Queuing at the Delhi Counter Part II - A Legal Alien in New Delhi

The visa process is painful. The expat forums are full of queries and no-one knows what the processes are or what the different types of visa mean. As volunteers we sort out our own visas and must sit around for hours in strange government offices. It is a rite of passage one must go through to be allowed to stay in India. Here’s the rather strange story of my experience:

DAY ONE

10:07 Arrive at the Ministry of Home Affairs reception and use elbows to obtain a number. This is slightly different from buying Gouda at Sainsbury’s.

11:03 My number shows up on the LCD. Elbow way to front to hand in form and be given slip of paper that allows me inside visa facilitation centre.

11:05 Queue at visa centre reception. No one is at the desk. After ten minutes a group has gathered and a man rocks up. Elbow in, hand over form and sit down for the long wait.

12:41 Called for interview where there is much staring at paperwork from official. I’m told to come back at 16:30 to collect letter which must be handed in tomorrow, still sealed, at the Foreign Registry Office.

16:40 Return and wait for an hour and a half alongside irate European who seems to think that if you complain about the system it will immediately improve. Collect letter and leave having wasted a day of work.

DAY TWO

07:30 Arrive at Foreign Registry in auto. Realise I need to pay 80 rupees and have only 60. A passerby takes pity on me and gives me 20 rupees. The kindness of strangers. Resolve to hunt him down later and pay him back. Put name on list. I am number 10. This feels like a good number to be.

09:38 Return after breakfast at a nearby hotel to a long queue of pushing Afghani’s on the left and perturbed other where-esles on the right. Push way to front as I am number 10. As I wait two British men push their way into the queue behind me. The one at the front asks if I am British. We have a conversation about queues and what reason we are all here. They require exit stamps in their passports so they may return to India after they have been to Dubai. I tell my new companions that the Afghani queue is for refugees. European woman in front of me turns round and offers a pitying but withering look. She tells me they are not refugees but medical tourists as the doctors in Afghanistan are supposedly not as good as India. Feel slightly stupid and apologise. Get to front and I am told I am late. Get given number 20. Dammit.

10:01 Inside the building clasping our numbers we all queue again to see the man on reception. I chat away to my two new British friends. Number one is the slightly older of the two and is very jovial. We chat about India and the UK, about colonialism and the British influence here. Number two is thinner, slightly younger. He is probably in his late 40s/early 50s with lovely demeanour. Number one chats away with me. He tells me he has a franchise in automatic pizza making machines and he has been trying to sell them across India but this hasn’t worked well so far. Number two says that I shouldn’t believe anything number two says.

10:05 I have by now discussed why pizzas cannot be sold on university campuses yet in India as the food is all subsidised in canteens and delicious. I have also told them both all about VSO, my placement and when asked what I will do when it ends I joke that I may return to the UK, settle down, find a husband. I get a strange look from both of them. Remind self that some of my humour should be reserved for friends.

10:07 Still chatting I ask number one a question. He mishears and says, ‘Our names? I’m Nick and this is Gordon.’ We talk about the length of the queue again. They need to catch a flight to Dubai and have to leave in one hour. I call up my flatmate and get advice from the FRRO guru, Nikki-ji. She has been here many times. I tell her about the two men and tell her my number. She tells me it took her three hours but it all depends on what is in my envelope. I relay this to my companions. As they are here for a different reason there is a small possibility they can get out in time to get their flight.

10:09 OMG! It dawns on me that number two is Gordon Sumner aka international superstar and amazingly talented one: Sting. Realised I’ve been trying to give them insight on India and pizza machines. Cringe and try not to laugh. I can’t look up and fiddle with my paperwork for 30 seconds to regain composure. Breathe.

10:10 Tell number two, aka G/S, quietly that I have figured out who he is. Exchange knowing glances all round. Ask number one who he is as he looks as if he may be familiar too. I have a laugh with them both that he is not in fact a pizza making machine seller and is in fact a BBC journo or something. He tells me his name and tells me I probably won’t find him through Google.

10:12 Ask them why they don’t have a handler. Point to man just in front of us who hands over seven visa application forms causing us to wait another 10 minutes. We agree you probably have to come in person for a visa stamp.

10:13 Tell G and N they probably get asked this all the time but can they donate some money to VSO. Write down my Just Giving website address and my blog address. He reads out Jen Does Delhi. I tell him that it is a play on the title of the famous porn film of the 1970s entitled Debbie does Dallas although state that is definitely not what I am doing here, it's just that the title just makes me laugh.

