You are looking for a government office among a cluster of buildings where offices of various Central ministry departments are located. You are not even sure if this is the right place. The autorickshaw driver, who got you here, insists that it is. He drops you and leaves. Right, this is the building. There is a tiny signboard among the thousand of other signboards, which confirms the point. There are two entrances. But where the hell is the office? You ask a random person with a tiny tiffinbox in his hand. “Second floor,” he says, “Just walk through the corridor. You will see a young boy making tea. It’s right there.”

Right, of course. Isn’t it the most normal thing in the world to make tea outside the door of a government office, on the second floor verandah that also doubles up as a waiting room?