going postal

In other countries, especially America, "going postal" is a humorous euphemism for going into a murderous rage (alright, so it might not be humorous to other postal workers, but you get the drift). In India, I think it means "going slowly to the point of distraction in a laborious effort to get things just right". Let me explain.

This is a story I've been meaning to jot down since the first time it happened about a week ago. It happened again a couple of days later and while the same delightful old codger was involved, it was clear he was acting under very detailed instructions.

Your man arrived a day over a week ago at about 6:20pm looking for David Lamond (which he pronounced correctly using the proper Scottish pronunciation, which I have now re-adopted since the overwhelming majority of Indians pronounce the name with the emphasis on the first syllable (lamb ond) rather than the Frenchified la mond, with the emphasis on the second syllyable ... but I digress).

In his hand he had a letter from the State Bank of India via "Speed Post" and "To be delivered to addressee or to his/her Authorised Representative only". He asked if I was "David Lamond" and I said yes. Identification please, he continued. And so I produced my NSW Driver's License, which has a picture of me on it. He hummed and hawed for a minute and then decided no, it was not good enough. India identification? No, I'm sorry, I'm an Australian citizen. I need identification I can trust. He then went to get the apartment complex watchman for the purpose. Meanwhile, I had realised, of course, that I'd just received my SBI bank account documents (hand delivered by the branch manager, who wants the School's business) and it included a passport sized photo of me.

When he arrived back at the apartment door, I was able to display this proudly to him. He then had to go through each word on the passbook and compare it with the details on the delivery document he had, then he did it again and, yes, three times proves it! Satisfied it was really me and that I wasn't impersonating the person in both photos, he asked for my signature, date and full name in block letters. Now, he handed over the letter. As he left, I closed the door and opened the envelope that contained this obviously very important letter. "Dear Valued Customer", began the form letter that welcomed the valued customer to the bank and its services. Nowhere on the document did it actually identify me!

Fast forward to the 2nd of November about 6:10pm and the doorbell brings me to the door and the same old fellow with a suspiciously familiar envelope in his hand. Yes, it was another letter from SBI, with the same instructions on the envelope about the addressee or his/her authorised representative. Hello, says I, another letter, eh? Well, you remember me from the other day don't you? But your man was not for turning - identification please. I have learned that there's no point in arguing with this kind of determination and so I produced (more quickly this time, in my practised way) the passbook and its passport photo, with a flourish. Obviously unimpressed by my theatrics, again my friend checked every word on the distribution sheet he was carrying the requisite three times, looked at me, looked at the photo, and again at me (I'm not sure whether he was trying to decide if there was a likeness or form some kind of aesthetic judgement, but it was a serious effort on his part). That done to his satisfaction, it was time to sign, date and list the full name, and only then would he part, grudgingly, with the letter in his care. As I waved him goodbye with thanks and a gentle closing of the door, I opened my second "speed post" envelope in less than a week. Personally addressed, this time, the letter was by way of advice that Kerry is indeed the nominated beneficiary for the account should anything happen to me and she needs to access the account.

So there you have, my experience of someone "going postal" in India. I hope that doesn't happen too often.