10:15 Get to front of queue. Man dismisses me and says I do not need to renew my visa until April when it runs out so I should come back then. Tell him I am here to register with police as well. He doesn’t even look at me and waves me away. Say my goodbyes to G and N. N says he will hunt me down and marry me at the end of my placement. I tell him that it would be lovely thank you. G wishes me luck earnestly. Feel amazingly lucky and humbled. What a day and it is only 10:15! Who cares if FRRO have dismissed me?

10:18 Call FRRO Guru-ji. Realise in all the excitement of meeting G and N that I didn’t give the receptionist the unsealed letter I got from the MHA the day before. Tell her that I met Sting and she unknowingly gave him FRRO advice. Inform her that this takes her to new levels of FRRO guru-ji-ness.

10:20 Convince security guard that I need to go back in very quickly as I forgot something. He points back to the queue outside. Wave around letter frantically and look slightly maniacal. Plead. Beg. Get let in again. Phew.

10:22 Barge my way to front of inside queue and plead with man to open my letter. He points to queue and again. Plead again and stand still refusing to move. Thrust envelope into his face and put on my best feminine helplessness face. This never usually works.

10:23 It works! Wonder if famous lovely superstar, G, and future husband, N, are watching this pitiful performance. He opens the letter and tells me to go home. The police will visit my home to check I live there at some unnamed point in the next few weeks.

10:25 Look around to say goodbye to G and N. They’ve been swallowed up by the frantic medical tourists and frustrated Europeans. I head off hoping they get their stamps and enjoy their holiday when they return to fabulous India. Wonder if they’ll be any tickets in the post soon?

(pictures from - http://www.askmen.com/ and http://www.matteoandmathilde.com/2009/10/i-remember-during-my-times-at.html)

Travels, Touts and Trauma

After my recent conference my guest speaker and friend, over from the UK, stayed on for a tour of Delhi, Jaipur and Agra. He has Usher Syndrome which means, in his case, tunnel vision as well as being Deaf. For someone with this condition it can be pretty tough getting around. Imagine then visiting India: a place with few pavements, mentalist driving, little awareness of disabilities and a general level of what feels like chaos. There were incidents right from when he arrived at the airport all the way through to when he left.

To start with, we arrived at a hotel round the corner from my house where my guest would stay. I am not allowed male overnight visitors at my flat and this has been written into the tenancy agreement. My landlord is part of a lovely but rather conservative India family who live on the ground floor. The hotel staff looked perplexed to see their new guest arrive. As the two of us chatted in Sign Language they stared. The staff asked many questions and were horrified when he explained that they cannot knock on his door as he will not hear. They didn’t get it at first but then started to realise the implications of his being there and panicked. As I walked back to my pad at 4am, I wondered how this was all going to work out.

Over that week the staring I usually get went to a whole new level. A white woman, using Sign Language and guiding a man around when pavements are bumpy i.e. most of the time, attracts a lot of attention. We had a few near misses with motorbikes and a few occasional collisions with Rickshaw wallahs, a few stumbling off kerbs and autos trying to drive off whilst my friend was attempting to get in. There were some funny moments and some that were pretty stressful.

The Indian ASLI conference went very well. In India the Deafblind community are not so well integrated into the Deaf community so I had to show a few people how to communicate with our honourable guest. Once people had seen hands-on signing or were told about tunnel vision, they just got on with it. Having my guest at the conference proved to be an awareness raising exercise. In fact that is how the whole trip turned out.

With the conference over we headed by coach to Jaipur. It was impossible avoiding touts whilst being a communication guide. I shouted ‘Jao!’ (go away) more times than I have had to so far. When we got to the hotel however, the receptionist started signing away. Turns out he had a Deaf friend. Bingo. A bit later on one receptionist said my guest couldn’t go out alone until we put him straight. Later that evening he successfully went out on his own in the company of a Rickshaw-wallah. Being forewarned about gem scams in Jaipur, he returned safe.

Whilst visiting the City Palace, my guest had his first haggling experience. Later a Deaf man approached us as he worked in the shop and had seen us signing. If you’re Deaf you meet other Deaf people all over the world. It’s a known phenomenon. Some people had no patience but then you can get this wherever you go and whoever you are. Many more though watched our interactions then would try to make gestures so they could communicate directly. Some helped with the job of guiding once they knew how.

