Melinda and Sarah Learn the "Indian System"

I suppose I should write you and give an update on my flat. I am happy to report that it is mostly repaired, with the exception of the water heater in my bathroom, which I probably won’t need in a few weeks anyway. The bugs have been exterminated, and we have a gas stove, microwave, and toaster oven to cook with. We also have cable television and recently I got curtains that actually fit my windows. As an added bonus, I now wake up to a golden glow created by the sun shining through the yellow fabric. The tv is really loud, even if you have it on volume 1, but that’s ok! The traffic noise in my bedroom blocks the sound from the tv! Our latest adventures have been trying to get internet and a package.

First the internet:

We are trying to get a connection through BSNL, because the server that was previously tried turned out to be horrible. So Melinda, our friend Kayla, and I journeyed down to the office armed with our passports, passport photos, and our lease as proof of address. We presented all our documents, said what we needed, and then a confused looking employee said: “Are you an Indian citizen? Where is your passport or ID?” Um…  I have an American passport? Despite some obvious indicators that we are not, in fact, citizens of India, we were asked repeatedly for Indian passports or ID cards and then they informed us that we cannot get internet unless we are Indian citizens. I know this is not true.  I can think of at least 4 Americans who have internet through BSNL, Kayla, who was present with us at the time, is one of them. Sadly, they could not be persuaded to help us. So, a day or two later, we returned with our Indian friend Antu. When we jokingly asked him how to become Indian citizens, his completely deadpan response was “You have to get married.” So, there you have it. I’m officially on the hunt for an Indian husband so I can get things accomplished in this country. Another Indian in line turned around and said, “You just pay off a local politician. You can get passports, driver’s licenses, IDs, anything.” Even the combined efforts of Antu speaking Bangla and Melinda and I passing out candy in the office could not get us internet. Soon, (hopefully) we will return again with letters from our university stating that we are in fact students there and a notarized copy of our lease. And so, the saga continues…  In the meantime, we did discover wireless in the mall. J

The Post Office:

My wonderful family and friends sent me a package on Valentine’s Day. It is now March 4, so it should be here I think. On March 1, Melinda and I walked to the post office nearest us. It is called Tollygunge HPO. At the time, I didn’t know if my family had a tracking number. So, it was kind of a long shot, but what the heck. Upon arrival, we started asking friendly looking employees for assistance, and of course they asked for a tracking number which I didn’t have and wasn’t sure existed. Eventually we were sent to the office of the post master himself, where we were informed that the post office has no way of knowing if there is a package there for me, and furthermore if they do know, it is not their responsibility to inform me that the package has arrived. Just what exactly the responsibilities of the post office are remains to be seen. I texted my mom and sister and got a tracking number. One of them got online and discovered the package is presently somewhere in India. So, after waiting a day to recover from my first traumatic experience with the post office, I went back and presented my tracking number. I was then told my package was at the Foreign Post Office.  I hailed a taxi and proceeded across town. Not many people know where the Foreign Post Office is because not many Indians have to go there. Thus, the taxi dropped me off at the General Post Office which is nearby. After wandering for a while, I found an entrance to the GPO, and got a lady to write down some directions, which summarized were: Strand Rd opposite New Secretariat Building. At that point I had only three questions: What road am I on? Where is Strand Rd? How far down it is the New Secretariat Building? But the lady didn’t or couldn’t answer these questions, so off I went.  I probably wandered around for about half an hour asking different people for directions, before I heard, in English, “I think she’s lost.” I turned, looked around, and thought, why yes, I am lost. Help. I finally got slightly better directions from a friendly man, which I followed until I randomly stumbled across the tiny, hole in the wall, Foreign Post Office. It pretty much looks like a disorganized stock room with a few computers. There were no signs telling me what to do, and no one offered me any assistance, except a super enthusiastic, toothless, old man who really wanted me to sign in, which I did. I went up the stairs to the first floor, where I saw several people seated at desks behind walls, which were clearly marked NO ADMITTANCE. I tried waiting for someone to help me, but no one did. I find the most effective way to get help here is to blithely stroll into restricted areas. And so I did. And then people rushed to my aid. I was sent to the 2^nd floor where I found much the same situation, and responded exactly as I had before. Finally, I got to office of customer service, a tiny, unmarked room on the 3^rd floor. The man told me my package was at the Tollygunge post office. After, explaining that I had already been there that morning, he called Tollygunge. I was told that the package was on its way but hadn’t arrived yet. I went home called Tollygunge HPO, and they said it was at RMS Kolkata, which as it turns out is Kolkata Railway Mailing System. I’m hoping that the package is on its way to me. As of this afternoon, it still has not left the railway station. At least if I never get it it’s not from lack of trying.

And finally, the quotes of the week:

“Yes, I am the first white-skinned, blond-haired, blue-eyed, American passport holding, Indian citizen EVER!” – Kayla

“You must speak Bangla loudly at home!” – Bangla teacher, Mr. Kumar.