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Queue-breakers!

A couple of days ago, I was standing in a long queue outside the cabin of the principal of St Xavier's college, Bombay, to discuss certain admission details for my daughter. The queue was slightly disorderly,, but no one tried to break it and force their way in. I was very happy because I did not come across anyone who tried to sneak into the principal's cabin on one pretext or the other.

Bombay's queues, in most places, are orderly. Yet, there are certain bus stops, particularly in the suburbs, where the arrival of a bus is the signal for mayhem. The BEST which runs the bus service in the city has people supervising the queue system, but they cannot be present at all bus stops.

Long queues are always seen outside the suburban railway booking counters and whenever someone tries to gatecrash to the forward positions, he is greeted with screams, 'line mein aajao, peeche jao' and so on. It requires a brave heart and thick skin to combat this hostility. Yet people do break the queue system in other ways. They arrive late at the counters and then request people, whose turn is about to come, to buy their tickets. Most people who are requested to do so oblige, though this infuriates those behind them.

These queue-breakers are not much of a menace and can be controlled. There are others who operate in the same category, but are more subtle and succeed in outwitting those who have been waiting patiently. There is a sly approach to them, coupled with a bit of bravado and the ability to absorb some abuse.

I call this type of queue-breakers, guzjantawalas. Let me illustrate. At Bandra's Holy Family Hospital, one of the cleanest and most disciplined in Bombay, people waiting to see the doctors are given numbered cards. They wait patiently outside, for their turn. Suddenly they are confronted with a man, well dressed and speaking English, who loiters near the door of the doctor's cabin. He nods when told that people have been waiting for hours to meet the doctor and he should take his turn along with them.

Suddenly, as one of the patients emerges from the doctor's room, he sneaks in with the words, ''One minute, personal work with the doctor.'' Or, "I have to give an urgent message to the doctor." Sometimes, the nurse who supervises the entry process tries to stop such people, but cannot succeed. The process is quick and efficient. Those of us who wait, fret and fume, but the intruder has his way!

You meet such guzjantawalas at other places too, where there are long queues. Take the booking hall at Bombay's Victoria Terminus rail station. There are nearly 60 counters, but one always finds long queues in front of them. The reservation process is long, despite the so-called computerisation. Passengers on finding there are no berths available on the trains they prefer, discuss alternative arrangements with the booking clerk. Normally, it takes nearly 15 to 20 minutes for a clerk to deal with a single passenger.

In the meantime, the others wait patiently, hoping their turn will come before the counter is closed either for lunch break or for the day. It is then that the guzjantawala emerges. He will casually walk to the front of the queue, ignoring cries to stand at the back. He will ignore the comments and try to pacify those in the queue, ''Just one minute's work. I want to make some enquiries'' and then proceed to spend the next 15 to 20 minutes finalising his reservation while those who have waited for hours, mutter obscenities.

Is it possible to check these guzjantawalas? A veteran 'g' do not mind public anger and goes about his business coolly. When the other passengers complain to the booking clerk, he looks bored and steers clear of the quarrels in the queue. He shrugs and goes on dealing with the 'g' as though he is just another passenger. The booking hall is supposed to have security personnel to check the queues and stop people from breaking them. But they are never available when the 'g' operates.

One has to admire the nerve of the guzjantawalas. They know they are the targets of hundreds of people. But the Indian protestor is seldom aroused to physical action. He will just shout 'peeche jao, line mein aa jao' and then keep quiet. He never dares to indulge in action, like removing the intruder physically and putting him at the back of the queue. I guess this is due to the traditional non-violent nature of people. The more philosophical among those in the queue will comment 'Jaane do yaar, ek hi aadmi hai na, kuch urgent kaam hoga. ' Finally, the intruder leaves the queue, ticket in hand, a gleam of triumph in his eyes. And you wish you had his guts and cool.

Somehow, I have always been a protestor and never a guzjantawala. I guess it is not my nature to brave public hostility and abuse and venture to the top of the queue. In the meantime, the subtle queue breaking goes on. Why do people make enquiries at booking counters when the Railways have special counters for this purpose? That is part of the guzjantawala strategy. They always have documents in their hands, and look important and impatient. And finally, they have their way.

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