So I've been cruising around the city for a while now on my motorcycle. I'll reiterate the fact that it is definitely the most convenient way to travel, and I'll leave the whole safety factor aside. However, up to this point I've only had my "learner's permit" which entitles me to roam freely in the city for six months. In late December I decided to take the leap and go for the big prize: a real Indian driver's license. The real motivation, aside from being one of a few foreigners that even attempt to do this, was to have documentation for an extended motorcycle trip from Nepal to Tibet that I'll be venturing on in late April/early May. In order to book the adventure of a lifetime, I needed my qualifications in hand and thus had to undertake the task of going back to the beloved Indian DMV.
If you recall, my first experience there was less than enjoyable; memorable for sure, but not something I want to repeat. I'm continually amazed that such a shit hole is meant to be the center for regulating driving in the city, but I don't want to digress from the story too much.
In fact, this time around I learned the proper name which is the RTO (Regional Transport Office). The wording is purposely vague as to the mask the actual responsibilities (or lack there of) such a public office oversees. It brings out my inner John Galt (so to speak) with the frustrating lack of motivation and initiative that permeates throughout public officers in India. A more apt description of the RTO is one in which the officers only work for "a fee" i.e. a bribe, and never find the initiative to actually undertake their work. Let me provide you with a more clear picture.
I arrive to the RTO relatively early which is about 10 a.m. in India. I realize I'll have to wait in line because no officer will step out to administer the driving tests until after his tea and providing some basic stamps for others standing in line waiting for a permit. Additionally, I can't speak directly to any officer as it has to be done through a third party. Let's call these guys the "mediators". Well all the money I pay to even be present goes through this mediator, who also has about ten other people he's helping that day, and there are probably four of these middle men in all. Once it hits about 11 a.m., and about 50 of us are standing in the dirt lot as far from the feces strewn toilet area (look back at my previous post about this) we're told that we can do a trial run for our licenses.
I confront the mediator and say that I really don't need a trial run, and would rather just do my test. He assures me that this is standard, which in all honesty is not reassuring at all. When I hear standard I start to realize this is going to take all day. Not only that, the only vehicle I see in front of us is a small car. I'm here for my motorcycle test, not for a car license.
When I voice this concern to Mr. Mediator, he again says it's not a problem. I should try driving the car as I can easily receive that license too. I'm not ready to argue further as it's very apparent my complaining won't achieve anything.
So I hop in line to give the car a quick spin, which in fact is really only driving forward about 20 yards, then backwards the same distance. Sure you have to change gears as it's a manual, and the wheel is on the other side of the car, but it can't be that big of a deal. Well I see the first girl hop in and bump around egregiously trying to shift into first gear. This doesn't strike any further fear in me, but rather is appalling that she could even reach this point in her drive license process. She simply can't drive a car, yet is in line for her test. As I've learned to do here quite well, I label the thought with a "well that's India" tag, and jump in the car myself. I don't even think it's boasting to say that it was extremely easy and straightforward to pass this practice trial.
After we all did a quick spin, the sun was reaching it's optimal point in the sky and there was still no sight or murmurings of an officer. I would say that then we all sat down under an awning to inevitably wait longer, but there was only a minimal overhang providing some shade, and obviously no seats. I'll retract that statement; no clean seats even for many of the Indians I stood with.
Eventually, after sweating it out for about two more hours, an officer sauntered up to his mediators cum henchmen, which signaled the time was upon us. We all frantically lined up with the thought that once we finished the quick up and back in the car we could sign our names and be on our way. Several people shied away for the white-man, and I was certainly ready to abuse my preferential status in this situation. In any case, I was in and out of the car in about 30 seconds, no joke, and stood ready to sign my name on some paperwork to get a move on and do the motorcycle test.
I think you can sense something doesn't work out here, but basically Mr. Mediator tells me that I have to wait for everyone to finish before I can sign my name as the officer needs to be present. When I ask if I can sit for my motorcycle exam in the meantime he simply chuckles and states that I just did. This throw's me off a bit, and I have to inquire further with my driver, Clifford, who was there to observe everything. It turns out that by simply shifting one gear, driving a few feet, then doing the same in reverse was sufficient for me to claim not only my car license but also my motorcycle one as well. Interesting to say the least, as no one in all of India needed to know that I could actually drive a motorcycle. I'll leave it at that.
Finally everyone "passed" their exam even though some people sputtered and jumped the car through the process. We all signed some book with our picture in it, and were told we'd receive our official license in 5-35 days. You can only guess what that meant, and is part of the reason I'm writing this piece just now.
