The Passport Fiasco
The mail was sitting in my Inbox when I came back from lunch. The officer from Immigration department had mailed to inform that the passport is back from the Australian Embassy. Though the plans to Australia had been scrapped, the company had spend a lot of money for the Visa Processing and I thought it would be appropriate to have the Visa label place in my passport.
Since the Australian assignment hadn't worked out, my manager offered me an opening in Shanghai and I accepted, as the assignment looked good, at least on the paper. So, I was happy to see the mail from the immigration department as my China Visa Processing was on hold until my passport came back.
I walk to the block where the Admin / HR groups sit. I take the stairs to the floor where the lady from immigration sits. As usual, she was busy on the phone and with a friendly smile she indicated me to wait. I should have guessed from the fact that she smiled that there was something wrong, seriously wrong. She finished her conversation and smiles at me again and I got that sinking feeling in the pit of stomach again.
She hesitated for a moment before she sputters out, "We got you passport Vijay, and I don't know how, but somehow, it's damaged", she pauses briefly, as if it takes time for these kinds of news to sink in, "The people at the embassy probably mishandled it. You will have to get a new passport now."
She hands the passport to me and I take it from her, one part dazed, one part shocked, and two parts furious. I could see that the damage to the passport was the worst possible one; the lamination over the photo had peeled off. If I use such a passport, I will immediately be thrown into the jail, whichever country I may be in.
I glare at her and wanted to scream at her face, "I am sure it's not Australian Embassy that damaged my passport, as they wouldn't have placed the visa label in a damaged passport in the first god damn place. I'm sure the courier that you people used must be cheapest possible. Or your dumb folks must have given my passport to some illiterate office boy who tried to use my passport as a toilet paper." Instead, I continue glaring at her and almost snatch the passport from her.
I had half a mind to scream all possible abuses at her and make a hell out of it. I hold back for the simple fact that I needed this job more than she probably needed hers. I walked out of the floor and the moment the door closed behind me, I started cursing the whole Admin group and Immigration specifically for the incompetent nincompoops that I thought they were. I continued to cuss at them until I entered my floor.
People, as usual, were busy and only two people bother to look at my direction (Two souls unfortunate enough to be sitting besides me, The other were "too" busy of course...) when the door opened and they both smiled at me. I smile back, primary out of habit and secondarily as they were both my friends.
I go straight to my manager and tell him what happened and I told him that I will be going to Bangalore to get my new passport made. He has no choice but to agree. I go back to my seat and plug in my iPod and login to irctc.co.in to book the first ticket to Bangalore. Not surprisingly, the only ticket that was available was five days away (Well, company wouldn't pay for the flight, at least not at my level). I book the tickets and put my iPod on and cussed the world in general for one last time before I got back to work.
I use the five days that I have to prepare all the documents that I need for the new passport processing. My sister had done here passport via the tatkal (Hindi For Temporary) process, where by you pay more and get the passport done faster. She provided me with a list of documents that I need, which, as I found out later on, was not required. I discovered, accurately, that I would need to shell out a princely sum of Five Thousand rupees, for a tatkal passport to be reissued in lieu of a damaged passport.
I reach Bangalore five days later to discover that the day I arrived was a holiday. I use that day to prepare the affidavits and get some photos done (Terrible Photographs, Whizz Sucks!). I discover that the office has shifted from a very accessible M.G. Road to a very unaccessible location (Almost unidentified) in Koramangala.
I take an auto the new passport office to get a feel of the route and if possible to familiarize with the layout. The gate was locked and the cop on duty was not allowing anyone inside. I talk to him (Who was relishing on a Mango, like a kid, messy and unclean!) and he tells me that though the office opens by 9:30 only, it would be better if I come in by 7:30 AM.
