"Can you please come to the Inland Container Depot in Patparganj on Monday," the local shipping agent told me at the end of last week. "I will meet you there at 11 am".
The ICD is one of three around Delhi - the others being in Tughlakabad and Loni (in the neighbouring state of Haryana). "Just take a turn towards Anand Vihar from National Highway-24 and you'll see lots of containers on your right hand side. That is where the ICD is," he told me on Monday morning. "I will see you there at 11".
Getting to the depot wasn't a problem. I did see the containers from quite a distance and was there by 11. "On my way, sir - be there soon," said the agent. "I will get one of our guys to come and pick you up".
The guy was a stickly thin but street smart clearing agent, who helps people get their stuff out quickly and with as little custom duty paid as possible. He is well-versed in the drill - the forms that needed to be filled, the officials that needed to be dealt with, the signatures and notations required on various forms and the palms that need to be greased along the way.
"Let us get your stuff out of the container first," he said. "Have you got any wine, whisky etc?". I replied in negative. "What about electronics? What gadgets have you got from there?" A microwave oven. A computer. A DVD player. And, yes, an LCD TV. "An LCD TV? I don't have any TV on my list."
I was stunned. There definitely was a TV before the packers came into my home. There definitely was a TV that they packed. And there most definitely was a TV that they took into their van. What had happened since? Did the UK customs seize it under the "exotic things" category or did it catch the fancy of Somali pirates?
It was nothing of the sort. The clearing agent was working with "Page-1 of 3" and "Page-3 of 3". Thankfully, I was carrying my copy of the packing list and pointed him towards Package-67 on the list. "Right," he said, as he called the local agent and gave him an earful for not providing the correct papers.
The clock had reach 12.00 pm, so I asked where our man was. "He has reached Akshardham Temple, so should be with us in 10-15 minutes."The clearing agent nudged me to walk towards the Customs Office, as he took my passport and tried to put together the estimated prices of all the electronic items I was bring in. The Customs Office is a two-storeyed structure sitting amidst piles of containers. It is like many other government offices - dark corridors, doors with strings instead of door-handles, blue linoleum floor, sparse seating, steel cupboards with additional locks, files stacked up along the corridor and big waste-bins where everyone spits.
There were the regular signs too. Thookna mana hai (Spitting prohibited), Dhoomrapaan nishedh (Smoking prohibited), Bharatiyata ka naam Hindi hai (Being India is speaking Hindi), Ganmanya atithi ka haardik abhinandan (Heartiest welcome to the esteemed visitor).......An enterprising (or maybe cheesed-off) soul had distorted the first sign to read Thakna mana hai (Getting tired prohibited)!!
The office would have seen good days and the promise for a better future. A sign asked visitors to use the "Touch Screen below" to check the status of your request. The touch screen was long gone, leaving behind a commemorative plaque and a sign warning people not to import exotic birds or animals.
"The computers hardly work here," complained one of the officials. He was too busy to inspect my stuff, but warmed up on hearing I was a media-person from his home state. "How many computers you see here?" he asked me, offering biscuits and other snacks. Two. "Only one works. And do you think this looks like a working space?" It most certainly didn't. The room was about 7 feet by 7 feet, with two occupants and a huge big single-seater sofa for "esteemed visitors" to the office.
Agent after agent walked into the room. Armed with with sheaves of papers, they convinced him why he should put his sought-after signature on the file. The official knew the rules and the procedures and wanted more documents. I am certain I heard kal aana (come tomorrow) a few times.
He had threatend to look at all the electronic items personally, but with the other official dealing with a Right to Information query - spent most of the time inside the room. My clearing agent ran around the office, trying to get the necessary signatures and notations for him to put his signature on the file.
Around 12.30, the local agent finally arrived. "There was too much traffic on the roads, sir," as I came out to speak with him. He set his co-workers on locating and taking out the electronic items from the four cartons that my stuff had arrived in.
By the time they located and took out the stuff, another agent was yelling at them to move my cartons away. "You have blocked my container? Move the stuff away or I will throw it," he threatened. I didn't want any harm coming to my beloved TV - especially after it had been located - so I personally oversaw the shifting of boxes.
Eventually, the official didn't have time to inspect my stuff and decided to trust me on my word. "We just need to deposit the customs duty now," the clearing agent said. "Then you can go away and we'll get the stuff checked out of the depot".
My joy at finally being able to get out of the place was short-lived. It was 2 and the bank had its lunch-time. "Come back at 3," the bank clerk announced. With nothing better to do, I tried to make sense of my surroundings.
The Inland Container Depot seems like a well-oiled system. It has a functional community of clearing agents. Most of them carry black bags, which are dropped at the entrance to the office. They know each other, try and help each other, mentor the newer agents and advice the hopeless ones to try out another career. As they have to spend the entire day there, they come armed with newspapers, lunch, snacks and ........a lot of patience.
At 3, I was able to pay the customs duty and take control of my passport. Before I could walk away, the agent said, "Is it possible to borrow 1600 rupees from you? We need to pay the depot storage charges for the duration the container was here. The ATM here is not working, otherwise I would have paid it myself."
Not paying wasn't an option. The depot wouldn't allow the stuff to be taken out without the storage charge being paid. And I had waited too long to see my stuff.
The bit about the "Thakna mana hai" sign was hilarious. A government office is nothing if not a test of patience.
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