Through my mediator, Clifford, I tried after about two weeks to communicate with the RTO mediator that I still had not received anything. The physical license was to be shipped by post, and I'm not surprised as the RTO didn't have anything resembling a machine with the capabilities to accomplish the printing process. The issue here is that because it's had to come by post, someone has to be at home to receive it on the day it arrives or it will be sent back to the dreaded RTO, and I'd have to go through the whole process again. I'm not even going to entertain the thinking needed to justify the validity or logic, but that's how it works. As a result, I have to pay the post man a couple extra hundred rupees to guarantee that he can hold on to my license for me until I'm home from work.
Ultimately, this didn't even matter. I waited the full time month and change for some notification, even having Clifford chase down people and follow up with the postman, but alas to no avail. I was told that unfortunately, and for no reason at all, the RTO misprinted my license along with about five others. Translation: I'm white and they can extract even more money off me. So I buckled and offered another 500 rupees if they could process everything quickly.
Well quickly wasn't exactly the timeframe these people had in mind, as it took about three more weeks for anything to get moving, some more follow up, a couple hundred more rupees, and in person (or rather via Clifford) I finally received my smiling face on a piece of plastic signifying my right to drive in India. I'm afraid to even say more as the thought of all this still bothers me to no end.
The moral of the story is to get your international license before you move in India. Also, just pay as much upfront as possible. I thought I did that, but I should have choked up more to forgo the hassle of this experience and stress of waiting. Now, I'll be able to go on my journey in late April, which will hopefully be worth it all, but I never plan on stepping foot back in the black hole of dysfunction which is really a meaningless front for a system of bribery otherwise known as the Indian RTO.
On a different note, I had the fortune to receive two visitors a couple weeks ago. Pat and his future father-in-law John (aka Mr. Walsh) came over to Mumbai. While I could ramble on about our adventures and experiences as well as comment on a visitors perspective on Mumbai and India as a whole, I'm actually going to leave that up to those two. I've been promised they will provide me, and my blog, with some color around the trip.
There is one aspect I would like to mention, which is our quick weekend getaway to Goa. Goa is the smallest state in India, only about an hour flight from Mumbai. It is famous for it's huge strip of actually swimmable and clean beaches, about 200km long in fact. The whole stretch is broken up into many sub-beaches that appeal to everyone's subconscious desire to leave a simpler more enjoyable life. In fact it calls mostly to Russian, Jewish, and British tourists, but that's an aside.
The true allure is the laid back, pseudo-hippie, spartan lifestyle that one can partake in for a few days. We stayed in a very nondescript room just 100 yards from the beach, where in fact many people stayed in small, rustic beach huts with nothing more than a bed. The beer and food was extremely cheap and delicious amongst the backdrop of rolling waves. We certainly epitomized the beach holiday; continually wearing a bathing suit, relaxing in the sand under the protection of some shade, and strolling around with only a nice bite and another cool beer in mind. I'll (hopefully) let Pat and John discuss the whole experience further.
If you recall, my first experience there was less than enjoyable; memorable for sure, but not something I want to repeat. I'm continually amazed that such a shit hole is meant to be the center for regulating driving in the city, but I don't want to digress from the story too much.
In fact, this time around I learned the proper name which is the RTO (Regional Transport Office). The wording is purposely vague as to the mask the actual responsibilities (or lack there of) such a public office oversees. It brings out my inner John Galt (so to speak) with the frustrating lack of motivation and initiative that permeates throughout public officers in India. A more apt description of the RTO is one in which the officers only work for "a fee" i.e. a bribe, and never find the initiative to actually undertake their work. Let me provide you with a more clear picture.
I arrive to the RTO relatively early which is about 10 a.m. in India. I realize I'll have to wait in line because no officer will step out to administer the driving tests until after his tea and providing some basic stamps for others standing in line waiting for a permit. Additionally, I can't speak directly to any officer as it has to be done through a third party. Let's call these guys the "mediators". Well all the money I pay to even be present goes through this mediator, who also has about ten other people he's helping that day, and there are probably four of these middle men in all. Once it hits about 11 a.m., and about 50 of us are standing in the dirt lot as far from the feces strewn toilet area (look back at my previous post about this) we're told that we can do a trial run for our licenses.
I confront the mediator and say that I really don't need a trial run, and would rather just do my test. He assures me that this is standard, which in all honesty is not reassuring at all. When I hear standard I start to realize this is going to take all day. Not only that, the only vehicle I see in front of us is a small car. I'm here for my motorcycle test, not for a car license.
When I voice this concern to Mr. Mediator, he again says it's not a problem. I should try driving the car as I can easily receive that license too. I'm not ready to argue further as it's very apparent my complaining won't achieve anything.
So I hop in line to give the car a quick spin, which in fact is really only driving forward about 20 yards, then backwards the same distance. Sure you have to change gears as it's a manual, and the wheel is on the other side of the car, but it can't be that big of a deal. Well I see the first girl hop in and bump around egregiously trying to shift into first gear. This doesn't strike any further fear in me, but rather is appalling that she could even reach this point in her drive license process. She simply can't drive a car, yet is in line for her test. As I've learned to do here quite well, I label the thought with a "well that's India" tag, and jump in the car myself. I don't even think it's boasting to say that it was extremely easy and straightforward to pass this practice trial.