I take the bus back home making a mental note to request my father's driver to come in earlier. I send an SMS to my father to indicate that I needed the car next morning. I call my sister and ask her to take a few extra prints of the application forms so that I can afford to mess up one or two. That night, I refer to the information available in the website and fill up the required documents. This, referring to to web site developed and maintained by NIC, was the biggest mistake that I did. I missed out filling up three forms, thanks to the "excellent" site design.
I reached the passport office by 7:00 AM next morning, just in case. Imagine my shock when I discovered all the hundred chairs were occupied and people had formed a queue beyond the chairs as well. This being the queue, for issuing of the appointment tokens. I get into the wrong queue twice before I found the right queue, and get into it. I stand in the sun for over two hours before the queue finally start moving. Thankfully I get a place to sit, in sun again; But, I guess after two hours of standing in sun, it didn't make a difference. It was 11:00 AM by the time I get to the counter.
I showed the clerk at the counter all the documents that I have got. He noted the fact that I need a Tatkal passport as a replacement for the damaged passport and ignored all other documents other than my passport and issued me a token and instructed me to "Go to counter number 10..."
I get inside the passport office and policeman there directs me to counter number 10. As I said, I had referred to the official passport web site for filling up the form. The clerk informed me that I had missed two police verification forms, just to see if I have a criminal record and my marriage certificate, since my old passport was made before my marriage and since I had duly filled up my wife's name in the passport application. The police verification form's OK, but what do I do for the marriage certificate? It's in US, my wife had taken it, just in case. The clerk informed me that If I fill up an alternate form then I will have to get a new token issued (How I hated bureaucrats and bureaucracy at that moment...).
I realized that there's nothing that I can do other than come again on the next day. I call my manager and explain the issue to him and he okayed my stay for another day. I call my sister and tell her to get some more printouts from her office. I call my father and tell explain the situation to him request him for his car on the next day as well, this time at 5:30 A.M. I go back home (cursing my butt off, quite loudly as well) and call my wife as soon I reach home. I explained the problem that I'm facing to her. She said she was okay with it and that we will worry about the spouse's name addition later on.
That night I carefully fill up all the details on the new passport application form and I review it twice before I turn in. I arranged all the documents and the old passport in order and placed it into a stick file.
I get up at 4:30 A.M. and get ready fast. I have some biscuits and milk so that I have enough energy to make it half way through the day. The driver came at sharp 5:30 AM and we started for the passport office by 5:45 in the morning. The light morning traffic, ensured that I reach the passport office by 6:20 A.M. Imagine my shock when I saw that the first 30 seats were already full. It was almost as if those people spend the night there in the passport office itself; even if they did I wouldn't blame them at all.
For the next three hours I continue act like an unofficial guide to the people. I have of course become an expert in passport office queues. It was not a bad experience at all and It was almost fun, for it helped in passing the time better. Of course, I wished that I had a good book with me, but then helping people was more fun, especially those helpless girls.
At 9:00 am a cop comes in to clear out all the relatives and friends standing / sitting in the queue. This "promoted" my position to top 20. The token issue counter opened at 9:30 A.M. and by 10:00 A.M. I get the token and I head straight to counter number 10 where the same clerk verifies and clears my documents. I head straight to the next counter where I submit a written application stating the reason why I need a tatkal passport, along with the rest of the application. I am send directly to deputy passport officer's office where he does the final approval of the application and instructed a dispatch date.
I stand in another queue which sadly is quite long. This was of course the last queue and probably the only place where you get to see typical "government like efficiency". The lady stationed at this seat takes her own sweet time to accept the payment, check the notes, knit the sweater for the approaching winter and accept the application form.
To make things worse, people "cut" the queue in between. They do so either by requesting or by barging in and arguing. Either ways, it just added to the torture. Why is it that we (Indians, desis, The Browns) can never follow the simplest of the rules in our own country, be it following a queue or follow traffic rules? Once we leave our country we follow all the rules as if we bloody care, god damn hypocrites. I seriously think that we all have a serious genetic flaw, due to which our food will not get digested OR we cannot sleep unless and until we break a few law and rules through the day.
