Today, I tried to book a train ticket. I went to the IRCTC website, logged in and waited. It was around 11 am. Two minutes later, the scroll kept going round in circles and was clearly not moving anywhere. Not knowing which way to go, I went at it again. And waited.
The scroll showed it was processing something but I was not sure what. Soon, it stopped, hastily drew up a blank screen with an html address showing 'something-something-login/ some characters'. This screen was frozen. There was no movement. I sighed, went back to the main page, logged in. I waited. No result. The buffering went on endlessly. A dozen tries later, it was 12.15 pm. Once or twice, I got through to the page asking me to enter my travel details. I was excited to have moved to the first stage and hurriedly banged out the 'From' and 'To' fields. After getting my reservation requirements, the train reservation system processed it further. In less than four minutes, a screen popped up saying my login had expired. It sure had, after waiting and procastinating.
Having by now mastered the art of logging in without sparing a thought or a look at the keyboard, I typed out my login mechanically. The flickering followed obligingly. This time, it told me my session had expired and I would need to login again. Huh? The last thing I had done was to login. The ball was then in their court. How did I manage to logout before logging in? One more try. I went at it again. This time, the circle kept rolling in its agonizingly familiar manner till I decided to relogin. This went on till it was 1.20 pm.
Make no mistake. I had taken two 10-minute breaks - once to do a sudoku to shake off the ennui and once to attend to some calls. So that period should be duly deducted from my IRCTC 'login time registry.'
By this time, the IRCTC system was tiring of me. It would promptly show up the session expired page each time I dared it. It was a battle of nerves. And I wanted to win it. Erratically, it would lead me to my destination -- the travel page. And once I filled in my travel particulars, it would travel to my known fate - "This session has expired..."
Recognising the challenge, I summoned all my faculties to the task of getting me through this reservation process. And after some trial and error, I hit upon the realisation that the screen did not move when I stared at it. And, each time I had managed to log in successfully (till the next page summarily logged me out), it was when I had turned my eyes away from the screen, either to read something, or to check out the news on TV or talk to someone. Whenever my head turned to the left, the screen would eventually move to the reservation page.
I was thrilled with the discovery. I logged in. Then, I purposefully looked away from the screen, turning my right side to it. And lo and behold, it worked!
Aha! I said to myself, and soldiered on to the next stage. Filling up the travel details in a great hurry, I landed the next page. I felt elated. It was as though I was getting promoted out of turn. Fingers flying at the keyboard, I typed in further details. In a while, say about 7-8 minutes, the next page unfolded before my unbelieving eyes. I had managed to book myself a ticket on the website!!! Albeit waitlisted, I had made it.
As I ventured to get a print of that ticket, the system grandly bleated, "Session expired" and asked me to login. It was a cruel joke. It had worked dutifully certifying my research of facial angles and just before I was to degenerate into a nervous wreck, it had saved me by booking my ticket. And then, this! The emotional roller coaster was too much for me and I soon started looking for a click for psychological counsellors on the site.
Obviously, there were none. IRCTC is a owned by sarkar mai baap and vested with the responsibility of toughening us Indians up, apart from facilitating train reservations and travel. The presence of counsellors on the hoizon would soften the blow. Never mind, I told myself. I would print it from my email, which would hopefully have arrived from the IRCTC's unwilling server in my inbox in some time.
Having conceded some ground to the rival, my only other ambition was to book a return ticket. You see, the IRCTC does not allow you to book both at a time. And even if it did, it would have been of little help unless its server cooperated to unravel the succeeding pages. So, the far-sighted programmers and decision makers of IRCTC had decided to permit us travellers only small pleasures at a time. Book your onward journey and then figure out if you still have the reserves to book your return. It was 2.30 pm by now. I decided to break for lunch.
The post-lunch session too was several session expiries, by which time I gave in to the human feeling of exhaustion and gave up. I salvaged the 23 minutes I had left of the day to carry forward all my day's undone work to the next day's diary.
Looking at the brighter side, I didnt have to log out as my login session was usually half-logged out at each try or had expired before it logged in. I thanked God that I had had the good fortune of being in possession of a login and password. I shudder to think what it would have cost me to register anew.
Booking a train ticket in India is exciting. It brooks nothing less adventurous than space travel with all its attendant mystery, malfunction and the wondrous sense of soaring into nowhere. If IRCTC ever consults me on its branding, I have a handy logo - We dont send you to concentration camps; we pulverize you on the spot.
