India moves up in “Ease of doing Business” index. What!!!

You know how kids at some point in time start hankering for a dog? And the parents will be promised the earth in lieu? “Yes, I will feed the dog, take it for walks, give it a bath, etc etc”.  Sure enough, these promises are forgotten after a week.  No wonder it is a common sight in our residential areas for some sullen faced dads walking their dogs every morning with ‘life is not fair’ clearly etched on their foreheads.
 
Well it is the same with scooters. My younger son, having reached the legal driving age started hankering for a scooter. So, a requisition was put forth circuitously via the mom. I didn’t have a problem with the scooter per se, but at my age I really didn’t want to get into the nitty gritties of registration work, servicing, petrol filling, washing, hawa checking, etc. The son promised me with the greatest amount of seeming sincerity that he would look after EVERYTHING. So, a scooter was bought and as a natural corollary, I was stuck with the dog…. er scooter.
 
Three months later, the son shifted to Hyderabad. And guess what? I was left holding the can…..er scooter. The problem was compounded by the fact that I didn’t have a two wheeler license, having last ridden a scooter in about 1996. I could now see clearly that the scooter, was essentially my dog.  I was left with no option therefore, but to launch into an adventure titled ‘get a license’.
 
So I got in touch with Aisa Waisa driving school who after the mandatory learner’s license waiting period asked me to reach RTO on so and so date at 1000 hrs sharp and report to one Mr Akbar. Total time needed was about 30 min I was assured. I was impressed. The ‘Ease of Doing Business’ in our country definitely seemed to be on an upward trajectory. Being punctilious about punctuality, I reported there at 1000 hrs sharp. No Akbar in sight. Gave him a call – no pickup. Twiddled my thumbs. Gave a call again, no pick up. Twiddled some more. Repeated. Finally got through at 1045 hrs. Akbar, clearly not one for clarity, asked me to wait under ‘a large blue shed’. Found said shed and waited. Minutes passed. After some time I started feeling a bit apprehensive as the 30 min had long lapsed and I started accosting some random people there – ‘aap Akbar hai kya?’ (Are you Akbar?) In hindsight, the suspicious looks that the ‘accoster’ got from the accosted were I guess, only natural. Finally, I spotted a guy who ‘seemed’ to look like Akbar. Accosted him and when he nodded in the affirmative, I almost jumped with glee. Am sure Tenzing would have felt the same on scaling Mt Everest.
 
Akbar gave me a sheaf of papers, and told me to get it signed by a rather despondent looking Sub Inspector. Said Inspector, signed it wearily and asked me to wait ‘there’ for the driving test with a rather airy and vague wave of the hand. However, seeing some other similar sheaf wielding people, I divined the location of ‘there’ and there is where I stood under the burning sun.
 
Did I say despondent looking Sub Inspector? Well that about sums up the entire atmosphere at the RTO too. It was a despondent looking compound, with despondent looking buildings, despondent and disinterested staff, despondent looking wooden pieces which I sensed were once furniture. Even the dust and cobwebs looked despondently at me.  What the RTO did not lack was a crowd. There were a large number of similarly confused people wandering here and there who had come for some mysterious work or another. Amongst all this, one could discern the Amars, Akbars and Antonys from various driving schools diligently going about their business, each with his brood of license aspirants.
 
However, I was mighty pleased that I was third in the driving test line. But just as I was envisioning a quick shoo in followed by a smooth glide out from all the despondency, Akbar announced “all Aisa Waisa School aspirants please form a line here” (about five metres away from where the line had already formed). The ensuing melee saw me drop from third place to eighth place as the concerned aspirants of Aaisa Waisa school made a mad rush for the new destination. Then in a deference to courtesy, the ladies were added to the start of the line, and I became eleventh. Meanwhile Amar, obviously with deeper pockets than Akbar, told the Inspector, that his ‘team’ from Jod Tod school was ready for the test and hence were added ahead of us the Aisa Waisa types. So, I became 35th.  Neat eh?
 
The Inspector having signed all forms had by now, strutted majestically to the driving test arena with an obsequious looking Akbar ceremoniously carrying the Inspector’s chair behind him. The Inspector was a magnificent mix of emotions, looking sad, and important at the same time, clearly aware of his onerous burden of ensuring safety on our roads. He briefed us all in two ponderous sentences on what we were expected to do and off went the first lady (ladies first, remember?). And that is when the mystery of all the chaos on our roads become clear to me.
 
The scooter driving test arena for those who do not know, is essentially a one metre wide figure of eight that one needs to traverse through. The aspirant has to start the scooter, take it off its stand, traverse the figure of eight and park the scooter opposite the Inspector on completion. Well the lady clearly dismissive of eights, carried out a stuttering figure of zero and promptly fell down with the scooter on stopping. This while embarrassing for her, caused much mirth amongst the onlookers. The mirth seemed to unnerve the remaining two ladies, who in their consternation struggled to even get the scooter off the stand. The look on the Inspector’s face had by now been transformed to one of resignation. But, if anything, he was magnanimous and all three ladies were declared passed.  Then came the first male, clad in a kurta pyjama, who all this while had been chattering away loudly and advising everyone on the intricacies of passing the test. Those who had witnessed the performance of the ladies were listening attentively, apprehension writ large on their faces. On being beckoned, he strode to the scooter with nary a care on his forehead.  But you know how overconfidence can be a killer? Maybe he underestimated the ‘pick up’ of the scooter, or maybe he was all bluster; but he revved the accelerator to max. The scooter, standing innocuously like a well fed sheep opposite the Inspector till then, took off like a startled mare in a diametrically opposite direction from the figure of eight, narrowly missing the Inspector. The Inspector in turn, showed remarkable agility of expression with resignation being replaced by instantaneous alarm on the one hand, and on the other, displayed physical fitness of admirable levels as he jumped clear. But he too was passed. Then on came a cheerful Sardar who looked the very picture of competence. He, with great elan and confidence took the scooter and completed the figure of eight rather flamboyantly, but in the wrong direction.  The Inspector shouted something unintelligible – but he too was passed.
 
Meanwhile what with Amar continuing with his efficiency and Akbar continuing to look obsequious, our line of the Aisa Waisa school was not making satisfactory progress. The heat was getting to me now, and hence I stepped out of line and remonstrated with the Inspector. I, with all my eloquence, suggested that he needed to follow some system as the Aisa Waisa types, while enjoying the spectacle, were not getting their money’s worth….  He looked at this white haired me curiously as if thinking ‘who is this guy who dares question the might of the government machinery’. But my tone seemed to have got to him and he loudly banished all Amars, Akbars and Antonys from the arena, took my form, and bade me to do the driving test. The test took me about 15 seconds and off I was, homeward bound.  

I can only surmise that the recent improvements in India’s ranking on ease of doing business metrics were not courtesy our RTOs at least.