It's 1:00 PM by the time I reach the counter and the lady puts down the sweater at 1:15 and accepts the application and the money from me. Finger by Finger she enters the file number and retrieved the information from the server. She counts the money notes down the file number on each of the notes ("In case there's yenne problem with tha notsu, we will informu you"). I was glad that I didn't make the mistake of getting a bundle of 50's. The (hungry, tired, sleepy - pick any three) people behind me would have cursed me for generations to come.
She fires the print of the receipt indicating the file number and the amount they have received and It happened. For some reason (Perhaps it's my prevailing good luck) the her system fails to respond and the print fails to take place. She and I, both, waits expectantly for the print to happen, and after ten minutes windows decides that I have waited enough and the print is spewed out. She takes my old passport and cancels it with a big red stamp (The icon of all the red-tapism is somehow a red stamp. We have the home grown, indigenous variety here called red-stampism rather than red-tapism). I walk away from the counter, feeling what India would have felt on August 15th 1947. That moment I understood what people felt for 400 years during the British rule. Some of the people in the queue smile at me and a few even congratulated me.
As the date of dispatch was another 5 days away I rush back home and book the tickets to Bangalore so that I can be back during the time the delivery is made. I finish my reservation and leave for the railway station. I make it there with ample time to spare; The time I used for having an early dinner. It was a Thursday and I would be in Hyderabad till Tuesday before I returned to Bangalore. I decided to work on Saturday and Sunday to make up for the time I will be losing the next week.
I reached Hyderabad next day morning. My roomie will be leaving on the same day to Shanghai and I help him out with the packing. The next four days there in Hyderabad was the most restless days that I have spend till now. I would have checked the status of the file a hundred times during these four days.
I start to Bangalore on the day the dispatch was supposed to happen and reach there the next day. I reach home and had my breakfast and booted my laptop and started working and waiting for the the passport delivery to happen, which didn't happen on that day. This despite the online status of my passport application indicating the passport was dispatched on time.
The next day I wake up early and paranoidal. I call up the port office and inquire regarding the delivery times and regarding the status of the parcel in question. I got prompt and useless replies. I decided that if I don't get it by afternoon 2 PM I am going to go to the local post office and see for myself what's happening.
I eat my breakfast half heartedly. By 1 P.M. I had managed to lose my appetite completely and I was restless. I would have had a litre of black tea by then. Every time the bell rang I ran to the door to see who's at the door. Mom said she was feeling hungry and she started having her lunch. This was at around 1:30 P.M. and food was the last thing in my mind at that point.
At 1:45 P.M. The bell rings again and I run to the door again and thankfully the person at the door looked like a postman, and he was one. He was accompanied by a lady cop as well. I collect the passport and sign where I was asked to. As soon as they left, I locked the door behind me and opened the envelope and checked the passport for all the required details. The passport looked fine.
The passport had finally arrived. I am going to buy all sorts of jackets and covers for the passport this time. I have lost my trust in the immigration processes on the whole.
Since the Australian assignment hadn't worked out, my manager offered me an opening in Shanghai and I accepted, as the assignment looked good, at least on the paper. So, I was happy to see the mail from the immigration department as my China Visa Processing was on hold until my passport came back.
I walk to the block where the Admin / HR groups sit. I take the stairs to the floor where the lady from immigration sits. As usual, she was busy on the phone and with a friendly smile she indicated me to wait. I should have guessed from the fact that she smiled that there was something wrong, seriously wrong. She finished her conversation and smiles at me again and I got that sinking feeling in the pit of stomach again.
She hesitated for a moment before she sputters out, "We got you passport Vijay, and I don't know how, but somehow, it's damaged", she pauses briefly, as if it takes time for these kinds of news to sink in, "The people at the embassy probably mishandled it. You will have to get a new passport now."