We travelled onto Agra to see the Red Fort, Agra town and the infamous Taj Mahal. A place famous for touts and con artists, I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I was lucky to find an auto driver to stay with us for the whole day saving us the hassle of negotiating a price each time. He was very patient and helped out whenever he could. A conman got my guest into the Taj for free as he wanted to take half our entrance fee afterwards. We went in for the cost of my ticket alone and left him outside penniless. There was more being bumped into by passers-by, more stares and logistical nightmares. When you have the beauty of the Taj in front of you though, nothing else is important.

After a late trip on the train back to Delhi we had a day of tourist fun there before my guest went home. Straight to the Red Fort where my guest got another free entry. I declined to go shopping at Janpath. The security guard looked horrified when I said it was just him going in. I told him I would happily accompany my guest if I got in free. This was declined so off I went much to the consternation of the guard.

Later we headed to Old Delhi. My guest got followed, grabbed and no amount of Jao-ing got rid of one man so we ducked into a street food place for a samosa and a lassi. Once replenished I negotiated a rickshaw so we could be cycled around the chaotic streets. When we got out our Rickshaw wallah tried to rip us off and wouldn’t give me my change. We were suddenly surrounded by ten young men who fought with him to return the cash. We ended up getting our ride for half the price I had negotiated and one man told us to leave as the argument continued. I whispered my thank yous and got my friend out of there with relief and gratitude at the kindness of strangers.

Many disabled people here are stuck at home, isolated or just not visible in public. Society here rarely sees positive role models as India has far to come in accessibility, understanding and awarding people their rights. One man told him that he was amazed as my friend was far better off than many here such as the many illiterate and destitute living in poverty. I think my guest, in his short time here, gave many people food for thought and did more than he knows for raising awareness of how it should be in India.

Would the real ASLI please stand up?

Seven weeks into my placement and we had a conference for the Indian ASLI. Coincidentally ‘asli’ in Hindi means ‘real’. Only a week or so after I started work this was decided. What a shocker. VSO tells you to take it easy for the first few weeks to get to know people, learn more language, form those all important relationships we are told are critical for sustainable development. I’ll be honest. My first reaction was great! Then I descended quickly into thoughts such as ‘I’m an interpreter not a conference organiser’, ‘How can I do this when I don’t speak Hindi’, ‘Two staff members have just left, we have no capacity’, ‘We have no moolah’, blah blah blah. Often, I battled with some such negativity which had to be turned into a challenge, something positive. When you are volunteering and working in a different environment in a different way the old ways in which you used to work no longer apply. It just felt like too huge a challenge to take on so soon but you somehow have to find ways to remind yourself that it will be ok.

The support I had from other VSO volunteers here in Delhi was fantastic. One of whom is going soon and I will miss her very much. Her insight and perspective after a whopping three placements was invaluable. She would make me repeat VSO mantras over coffee outings: ‘I am here to advise’, ‘Relationships with colleagues are important – doing admin tasks are not’.

After a few hiccups and a massively steep learning curve, preparations started to go very well. We got some great speakers. We suddenly managed to get some funding and with one phone call out of the blue, we had the money. One courier lost most of our letters, our emails bounced back. Somehow some of our publicity worked. People came from all over the country from as far as Hyderabad, Chandigarh, Ludhiana and Bhopal.

Even the hiccups were dealt with efficiently and without fuss. One speaker had an emergency and could not attend so we got his presentation on DVD and played that instead. It seemed whatever happened we just handled it. I learnt a lot about my colleagues at that time and formed a deep respect for them. I like to think that the conference planning actually helped to form those important relationships.

The benefit of having such a big event early has meant I could meet many interpreters from all over the country that are already working, many without access to training or support. We completed a survey to ask members what they wanted. I now know far more about sign language interpreting and the Deaf community in India from this experience. This will inform our future planning and how I complete the placement over the next nine months. With the benefit of that all so important 20-20 hindsight, it was the ideal way to make a start on the job.

Indian ASLI Facebook Group:
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=280662800900

Websites:
http://www.signasli.org/ 
http://www.vso.org.uk/

The Three Month Meltdown?

A few days ago, I crossed the infamous three month mark. Infamous in VSO terms and amongst volunteers here. It’s sink or swim time. If you’re going to get it bad the likelihood is it’ll happen now. A mild depression maybe, hating the country you are in, thinking about your friends, missing family, wanting to go back home. Perhaps not washing (apparently).

