Passport, please

Insensible bureaucracy is made all the more incomprehensible through experience. To buy a local train ticket at Mumbai Central, I had to first fill out a lengthy questionnaire resembling a customs form; after waiting on a sweltering, airless line for 20 minutes, I was re-directed to a row of empty kiosks across the hall. After a while, the one attendant who had bothered to show up for work half-heartedly informed me that I should purchase the ticket in another building. Finally at the correct counter, I pleaded with the ticket agent to sell me the ticket I actually needed:

Me: I'd like to buy 1 ticket on the Ahmadabad Express, to Palghar, for 12:15
Ticket Agent: But that is a slow train. There is a faster train at 3:30pm
Me: Yes, but that's a long time away (it's now 11:30); also, that train doesn't stop in Palghar.
TA: That is correct. But it is faster.
Me: Yes, I understand, but I need to go to Palghar. I need a train that stops in Palghar
TA: Palghar?
Me: Yes, Palghar. I need a local train
TA: Yes, then you will need the local train
Me: Right... so could i please buy my ticket for the Ahmadabad Express?
TA: But that is a slow train

Eventually, he let me pay him the 19 rupees it would cost for the two-and-a-half hour journey in a rusty metal container that passes for a 2nd class passenger train.

This, of course, is only a bit of just one day in India... This morning, while waiting for the train, I could not use the internet because I didn't have a photo ID, although I could easily buy narcotics from the pharmacy kiosk next door. I also couldn't burn a photo CD because the shop didn't have any, and even if they had, the confused look on the attendant's face told me that, despite the bold sign above his counter declaring otherwise, he would not have known how to operate the computer anyway. I couldn't make a local call, but was free to dial internationally. I watched the station's scraggly metal detectors stand idly by while the 7 or 8 uniformed guards sat around reading newspapers and drinking chai. I asked one of the officers when the metal detector is used; he informed me that they use it when they suspect a terrorist. And how do they decide who is a 'suspect'? By the way they carry their bags, he told me. Terrorists put their bags down and then walk around looking dodgy, suspicious, conspicuous in their attempt to hide a bomb and blow up infrastructure. How do they look out for these people when they're all sitting idly by? "We pay more attention when there are more trains", he said. I stepped aside and took some photographs, but soon found myself being questioned by the same officer... i figured that would be a good time to smile innocently, put my camera away, and board the train.

I am in Palghar for two more weeks, and then I'm traveling again, up north to Uttaranchal for a week before heading off to West Bengal. I am pulling myself together, gritting my teeth, and working. I will finish writing a spectacular manual for their less-than-deserving health mobile, and I will continue harassing the Warli artist to make sure my first aid drawings are completed and ready for printing before I leave. 14 days, and then a breath of fresh air. 14 days, and then a break from inanity, chaos, anger, and sorrow. 14 days and then, at least for a while, I will again be elsewhere... and, hopefully, otherwise.

Note: this post has been edited from its' original version to respect privacy.