She hands the passport to me and I take it from her, one part dazed, one part shocked, and two parts furious. I could see that the damage to the passport was the worst possible one; the lamination over the photo had peeled off. If I use such a passport, I will immediately be thrown into the jail, whichever country I may be in.
I glare at her and wanted to scream at her face, "I am sure it's not Australian Embassy that damaged my passport, as they wouldn't have placed the visa label in a damaged passport in the first god damn place. I'm sure the courier that you people used must be cheapest possible. Or your dumb folks must have given my passport to some illiterate office boy who tried to use my passport as a toilet paper." Instead, I continue glaring at her and almost snatch the passport from her.
I had half a mind to scream all possible abuses at her and make a hell out of it. I hold back for the simple fact that I needed this job more than she probably needed hers. I walked out of the floor and the moment the door closed behind me, I started cursing the whole Admin group and Immigration specifically for the incompetent nincompoops that I thought they were. I continued to cuss at them until I entered my floor.
People, as usual, were busy and only two people bother to look at my direction (Two souls unfortunate enough to be sitting besides me, The other were "too" busy of course...) when the door opened and they both smiled at me. I smile back, primary out of habit and secondarily as they were both my friends.
I go straight to my manager and tell him what happened and I told him that I will be going to Bangalore to get my new passport made. He has no choice but to agree. I go back to my seat and plug in my iPod and login to irctc.co.in to book the first ticket to Bangalore. Not surprisingly, the only ticket that was available was five days away (Well, company wouldn't pay for the flight, at least not at my level). I book the tickets and put my iPod on and cussed the world in general for one last time before I got back to work.
I use the five days that I have to prepare all the documents that I need for the new passport processing. My sister had done here passport via the tatkal (Hindi For Temporary) process, where by you pay more and get the passport done faster. She provided me with a list of documents that I need, which, as I found out later on, was not required. I discovered, accurately, that I would need to shell out a princely sum of Five Thousand rupees, for a tatkal passport to be reissued in lieu of a damaged passport.
I reach Bangalore five days later to discover that the day I arrived was a holiday. I use that day to prepare the affidavits and get some photos done (Terrible Photographs, Whizz Sucks!). I discover that the office has shifted from a very accessible M.G. Road to a very unaccessible location (Almost unidentified) in Koramangala.
I take an auto the new passport office to get a feel of the route and if possible to familiarize with the layout. The gate was locked and the cop on duty was not allowing anyone inside. I talk to him (Who was relishing on a Mango, like a kid, messy and unclean!) and he tells me that though the office opens by 9:30 only, it would be better if I come in by 7:30 AM.
I take the bus back home making a mental note to request my father's driver to come in earlier. I send an SMS to my father to indicate that I needed the car next morning. I call my sister and ask her to take a few extra prints of the application forms so that I can afford to mess up one or two. That night, I refer to the information available in the website and fill up the required documents. This, referring to to web site developed and maintained by NIC, was the biggest mistake that I did. I missed out filling up three forms, thanks to the "excellent" site design.
I reached the passport office by 7:00 AM next morning, just in case. Imagine my shock when I discovered all the hundred chairs were occupied and people had formed a queue beyond the chairs as well. This being the queue, for issuing of the appointment tokens. I get into the wrong queue twice before I found the right queue, and get into it. I stand in the sun for over two hours before the queue finally start moving. Thankfully I get a place to sit, in sun again; But, I guess after two hours of standing in sun, it didn't make a difference. It was 11:00 AM by the time I get to the counter.
I showed the clerk at the counter all the documents that I have got. He noted the fact that I need a Tatkal passport as a replacement for the damaged passport and ignored all other documents other than my passport and issued me a token and instructed me to "Go to counter number 10..."