There’s no upset here though. That’s right...I still shower. Yes, I miss my friends and family in a way that I didn’t before. Well if you’ve only just arrived you miss people but you haven’t been gone that long. You’re so busy taking in all this information and your new surroundings. You’re in contact with people back home regularly. Maybe it’s because it’s around now that it hits home. You won’t see people for another nine months. It’s a pretty long time to miss people. Skype and emails are good but no substitute. I'd love to share a glass of wine with friends. It’d be good to see my flesh and blood in the erm...flesh.

I’ve noticed how everything just feels easier. My placement is still a challenge. I love it though and it’s much easier now I better understand what is needed. I get along with people at work and really enjoy getting to know them. My Indian Sign Language gets better for every day that I set aside time to chat to colleagues. Even my Hindi is better. On a recent trip to Janpath market, the stall holders were congratulating me on my ‘thori thori Hindi’ (literal translation: 'little/small' Hindi). Life is a little better now I can hold my own more in a negotiation with an auto driver.

I no longer haul back Kingfisher from the supermarket. We get it delivered when we need to wind down. I still get lost now and again. Who doesn’t in Delhi? The house numbers and streets defy logic. I love yoga in my local temple. I cannot describe how amazing it is to do yoga to the sound of temple bells with Yoga guru-ji. He contorts himself into assans most of us cannot do but have a laugh trying. The laughing yoga is one of the best bits. This is no stuffy yoga class back home.

I have a social life. A mix of local friends and other volunteers makes for a great support network and all together they make up an amazing bunch of people. We’ve sourced the local nightclub. Ladies night, free drinks all night is much better than it sounds. It’s a proper club, with great people. No line dancing or bad taste decor here. As long as you keep your eye out for people slipping roofies in your drink it’s pretty safe and fun.

So in answer to two people recently who said I sounded stressed from my blog. I’m not. I may write about the stresses of life here: getting parcels delivered or arguing with auto drivers. These are just observations on life here and things that have happened. Cliche alert: Overcoming these challenges and being here is one of the most rewarding things I’ve done in my life. Yes I miss people and get stressy every now and again. I like to have a trip in the diary to know I’ve got fun planned. I like keeping up with people. I treat myself to the odd shopping trip, market visit or pedicure. Cheesy I know: I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now.

(The Pic of the Taj is to show what a terrible life it is here!)

Queuing at the Delhi Counter

This is a tale of Indian bureaucracy and a one-woman crusade to get a parcel through customs duty-free. Our story starts a few days before with an email from DHL saying I needed to pay 5,600 rupees in duty for a parcel of personal effects that had been sent over by my parents. After sending a letter and having three different people deal with my case, I was told I had to go personally to the DHL office at the airport to show some ID and collect my parcel.

10:01 Call DHL to enquire as to whether parcel is ready or not. Informed I should get there before 11:00. I explain this will very much depend on my foreigners’ ability to get an auto-rickshaw but I will do my best.

10:32 Having been turned down by three autos, a disembarking passenger takes pity on me and translates to the driver where I want to go. After agreeing to an exorbitant amount we make our way to the DHL office at the airport.

11.37 Three wrong gates and we arrive at the correct one. I am told I need a security pass to get through the gates to the DHL office. Call all three people that have been dealing with my case and DHL reception. No-one picks up. One security guard walks over to the building 100m away with my passport. He returns and I get a pass.

11.45 Irate auto driver demands payment and I leave him, mistakenly, floundering outside whilst I enter reception thinking, foolishly, that I will flash my passport and walk away with the goods into said auto and ride on home. No one is at reception. This is not a good start.

11.56 Receptionist turns up, explains everyone is in a meeting and someone with deal with me in 10 minutes. Offered a chai (to calm the irritated white woman who clearly doesn’t understand she is in India).

12.18 Chat to fellow angry queue person. He tells me DHL used to be good here. Four years ago. Stand up ask receptionist for nth time to see the person dealing with my case.

12:37 Another member of staff arrives. I repeat 12 times in a row that I want to see Miss S. This results in me saying to anything he says, ‘Get her now....just go in the meeting and get her now’. Feel like I’m losing it.

12:43 Ask for the manager. Get told she is in the same meeting. Repeat mantra...’Get her now’. Wonder if I will bang my head on wall soon like a child having a tantrum. Enter into further cahoots with lovely Sikh business man who asks me if I now think India is a third world country.

