From Pillar to Post—Part 1

The University of Mumbai (UOM) is one of the oldest universities in India. And like a well-established institution of the 1800s, it functions pretty much in that age-old fashion.

Let me take you through one of my experiences at the 100-acre spread in Kalina.

I completed both my graduate and postgraduate degrees through the UOM. On finishing my B.Com., and needing the Convocation Certificate for the “emigration not required” stamp on my passport, I applied for it. One very long line, a few hours of waiting at the gate, filling in some forms, and paying the fees, and I had officially applied for the certificate. A few months later, around the stipulated time, I received the document officiating me into the world of graduates. Minimal amount of trouble compared to what my postgraduate certificate had in store for me.

When I finished my Masters in Social Work (MSW), I had no particular use for the convocation certificate. And so, I did not apply for it immediately. Over time, however, I did think that it may come in handy some day and finally three years after having passed the exams, I decided to apply for the MSW Convocation Certificate. Now, such tasks should never be done alone, and therefore, my friend, Rucha, and I applied together.

Together we journeyed to Kalina, together we found the examination center, and together we filled the forms and paid the late fee and courier fee to have the certificates posted to us. Now the only thing left to do was wait. And waited we did . . . for TWO years!

In those two years, much transpired—I changed two jobs, and Rucha got married, moved to the U.S., and completed her GRE and TOEFL . . . and yet, we were still waiting for the certificates to arrive.

Our first trip to the Kalina campus was in August. Well, August 9, 2009 to be precise—I have the receipt to prove it. This is when we got the preliminary work done.

When in January, 2010, the certificates had not shown up at either of our houses, I made another trip to the examination center. This time, I went alone. In my horrible Hindi and even worse Marathi, I made my way through the office building, politely asking person after person about how I get a certificate for which I had applied.

I went from the ground floor to the first floor and then to room after room. At the end of this two-hour, perspiring ordeal, I was told to come back in August, 2010, at which point I would get the certificate. I didn’t argue nor did I question what I was told, I was simply too tired. I nodded saying thank you, and I would be back for the document.

Months passed, August arrived, and I was back at the center, going through the same routine. However, this time it was a bit different. I was told that there was a new rule in the University—all students who applied for their convocation certificates in 2009 or after that would have to collect them from their colleges. And so, another trip to be made, only this time to my college at Marine Lines.

Another few weeks passed before I could get time off from work to make this trip. I reached the college office only to be told “My dear, you have it wrong! The certificates we issue are only for those students who have completed their degrees in 2009. Your certificate will be with the University!” This, of course, warranted another trip to the University because to confirm this over the phone would be next to impossible.

By this time, I had lost hope. There I was, waltzing from one office to another, being told several stories, conversing in a horrible mix of Hindi, Marathi, and English, trying to get one document that said I had successfully completed this exam!

Another few months passed before I gathered the will to face the University once more. It followed much the same routine—I told them that the college had only those certificates of students who had finished in 2009 and not before that. I got a long “hmmm,” one nod, and a contemplative roll of the eyes, and then I was told to wait.

Now, if you have ever been to the Mumbai University Examination Center, you will know that there is no place to wait in room A1 on the first floor. There are desks, stacks of dog-eared papers and files, and people screaming at more people. Nonetheless, I found myself standing with my back against a table waiting. Much time passed until the lady who told me to wait realized that I would not leave without an answer. So, she sent a clerk to pull out the file with the names of students enrolled in the MSW programme.

You should know that in the whole of the UOM, there is only one college that offers the MSW course; so there are no more than 50 to 60 students who complete their degrees each year. Yet, finding such a file proved to be challenging.

30 mins later, the clerk came back with a gigantic threadbare file, with papers falling out. On opening it, I found many of the names familiar, college mates who were my seniors, some who were my juniors. And then, I found not just my name in there but also Rucha’s. Finally, our names show up somewhere!

The clerk then scribbled a number on my receipt, and said in a dictating voice, “Take to Madam.” Presumably, this was the same madam I had been dealing with the past months. On showing her the number she said, “Come back in two months, we will have it for you.” Of course, by then, I knew what that meant. I had decided that the next time I came back, I would come back with reinforcements—Marathi-fluent Rucha.