Of all the bureaucratic, paper-pushing, red-tape, graft-taking countries in world, I had to make the mistake of entering India twice within the space of a few days. Well, helllooo, give me some credit here! Of course, I had a multiple-entry visa. I am not dumb enough to make the same mistake twice. I had been kicked out of Italy in 1977, made to fly to Switzerland, and fly back...being a blockhead, who tried to re-enter the country with a single-entry visa.
Now in the past, I have not had much experience with Indian bureaucracy. I do, however, remember my father lugging a suitcase to the capital, an important suitcase he was very careful not to let out of his sight, a heavy suitcase that ensured the smooth running of his agency with East Germany, a miracle suitcase that bought licenses to conduct his business.
So maybe the Government of India Tourism Board was not making enough money - what with the recession and all - and called for a meeting.
I would have loved to be a fly on that wall.
"How, how, howww...", the Marketing Director was bellowing, spraying paan spittle and pounding his fist on the table, "how can we raise more money and harass the tourist at the same time?" He cautioned his minions: "Bear in mind, our acronym of Foreign Relations Rip-off Office."
Brown-noser, sycophantic hands went up.
Let’s keep only two people at Immigration...and not inform them about the rules, said one.
Let’s pretend we are doing this because of the terrorists, said another.
Let’s not tell the FRRO clerks what it is all about.
(Laughter)
More importantly, let’s not tell the tourists.
(High-fives and hysterical laughter)
And so they devised a plan, so devious, so cunning, a plan that would make Machiavelli proud, a plan to extract (more) money from the tourists, fill the government coffers and at the same time ensure their employees an interminable supply of bribes, their pathetic salaries barely covering their bus-fare home.
The Director twirled his mustache, slurped a little more tea from his saucer, belched and boomed: "Shabaash! Let’s have another meeting tomorrow and change all the rules again!"
The plan was that a foreigner/NRI would need special permission to re-enter the country within two months, the logic being that, were he a terrorist and made to wait for two months, he would change his mind. That, or he and his buddies could easily just come across the Pakistan border by car or by boat, like they have been doing in the past.
Their plan worked like a charm. We were not told anything when we left the country for my sister’s weekend (umm...50th...) birthday bash. We did find out about the No Objection Certificate for Clearance to Return to India, thanks to my friend Farah. It pays to have a friend who is on the ball. We got our passports stamped by the Indian High Commissioner himself at Dubai. It pays to have a brother-in-law with friends in high places.
End of story, right? Wrong.
Upon re-entering India, we were told at the Immigration that we needed another stamp and to please report within 14 days to the FRRO Office. That it wouldn’t take more than half an hour. That it opened at 10 am. Wrong on both counts.
Deciding to go early and be one of the first in line, we got there at 9.30am. It had already opened at 9 am and people were streaming in like they were going to a Metallica concert. First, the havaldar told us to sign a ledger with detailed information on what color underwear we were wearing. Ok, so not the color, but close. Then we were directed to the third floor. Four clerks had set up shop on the landing across the lift and true to their sinecurist jobs were shuffling papers, looking busy, and giving everyone a hard time. People sweating, people shouting, people pushing...angry people, smelly people, cursing people. Are you getting the picture? Good.
The line was long as Rapunzel’s hair. When our turn came, a lady took our information and then told us we needed copies of a guarantor’s passport, a utility bill, signatures, an Undertaking Form and passport pictures. We raced across town - from St. Xavier’s College to Breach Candy, counting our blessings that my sister was in town to stand as the guarantor. We returned with everything, only to find out that we now needed to enter all the information on a computer, print it out and take a seat.
Take a seat? Take a seat??? People have sat in a government office and gone gray, gone comatose, and gone straight to the cremation ground. Our ordeal was only made bearable, because misery loves company and Farah and her husband Khushroo were going through the same torturous routine. Horror stories abounded in that miserable, crowded room. An Australian had returned four days in a row. A German said they had lost his passport. An NRI said they made him retake his picture four times with the photographer standing in the corner, each time finding something wrong with it and then charging him anew. In another corner, they had set up a copy machine, and the man was raking in a fortune making meaningless copies...and yes! charging for them.
Living in America has spoiled us. It has also made us dense. It took us four hours to realize that all she wanted was a bribe. Duh! My husband (or ‘Uncle’ as she called him) finally twigged on and slipped a five-hundred rupee note inside a passport. Enough practice with sleight of hand and when she handed the passport back, the note was gone.
We finally got done after five and a half hours, about $ 50, 32 copies, including 8 copies of my sister’s electric bill, 12 passport pictures, 16 signatures, and I cannot even count how many forms. Some pastiwala is going to be making a lot of money.
Now that I am going again to India, I am looking for an answer to see if my multiple-entry, ten-year visa, expiring in November 2011 is still valid. In every country in the world the answer would be a resounding Yes!! But, you’re damn right, I would be damn wrong. I went through the majority of the 1678 posts on the chat forum, which scrolls 112 pages (yes, I have nothing better to do with my time) and was still none the wiser. I went to the IATA site to look up the TIM and checked who was responsible for these dumbass laws...made up by Ministries - whether it was the Law Ministry , or the Ministry of External Affairs or the Ministry of Home Affairs. I looked up the official websites...each one more confusing that the other and in verbiage a Mensa couldn’t understand.
As an American, I guess I shouldn’t really complain. We are just as bad, if not worse, say the people trying to get into our country for a visit. They fill out lengthy forms (yes, they will ask you the color of your underwear), stand in long lines for hours, wait for several months, pay wads of money and then...then...the U.S. Consulate turns them down...and don’t refund the money. The United States ranks as one of the top ten countries Hardest to Get a Visa. Assuming of course, that someone actually wants to go there, our nearest competitors are North Korea and the Democratic Republic of Congo.
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