Caught in a cell


‘So, you want postpaid?’

Yes.

‘You have residence proof?’

What do you mean?

‘Ration card, Voter id, driving license?’

No. You see I’m not from Mum...

‘Electricity bill?’

Yes, but on the landlord’s name.

‘Sorry, not possible.’

Vodafone, Airtel, It’s the same conversation everywhere. ‘Sorry Sir, you’re not eligible for a postpaid connection.’ Why? Not because I’m a terrorist; not because my name is Khan (it’s not, it’s Ray, and it’s Bengali, though I’m not related to Satyajit Ray). It’s because I’m not from Bombay.

Good news, after 10 months in the city now, I am finally the proud owner of a postpaid Vodafone connection! Bad news, it took 10 months, harassment, a score of ‘your service has been disconnected’ and stupid conversations with stupid customer-care employees.

God bless that girl at the Fort Vodafone store though—she is smart, and with a positive IQ, quite a rarity with customer care execs. And bless my HR manager for the letter stating I could get my bill on the office address (it also stated, ‘However, the company will not be paying the bill’ just to make things clear).

So, if you’re new to Mumbai and want to get a postpaid connection without having to ‘please visit the Vodafone store near you for further assistance’ every time your line gets disconnected, here’s the checklist:

Are you from Mumbai and have an ID-proof with a city address? You’re eligible.

Are you a terrorist? Eligible, unless you tell them you’re going to use the connection to blow up their office perhaps. Provided, you have fake documents to prove you’re from the city. Or have bribed the driving school guy to get a real license.

Do you have a friend or colleague from Mumbai on whose address you can take the connection? Maybe/ maybe not. Depending on the Stupidity Quotient of the person who comes for address verification. My address verification, I was promptly informed, happened when no one was home and the verification inspector (woah) concluded I’m unworthy of the connection.

And finally. Is your HR, after some coaxing perhaps, willing to provide a letter stating you can get the bill on the office address? Yes! And that’s how I am finally a privileged Vodafone customer!

So there you go. In a nutshell, go to your HR. Or go to the driving school with a 200-rupee bribe. And do not take a postpaid connection casually, since all this hassling is being done to protect terrorists from sailing in a boat to Gateway, taking a 5-star hotel and railway station hostage and opening fire. Vodafone’s policy deters them severely.

Mr Terrorist, if you are using a postpaid connection with a Pakistan address and trying to call Al Qaeda to inform the body count, tough luck. You might hear the cheerful recorded Vodafone lady go ‘Sorry, your lines have been temporarily disconnected. Please visit the nearest Vodafone store or use the swarm of TV media outside the hotel to get your message across.’

Hands-on-head

One of the best ways to spend 50 rupees in Mumbai

Now, everyone will agree on this. Mumbai is an expensive city. Whether you’re like me, from another city, who at the first encounter with Bombay had a mini heart attack every other day; or if you’re from the city, a pakka Mumbaikar, everyone is unanimous on this one. Rent, food, chaat, street shopping, real estate... you’re in the most expensive city in India. Here’s for a bit of perspective: my friends in Hyderabad pay Rs 2,000 lesser rent than me for a 1,000-sq ft 2 bhk apartment! I, on the other hand, part with precious money every month for a 220-sq ft one-room-kitchen.

In a city, therefore, where ordering lunch everyday costs an average of Rs 100 (and that’s when I’m ordering ‘cheap’), the joy that a meagre 50 rupees can provide becomes remarkable.

Yes, I am aware of the statistic of the BPL in India and what a grand sum 50 rupees is to them. I also work in a fashion magazine from whose pages designerwear sporting 7-figure price tags stare back at me, giving me enough occasions to cringe.

And since not many from BPL India are likely to read my blog (not many above it read my blog either), 50 rupees is still bloody cheap.

By the way, have you seen the revamped version of the ‘Tel Malish’ song for the film Road, Movie? It’s way better than the revamped ‘Mile Sur Mera Tumhara’, if there’s a comparison here at all. And no, I didn’t go for a Tel Maalish on Carter Road or Band Stand, if that’s what you’re thinking. Though they are really popular.

So, if you’re in Mumbai, and badly in the need for a haircut (without any intention of burning a 500-rupee hole in your pocket) have walked into one of those seemingly-safe places that charge Rs 50, ask if they do a head massage. Try it, for if your guy is anything close to being as skilled as the one at '5-star hair cutting salon' in Pali, Bandra, you will love it! Of course, if he’s done a bad job of the haircut, it might just be safe to walk out without letting yourself be subjected to further experiments.

So, that was my big discovery on a lazy Saturday afternoon, when I walked into the salon for a trim (Rs 50 is like the standard rate for any service here, it seems).

You will be asked for a choice: “Parachute or cool?” He means the choice of oil. I, being the brand victim I am, went for the former. Out come two full-size towels he puts over you. And then the skilled hands get to work.

For the standard 50-rupee rate, he gives you a fantabulously relaxing, sleep-inducing head massage. And the bonus is that here, the definition of ‘head’ seems more than that patch of crop at top. 'Head' extends to the back, shoulders and hands as well. And you won’t hear yourself complaining. After a good 15 minutes of this, he suggests using a machine. It’s a soild metal vibrator (disclaimer, refer below), that his palm apparently fits into and then he goes to work on your head again. It looked a tad intimidating, like the bared robot arm in Terminator 2. So I say 'No, thank you, I’ll avoid'. The nearly half-hour massage finishes with a towel soaked in hot water over your head.

I open my eyes and squint as the light after having been close to dosing off. I happily pull out the additional 50-rupee note and thank the man.

Just the other day I heard about a place in Juhu where a full-body massage and exotic oils therapy costs Rs 15,000! I try to calculate in my head how many head massages I could get for that amount and feel happy for the small joys.

Disclaimer: this post has no innuendos, so don’t over read. It’s a good old champi, that’s what this is. Though the experience, one may say, is extremely pleasurable.