13:10 Manager comes out. Sikh man goes for it. Wondered what happened to our camaraderie seeing as I was here first. Pout. Do the patient British thing then jump into the debate. Point out a customs delay is one thing, non-communication and shoddy service from an international company is not acceptable. Tirade earns me a handshake and business card from fellow complainer.

13:20 Manager has disappeared without saying when she is coming back. I’m left on my own fuming in reception with one member of staff and the receptionist eyeing me suspiciously. Point at service excellence award of 2006 and ask them what happened.

13:33 Get allocated a DHL fixer, N, who will accompany me to customs. Pay off angry auto driver far too much but just want rid of another problem. Arrive at customs. Everyone is on lunch for another 30 minutes.

14:16 Pay to get form processed. N takes pity on me and buys me a coffee and a bread pakora as I have not bought food for the obviously long wait ahead of me. He tells me if anyone can get my parcel duty free it’s him. We laugh at his stories, laugh at my earlier tirade and shake hands. Turn round. 50 customs staff are staring at us.

14:24 N gets a phone call from the office. Customs had told DHL my parcel had been moved from courier to cargo for collection but this was not the case as the parcel has not been physically moved. We are in for at least a two hour wait. Proceed to discuss my extent of Hindi, where to buy meat, the best nightclubs in Delhi and where to go on holiday over the next hour.

15:27 Spot the suggestion box which is suspiciously empty. N takes another call from the office.

15:40 Press a button on my mobile and discover I can activate a fake incoming call on my mobile. Envisage I can use this for getting out of bad dates in future.

15:43 N takes another call, we go to the on-site bank, pay another processing fee and head back to a different counter in the customs waiting area. Back at the seats I spot a flow chart. Work out I am on step 4 of 15. Wonder if people ever die trying in this place.

15:56 Go to get form stamped by a different official and then ushered in to see the Assistant Commissioner of Customs. Hand in my form and passport and tell him my details should now be on his computer screen. He presses a button on his keyboard and waves me away.

16:01 Get my two hour security pass, which expired two hours ago extended by four hours at a different department. N looks at me apologetically.

16:03 See first sight of parcel sitting tantalisingly on a bench. I’m told I must wait for the right official to open parcel and get contents examined. He is currently in a different building. As I am waiting see sign that reassuringly says some items are duty free for import and export. The list includes human remains, eye balls and ashes. It seems like hardly anything gets through here duty free. The official turns up, inspects contents and leaves. Two men reseal package. N disappears to do paperwork with yet another official. The two men ask me for a tip. I eye ball them in disgust and state emphatically, ‘Na-hi’. I wait for the parcel to be resealed. I watch them whisper as I go to fetch N. He has now become my saviour and the only one who can get me out of here before I turn into an aforementioned duty free package.

16:11 Wonder which stage of 15 I am at. Get ushered with N’s paperwork to see Assistant Commissioner again. He does not look up as he jabs the keyboard and says, ‘still here, eh?’ Respond with a ‘yes sir’ as I’ve now learnt N’s tricks and think this might be the only way to go. There is clearly a pecking order and I don’t think feature.

16:13 Go to a different room back near the packing area. The tip boys are hanging around outside pointing and nudging each other. The head honcho is in their sipping chai and does not looking up from his glossy magazine. Two others point at the form and say it is the wrong one. Another boy is sent to sort it out. Head honcho puts down his magazine and they proceed to chat about me. I trot out my one phrase meaning ‘I can speak a little Hindi’ and it earns me instant kudos. N nods approvingly. He has become my mentor and I, his disciple. Wonder if I might have been here a little too long.

16:45 Retrieve correct form and go to see the moody officail. I have seen him three times already today. The last two times we went to his office the security men stopped asking me for my pass. N leaves room. Officer asks me how long I will be in Indai. I respond I am working for an NGO for the next year. N returns and gets print out the officer has just executed from his computer. N waves it at me and winks from behind the official’s back.

16:54 N and I collect parcel and get one of the tip boys to carry it to an auto. Nearly cry with relief and tell N to write his email address so I can recommend him for promotion in what I promise to be the best recommendation email of my life. N sees me into an auto and I shake his hand vigorously. I can see in his eyes he knows he did good today and that he has witnessed another foreigner go through the rite of passage that is Indian customs. The parcel and I rattle around in the auto on the long journey home. Walk out of customs si hours after arriving. Feel like a changed woman.