After we all did a quick spin, the sun was reaching it's optimal point in the sky and there was still no sight or murmurings of an officer. I would say that then we all sat down under an awning to inevitably wait longer, but there was only a minimal overhang providing some shade, and obviously no seats. I'll retract that statement; no clean seats even for many of the Indians I stood with.
Eventually, after sweating it out for about two more hours, an officer sauntered up to his mediators cum henchmen, which signaled the time was upon us. We all frantically lined up with the thought that once we finished the quick up and back in the car we could sign our names and be on our way. Several people shied away for the white-man, and I was certainly ready to abuse my preferential status in this situation. In any case, I was in and out of the car in about 30 seconds, no joke, and stood ready to sign my name on some paperwork to get a move on and do the motorcycle test.
I think you can sense something doesn't work out here, but basically Mr. Mediator tells me that I have to wait for everyone to finish before I can sign my name as the officer needs to be present. When I ask if I can sit for my motorcycle exam in the meantime he simply chuckles and states that I just did. This throw's me off a bit, and I have to inquire further with my driver, Clifford, who was there to observe everything. It turns out that by simply shifting one gear, driving a few feet, then doing the same in reverse was sufficient for me to claim not only my car license but also my motorcycle one as well. Interesting to say the least, as no one in all of India needed to know that I could actually drive a motorcycle. I'll leave it at that.
Finally everyone "passed" their exam even though some people sputtered and jumped the car through the process. We all signed some book with our picture in it, and were told we'd receive our official license in 5-35 days. You can only guess what that meant, and is part of the reason I'm writing this piece just now.
Through my mediator, Clifford, I tried after about two weeks to communicate with the RTO mediator that I still had not received anything. The physical license was to be shipped by post, and I'm not surprised as the RTO didn't have anything resembling a machine with the capabilities to accomplish the printing process. The issue here is that because it's had to come by post, someone has to be at home to receive it on the day it arrives or it will be sent back to the dreaded RTO, and I'd have to go through the whole process again. I'm not even going to entertain the thinking needed to justify the validity or logic, but that's how it works. As a result, I have to pay the post man a couple extra hundred rupees to guarantee that he can hold on to my license for me until I'm home from work.
Ultimately, this didn't even matter. I waited the full time month and change for some notification, even having Clifford chase down people and follow up with the postman, but alas to no avail. I was told that unfortunately, and for no reason at all, the RTO misprinted my license along with about five others. Translation: I'm white and they can extract even more money off me. So I buckled and offered another 500 rupees if they could process everything quickly.
Well quickly wasn't exactly the timeframe these people had in mind, as it took about three more weeks for anything to get moving, some more follow up, a couple hundred more rupees, and in person (or rather via Clifford) I finally received my smiling face on a piece of plastic signifying my right to drive in India. I'm afraid to even say more as the thought of all this still bothers me to no end.
The moral of the story is to get your international license before you move in India. Also, just pay as much upfront as possible. I thought I did that, but I should have choked up more to forgo the hassle of this experience and stress of waiting. Now, I'll be able to go on my journey in late April, which will hopefully be worth it all, but I never plan on stepping foot back in the black hole of dysfunction which is really a meaningless front for a system of bribery otherwise known as the Indian RTO.
On a different note, I had the fortune to receive two visitors a couple weeks ago. Pat and his future father-in-law John (aka Mr. Walsh) came over to Mumbai. While I could ramble on about our adventures and experiences as well as comment on a visitors perspective on Mumbai and India as a whole, I'm actually going to leave that up to those two. I've been promised they will provide me, and my blog, with some color around the trip.
There is one aspect I would like to mention, which is our quick weekend getaway to Goa. Goa is the smallest state in India, only about an hour flight from Mumbai. It is famous for it's huge strip of actually swimmable and clean beaches, about 200km long in fact. The whole stretch is broken up into many sub-beaches that appeal to everyone's subconscious desire to leave a simpler more enjoyable life. In fact it calls mostly to Russian, Jewish, and British tourists, but that's an aside.
The true allure is the laid back, pseudo-hippie, spartan lifestyle that one can partake in for a few days. We stayed in a very nondescript room just 100 yards from the beach, where in fact many people stayed in small, rustic beach huts with nothing more than a bed. The beer and food was extremely cheap and delicious amongst the backdrop of rolling waves. We certainly epitomized the beach holiday; continually wearing a bathing suit, relaxing in the sand under the protection of some shade, and strolling around with only a nice bite and another cool beer in mind. I'll (hopefully) let Pat and John discuss the whole experience further.
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