To queue or not to queue – or how to queue?

Recently, when someone talked about what aspects a critical view on Indian society would contain, one of my (Indian) relatives instantly said, “Indians don’t know how to queue – go to the post office, go to any place where a queue is supposed to be formed, you will find people pushing, entering from the wrong side, overtaking…all without batting an eyelash”. My relative seemed seriously enraged about this matter.

Used to perfect German queues, one behind the other, a straight line (and if someone tried to break this perfect order, you can be sure the rest of the queue will teach this someone soon, that in a German queue there is no foul play), I have to admit, feelings of disbelief, astonishment, annoyance, slight anger overcome me once in a while, trying to await my turn patiently in a queue but having to realize that no one else seems to be interested in any kind of orderly queuing.

Then, I went to pay our electricity bill a couple of days ago. And there I suddenly seemed to be so close to the dream of a perfect queue: they had installed a token vending machine, a display and speaker system. I was greeted by the sound of a female voice announcing: “Token no. 45, counter no. 2”. I excitedly noticed this innovation, was reminded of municipal offices in Germany, where the same system is used. Instantly, I went to the machine, took my token number. Other people came into the room, some took a token, some came straight to the counters to queue and pay. But they were instantly told to go and collect their token.

An old man also had to go back, collect a token and return to the counters. Meanwhile, the female voice kept on announcing “Token no. 49, counter no. 1”. After a short hesitation, the old man asked another man, showing him his token, which number his was. The other man replied in Malayalam, that his was 52. I had listened to the conversation and started to think.

This seemingly perfect system contained certain difficulties. A system has to be suitable and comprehensible for all possible users. But this system definitely could reach only parts of Kerala society. This system assumed that everyone can read. Though Kerala has a high percentage of literacy, there might be still exceptions. And it assumed that everyone can understand English numbers. Something not necessarily the case with everyone in a state of India where the prevalent language is Malayalam.

So, is it a matter of literacy, of education whether I can stand in a queue? Or is it a matter of little thought on how to implement a system and how to make it accessible for everyone?

My initial enthusiasm about the chance to have a proper queue where I could await my turn tension free, had faded away after having witnessed this incident. I felt somehow that my queue had too high a price…the dignity of each and every member of society regardless of education, income etc.