In this tyrannical land of never-ending OTPs, let us have an OTP day
Maharashtra Election Results
Jharkhand Election Results
Bypoll Election Results
Recently, at a film screening in Chennai, while the lead actor was being asked about her role, she was distracted and finally blurted out, 'I'm sorry, my 13-year-old son is asking for an OTP.' She went offstage and not realising her mic was on for the 800-strong audience, told her son, 'I'm going to smack you when I get to Delhi. What's more important, my premiere or your Swiggy OTP?'
That was mild compared to my OTP morning. I was about to board a flight from London to Zurich, and that's when my accountant, sitting in north Mumbai, said he'd generated the OTP for GST filing, and if this 4- or 6-digit gold didn't come, then I'd have to pay a significant fine, which would be foolish, given all I had to do was give him the OTP.
The Swiss pilot had announced departure. I had limited signal on the plane, and the length of the 2-hr flight would have made it too late for everything. So, I did what any decent Indian would. I pretended a health emergency, ran out of the plane and into the terminal, found the OTP, and sent it. When I returned, some of the names my co-passengers called me cannot be repeated in a respected newspaper like this. But hell yeah, I had avoided a GST fine!
Somehow, GST folks have pulled off a miraculous coup where the middle-classes feel euphoric joy on completing monthly compliance, not for any personal benefit but for the privilege of paying taxes. It's almost like a magic trick
