder to shoulder with similar motorists to pay up so that I ensure my safety on the road.

It's working day, and I need to reach office soon. The counters are all open – akin to a football goalpost with no goalkeeper in sight. But then, my Cess money isn't any ball I can just kick in and scoot. I need to show the traffic cop or the interceptor, who have found their jobs a highly-lucrative business, something to prove that I have paid my Cess. So the wait continues.

A good soul arrives, switches on his work PC and starts work. All hands laden with money stretch toward him. The good clerk worked as if he knew the value of time. I indeed started showering my voiceless blessings on him. After an hour or so, another middle aged clerk walks in. A sigh of relief escapes every mouth in the queue. One more man who can make things move faster so that all of us can go to office on time, I thought.

The new entrant sat staring at his computer for a while, then flicked out his flashy mobile and started playing his favorite game. The other clerk, hard working as ever, hoping for some assistance, felt uneasy not seeing the PC monitor light up. Coyly, he asks, where do you start? Pat came the answer! “I don't feel like working today” Jaws drop. He is unconcerned.

Dozens of office goers have been waiting for more than two hours waiting for their turn in front of 12 counters. Just one counter functioned and another one was open but not willing to work. RTO staff are a blessed lot. Motorists never cease to come to them, and subject themselves to ransom. Their indeed is no other go. Money flows in under different heads, no one knows where the currency notes go.

I now sit wondering why I should even need a license to drive. Why should I pay my road tax for the roads I don't have? Why should I go and beg before a man who feels his mobile phone games are more important than the many office goers who are forced to skip work and pay to stand in line and hand over an amount of money that goes somewhere unknown? Why the heck should I pay toll to help someone recover the money spent on a bridge build a decade or more ago? Any work at the RTO is a pain in the butt. Why should I take the pain? Tell me please...