Regret having to write this. But, better late; than never.
Every return teaches you something. But learn to be careful about filing applications.
It'll save you time if you are a last year's man, and it will also serve a "noble purpose", as I learned on Monday.
I had been to the university PhD cell, armed to the teeth with my proposal and registration form, photocopies and tattered original documents; apprehensive, for I know some masticating mammalian types at the administrative building are worse than reptilians on the hunt.
The guy sits brooding over my proposal for pukka ten minutes, and tells: "Shouldn't there be a hyphen?"
"Where?" I wonder. He points his finger to the title. "There."
A minor altercation follows.
— Naah, that's fine.
— There should be one. I know how things run at the Faculty Council, kid. I'm doing my job. Add your hyphen.
— No, it's OK. It's not needed.
— I insist, there should be one. You've come here for a noble purpose. You shouldn't be making these mishtakes."
— Yes. No. See, this is an adjective, and that is a noun. No hyphens are needed to link these two (I remember Wren and Martin. Who?)
—But there should be one.
I speak in true guilt: "Listen Mister, I have a post-graduate degree in English and have been working in English newspapers. I know..."
"Ok, ok," he relents, and picks up the next bunch. I am ready for that as well.
— "Why aren't these attested?"
I point to my signature. "There. Since these are copies of my salary sheets, and since my employers won't give me a certificate of some kind for giving them peace, tranquility and what-ye-call-it, these stand attested by me, and by me alone."
He picks up the copy of the appointment letter. "Well, what about this?"
I smile: " That's a letter from the Registrar of this university. And attested by a professor who's on the expert committee of the fellowship programme I'll be pursuing."
He nods: "I understand. Don't shout. I understand it better. Shouldn't you have a "No Objection" letter from the Reich-i-star?"
—" No Objection For WHAT?"
— "That you're getting the fellowship."
Patience, my love! It goes on like this for the next 15 minutes till I am almost convinced I deserve an icecream for seeing my application through the slot on the day itself. But at the next moment, he lands a hard upper-cut: "I see. Hmm, you've got your graduation and post-graduation certificates," he rolls his eyes over the attested sheets, and coughs: "But, ahem, we need proof that you've cleared the higher secondary exams."
Rubbing my chins, I blink: "Er, I have my HS marksh(i)t there, doesn't that suffice? Or since I've been a student here and the university has already checked my 'credentials', my BA or my MA certificates?"
"No," he crosses his hands. "I'm sorry. Next."
It's a knock-out.
As I gather up my wits and papers, I watch the next candidate frantically looking for her marriage-certificate. "This will not do," I overhear. "You have to get two 'No Objection' certificates for the change in your surname: one from the Court, and the other from your husband."
"No Objection for what?"
"For your marriage."
Poor girl, patriarchy spared me that. And in sad flourish, I made the return journey. Went back to my district college day before yesterday, after 1o long years, to fetch my higher secondary "pass (sic) certificate".
Waited for three hours for a durbar with the head clerk there. At 3.30, he yawned and granted me audience for a split second: "Come back after 5th. The admissions are on: and we've got no time."
I am patient, believe me, I'm still very patient...
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