At 8:12 PM -0600 2/20/08, Ram Sarangapani wrote: >Hehehe! > >And when I related my story of the 'state of the art' restrooms at Kolkata >airport, there were folks who would hardly believe me. > >I am vindicated - I think! :) :)
**** Different issues Ram :-). It is one thing to run into dirty toilets. Quite another to force someone into serving time in one, merely to keep up 'national' appearances. > >--Ram > > > > >On 2/20/08, Chan Mahanta <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: >> >> 'All I wanted was a good hot water bath and a cosy bed' >> >> http://www.tehelka.com/story_main37.asp?filename=hub230208AllWanted.asp >> >> >> >> Raghu Guria >> Is 34 years old. Has been a filmmaker for the last 13 years. >> Currently based in Delhi and working as an independent filmmaker >> >> I WAS RESTLESS and weary as the warm October morning breeze hit me on >> the face. We had just landed at the Mumbai international airport all >> the way from Kenya. I had not had any sleep for 26 hours. All I >> wanted was a good hot water bath and a cosy bed. Little did I know, >> "Dilli abhi door hai". >> >> I made my way towards custom clearance. The official looked at my >> passport and then looked at me. "Where is your yellow fever >> certificate?" he thundered. >> >> "What's that?" I was puzzled. >> "You have travelled to Kenya and you don't have a yellow fever >> certificate?" >> "Nobody told me anything about it." >> "Nobody tells you about it. It's the law. You should know." >> "Fine! I don't have it. Do as you like." >> >> The custom officer broke into a smile. I was bewildered. He ushered >> me into a cabin and handed my passport to the Airport Health Officer. >> I figured the health officer would do a quick check-up, ascertain >> that I don't have yellow fever disease, apologise and let me go. >> >> But that was not to be. I was informed that I would be spending the >> next six days at a government health centre. "Six days? Are you >> crazy? Do you know I'm a mediaperson?" I ranted and raged. >> >> My host, however, was benevolence personified after pronouncing the >> verdict. Three constables escorted me to the government health >> centre. I was already beginning to feel sick. Not with yellow fever, >> but by seeing the amount of filth around me. The property was >> surrounded by slums from all sides; it had the stinkiest drain >> flowing just two metres away from the entrance of the building. >> >> Did I say "building"? It was more like a ruin. There was a thick >> jungle of wild bushes and plenty of mosquitoes. I didn't know about >> yellow fever from Kenya but I was sure that, at the end of six days, >> I'd definitely leave this place with dengue. It turned out that the >> 'Government Health Centre' was actually a euphemism for 'Quarantine >> Centre for Government of India', its real name. It was built in 1942. >> It finally dawned upon me that I had been officially quarantined. >> >> I was furious. When the warden arrived, I demanded to see in writing >> that it was mandatory to carry a yellow fever certificate to visit >> Kenya. He showed me a handwritten note, which listed practically all >> of Africa as a Yellow Fever zone. I was flabbergasted. "How can you >> claim a tattered handwritten piece of paper as official?" I asked. >> The warden had been in that post for fifteen years and was quite >> inured to such questions. He informed me that had I made a stopover >> even for a day in a country not in the yellow fever zone, the Indian >> government would have had no problems in letting me in. >> >> This was funny. How would stopping over in a country cure me of >> yellow fever if I had contracted it? The warden helpfully added that >> I could still escape my predicament by choosing to fly out of India >> and come back in a few days time. But in the interim, since he liked >> media-persons, as a special favour, I was being given a choice of >> beds - Sania Mirza or Dino Morea. I chose the bed, which I was told, > > had been used by our young tennis star when she had been quarantined. >> >> I was still trying to take stock when an elderly gentleman came up to >> me with a cup of tea. I shook my head. "Have it, have it. You still >> have five more days to go," he said. Turned out he had also been >> quarantined and was on his fourth day. Another captive was a priest >> from the local church. "Do they allow home food?" he enquired. The >> third inmate rarely stepped out of his room. When he did, it was to >> borrow a mobile-phone charger. He had arrived a day earlier and >> contrived to get his wife from Baroda to come and be quarantined with >> him! >> >> So I spent six days there. We had to arrange for our own food, which >> meant ordering out from a list of restaurants whose numbers had been >> provided. There wasn't much to do. As a caretaker explained, the >> property wore a haunted look in part because it sat on prime real >> state and the government had already decided to sell it. There was no >> point in doing any repairs. >> >> I was struck by the fact that in my six days there not once did a >> doctor come to see us. The whole reason we were there was because we >> could have contracted yellow fever. So what exactly was the point of >> this whole exercise? I don't mind being quarantined if I deserved it, >> but these inane, archaic rules were being kept alive just so that >> callous and unscrupulous government officials could make some extra >> money on the side. The only good thing that came out of the whole >> ordeal is that I no longer take my freedom for granted. >> _______________________________________________ >> assam mailing list >> assam@assamnet.org >> http://assamnet.org/mailman/listinfo/assam_assamnet.org >> >_______________________________________________ >assam mailing list >assam@assamnet.org >http://assamnet.org/mailman/listinfo/assam_assamnet.org _______________________________________________ assam mailing list assam@assamnet.org http://assamnet.org/mailman/listinfo/assam_assamnet.org
