All I wanted was a refund on an unused rail ticket
Report and picture, Sophie Baker
All I wanted was a refund on an unused first-class rail ticket from new Delhi to Hyderabad. My search led me down byways
of Indian bureaucracy to the filecrammed office pictured below.
After beeing shuttled to and fro between rival offices at New Delhi railway station, I had arrived, via an old goods yard, at the
Cash Credit Refund Building. All five stories of it. "Go to the second floor, turn left, and knock on the third door on the left,"
said the commissionaire. I passed dark rooms piled floor-to-ceiling with files. On the second floor I was told:"The gentleman you
wish to see is Mr Lal. His office is on the first floor." There Mr Lal, a large, turbanned Punjabi (on the right in the picture) greeted
me with a wide smile. "Well, my darling, do come in." I told my story. "I think this is a matter for the superintendent," he said, and
served me a glass of tea. I took a picture, despite the protests of Mr Lal's clerk (left). Then to the superintendent next door,
and some sharp questioning. At length: "I suppose I can do something for you, but you will have to come back in two days."
But I was leaving India that evening. "Then you will have to leave an address for the refund to be forwarded." Worn down, I gave
the address of our Indian hosts. When last I heard, they were still waiting.