The scroll showed it was processing something but I was not sure what. Soon, it stopped, hastily drew up a blank screen with an html address showing 'something-something-login/ some characters'. This screen was frozen. There was no movement. I sighed, went back to the main page, logged in. I waited. No result. The buffering went on endlessly. A dozen tries later, it was 12.15 pm. Once or twice, I got through to the page asking me to enter my travel details. I was excited to have moved to the first stage and hurriedly banged out the 'From' and 'To' fields. After getting my reservation requirements, the train reservation system processed it further. In less than four minutes, a screen popped up saying my login had expired. It sure had, after waiting and procastinating.
Having by now mastered the art of logging in without sparing a thought or a look at the keyboard, I typed out my login mechanically. The flickering followed obligingly. This time, it told me my session had expired and I would need to login again. Huh? The last thing I had done was to login. The ball was then in their court. How did I manage to logout before logging in? One more try. I went at it again. This time, the circle kept rolling in its agonizingly familiar manner till I decided to relogin. This went on till it was 1.20 pm.
Make no mistake. I had taken two 10-minute breaks - once to do a sudoku to shake off the ennui and once to attend to some calls. So that period should be duly deducted from my IRCTC 'login time registry.'
By this time, the IRCTC system was tiring of me. It would promptly show up the session expired page each time I dared it. It was a battle of nerves. And I wanted to win it. Erratically, it would lead me to my destination -- the travel page. And once I filled in my travel particulars, it would travel to my known fate - "This session has expired..."
Recognising the challenge, I summoned all my faculties to the task of getting me through this reservation process. And after some trial and error, I hit upon the realisation that the screen did not move when I stared at it. And, each time I had managed to log in successfully (till the next page summarily logged me out), it was when I had turned my eyes away from the screen, either to read something, or to check out the news on TV or talk to someone. Whenever my head turned to the left, the screen would eventually move to the reservation page.
I was thrilled with the discovery. I logged in. Then, I purposefully looked away from the screen, turning my right side to it. And lo and behold, it worked!
Aha! I said to myself, and soldiered on to the next stage. Filling up the travel details in a great hurry, I landed the next page. I felt elated. It was as though I was getting promoted out of turn. Fingers flying at the keyboard, I typed in further details. In a while, say about 7-8 minutes, the next page unfolded before my unbelieving eyes. I had managed to book myself a ticket on the website!!! Albeit waitlisted, I had made it.
As I ventured to get a print of that ticket, the system grandly bleated, "Session expired" and asked me to login. It was a cruel joke. It had worked dutifully certifying my research of facial angles and just before I was to degenerate into a nervous wreck, it had saved me by booking my ticket. And then, this! The emotional roller coaster was too much for me and I soon started looking for a click for psychological counsellors on the site.
Obviously, there were none. IRCTC is a owned by sarkar mai baap and vested with the responsibility of toughening us Indians up, apart from facilitating train reservations and travel. The presence of counsellors on the hoizon would soften the blow. Never mind, I told myself. I would print it from my email, which would hopefully have arrived from the IRCTC's unwilling server in my inbox in some time.
Having conceded some ground to the rival, my only other ambition was to book a return ticket. You see, the IRCTC does not allow you to book both at a time. And even if it did, it would have been of little help unless its server cooperated to unravel the succeeding pages. So, the far-sighted programmers and decision makers of IRCTC had decided to permit us travellers only small pleasures at a time. Book your onward journey and then figure out if you still have the reserves to book your return. It was 2.30 pm by now. I decided to break for lunch.
The post-lunch session too was several session expiries, by which time I gave in to the human feeling of exhaustion and gave up. I salvaged the 23 minutes I had left of the day to carry forward all my day's undone work to the next day's diary.
Looking at the brighter side, I didnt have to log out as my login session was usually half-logged out at each try or had expired before it logged in. I thanked God that I had had the good fortune of being in possession of a login and password. I shudder to think what it would have cost me to register anew.
Booking a train ticket in India is exciting. It brooks nothing less adventurous than space travel with all its attendant mystery, malfunction and the wondrous sense of soaring into nowhere. If IRCTC ever consults me on its branding, I have a handy logo - We dont send you to concentration camps; we pulverize you on the spot.
