My quest for that holy grail of urban Indian existence has finally borne fruit. Profane in its seeming ubiquity, yet sacred in its strange elusiveness...I speak of unlimited wi-fi access.
So many hoops to jump through...one passport sized photo, one address proof, one ID proof, moolah and the severed head of a bull-frog pickled in brine. Apparently, Bank statements don't count as address proofs anymore. And my passport has an American address (won't do). Only utility bills count; but all utility bills in India arrive under my man's name. So they said I could bring a marriage certificate to show that I'm with the man who pays the bills (hell yeah!). That sounded easy enough. Only, my better half's name has been chronically misspelt in all the bills. So who is to say that the man paying the bills is the same man I married?
So instead of a marriage certificate, I just brought along a mother-in-law. I got the account opened in her name.
End result: I will most likely have internet access any time of the day, every day, this year. Why "most likely"? Rumours have it that the wi-fi deities have been a little petulant off-late (as with most of our gods). The pickled bull-frogs only help so much.
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