Yesterday was hectic - it involved a police station, a stamp vendor and a magistrate. Are you thinking what I think you're thinking? Nah, not even close. It wasn't anything dramatic - just the loss of my degree certificate. Indian red tape can be mind-numbingly frustrating. And when I was told that I had to file a complaint over the lost certificate with the police, I almost gave up. The police then had to issue a statement after verifying that the loss is genuine. This statement has to be attached to the application and a magistrate has to sign. But the bright spot in my day was the stamp vendor. When I stepped into the unprepossessing little cubby hole, I looked at all the debris and wondered why I was there. I needed a letter/affidavit on Government stamped/franked paper. Could the lady who looked like an unlettered rustic help me out? The next few minutes were a revelation. She not only understood immediately but took out the correct proforma / template and typed out the whole affidavit flawlessly. She then printed it, told me where to sign and zip, zap, zoom - I was out. Her efficiency and wonderful attitude impressed me and I was amazed to find that in spite of her slap-dash attire, she was more professional than a lot of so-called professionals I know.
Here's to you , dear unknown stamp-vendor! You made my day.
Have been reading: Venetia, by Georgette Heyer and The Clicking of Cuthbert by P.G. Wodehouse
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