The last time I visited India, I tried to open an account at the local branch of one of India's largest nationalized banks. In order to open an account you need, among other things, a 'proof of address'. It may be a passport, an electricity bill or any of a list of documents that carries the applicant's name and address. Having lived in the US for six years, I had no such document. My passport has a really old address on it, and I pay no bills in India. What the bank really needs is proof of citizenship, and an address for correspondence (which is rarely used since these banks seldom mail statements).
At first I thought that I would try reasoning with the bureaucracy although something told me that things would not go anywhere. As expected, I was thwarted by a clerk who asked 'How will the bank know where you live?'. I felt like replying 'How does the bank care where I live?', but I sensed triumph in his voice and decided to abandon this line of attack. I have seen this clerk coming to work and sitting on the same chair for the last ten years whenever I have been to the bank. The faces in a bureaucracy rarely change. They start young, grow wrinkles, and disappear after about four decades. When I arrived early at the bank one day, I saw this man arrive, sit on his chair, and open his books with a look of sheer annoyance on his face. He hates his job. Why add to his misery by arguing? He doesn't make the rules, he simply follows them; and he may have rightly concluded through experience that his life is simpler if he does not bring reason to the table.
Address does not prove citizenship, and most citizens in India do not have a home of their own, but then a lot of things in a bureaucracy don't make sense. But the not-making-sense part is only the tip of the iceberg. The real pain lies elsewhere. In order to get any of the 'proof of address documents', I would have to get an electricity or phone account, buy immovable property, procure one of the other items from the same list, or to go to an administrative officer, who supposedly knows every person in his particular densely populated locality of India. A clerk at the bank told me that some Bangladeshi citizens had accounts in their branch. Why not? How does the administrative officer know me from a Bangladeshi? All four of my grandparents were born in what is Bangladesh today before independence and the partition of India.
Somewhere during the process it struck me. If they weren't going to use the address, how did I care what address my passport had? I used my passport, and also let the manager know that this was not my current address. He sent me to a clerk who informally made a note of my true address and that was that. The system works, albeit not in a meaningful or foolproof way. It works in the traditional Indian ishtyle.
At first I thought that I would try reasoning with the bureaucracy although something told me that things would not go anywhere. As expected, I was thwarted by a clerk who asked 'How will the bank know where you live?'. I felt like replying 'How does the bank care where I live?', but I sensed triumph in his voice and decided to abandon this line of attack. I have seen this clerk coming to work and sitting on the same chair for the last ten years whenever I have been to the bank. The faces in a bureaucracy rarely change. They start young, grow wrinkles, and disappear after about four decades. When I arrived early at the bank one day, I saw this man arrive, sit on his chair, and open his books with a look of sheer annoyance on his face. He hates his job. Why add to his misery by arguing? He doesn't make the rules, he simply follows them; and he may have rightly concluded through experience that his life is simpler if he does not bring reason to the table.
Address does not prove citizenship, and most citizens in India do not have a home of their own, but then a lot of things in a bureaucracy don't make sense. But the not-making-sense part is only the tip of the iceberg. The real pain lies elsewhere. In order to get any of the 'proof of address documents', I would have to get an electricity or phone account, buy immovable property, procure one of the other items from the same list, or to go to an administrative officer, who supposedly knows every person in his particular densely populated locality of India. A clerk at the bank told me that some Bangladeshi citizens had accounts in their branch. Why not? How does the administrative officer know me from a Bangladeshi? All four of my grandparents were born in what is Bangladesh today before independence and the partition of India.
Somewhere during the process it struck me. If they weren't going to use the address, how did I care what address my passport had? I used my passport, and also let the manager know that this was not my current address. He sent me to a clerk who informally made a note of my true address and that was that. The system works, albeit not in a meaningful or foolproof way. It works in the traditional Indian ishtyle.