I get inside the passport office and policeman there directs me to counter number 10. As I said, I had referred to the official passport web site for filling up the form. The clerk informed me that I had missed two police verification forms, just to see if I have a criminal record and my marriage certificate, since my old passport was made before my marriage and since I had duly filled up my wife's name in the passport application. The police verification form's OK, but what do I do for the marriage certificate? It's in US, my wife had taken it, just in case. The clerk informed me that If I fill up an alternate form then I will have to get a new token issued (How I hated bureaucrats and bureaucracy at that moment...).
I realized that there's nothing that I can do other than come again on the next day. I call my manager and explain the issue to him and he okayed my stay for another day. I call my sister and tell her to get some more printouts from her office. I call my father and tell explain the situation to him request him for his car on the next day as well, this time at 5:30 A.M. I go back home (cursing my butt off, quite loudly as well) and call my wife as soon I reach home. I explained the problem that I'm facing to her. She said she was okay with it and that we will worry about the spouse's name addition later on.
That night I carefully fill up all the details on the new passport application form and I review it twice before I turn in. I arranged all the documents and the old passport in order and placed it into a stick file.
I get up at 4:30 A.M. and get ready fast. I have some biscuits and milk so that I have enough energy to make it half way through the day. The driver came at sharp 5:30 AM and we started for the passport office by 5:45 in the morning. The light morning traffic, ensured that I reach the passport office by 6:20 A.M. Imagine my shock when I saw that the first 30 seats were already full. It was almost as if those people spend the night there in the passport office itself; even if they did I wouldn't blame them at all.
For the next three hours I continue act like an unofficial guide to the people. I have of course become an expert in passport office queues. It was not a bad experience at all and It was almost fun, for it helped in passing the time better. Of course, I wished that I had a good book with me, but then helping people was more fun, especially those helpless girls.
At 9:00 am a cop comes in to clear out all the relatives and friends standing / sitting in the queue. This "promoted" my position to top 20. The token issue counter opened at 9:30 A.M. and by 10:00 A.M. I get the token and I head straight to counter number 10 where the same clerk verifies and clears my documents. I head straight to the next counter where I submit a written application stating the reason why I need a tatkal passport, along with the rest of the application. I am send directly to deputy passport officer's office where he does the final approval of the application and instructed a dispatch date.
I stand in another queue which sadly is quite long. This was of course the last queue and probably the only place where you get to see typical "government like efficiency". The lady stationed at this seat takes her own sweet time to accept the payment, check the notes, knit the sweater for the approaching winter and accept the application form.
To make things worse, people "cut" the queue in between. They do so either by requesting or by barging in and arguing. Either ways, it just added to the torture. Why is it that we (Indians, desis, The Browns) can never follow the simplest of the rules in our own country, be it following a queue or follow traffic rules? Once we leave our country we follow all the rules as if we bloody care, god damn hypocrites. I seriously think that we all have a serious genetic flaw, due to which our food will not get digested OR we cannot sleep unless and until we break a few law and rules through the day.
It's 1:00 PM by the time I reach the counter and the lady puts down the sweater at 1:15 and accepts the application and the money from me. Finger by Finger she enters the file number and retrieved the information from the server. She counts the money notes down the file number on each of the notes ("In case there's yenne problem with tha notsu, we will informu you"). I was glad that I didn't make the mistake of getting a bundle of 50's. The (hungry, tired, sleepy - pick any three) people behind me would have cursed me for generations to come.
She fires the print of the receipt indicating the file number and the amount they have received and It happened. For some reason (Perhaps it's my prevailing good luck) the her system fails to respond and the print fails to take place. She and I, both, waits expectantly for the print to happen, and after ten minutes windows decides that I have waited enough and the print is spewed out. She takes my old passport and cancels it with a big red stamp (The icon of all the red-tapism is somehow a red stamp. We have the home grown, indigenous variety here called red-stampism rather than red-tapism). I walk away from the counter, feeling what India would have felt on August 15th 1947. That moment I understood what people felt for 400 years during the British rule. Some of the people in the queue smile at me and a few even congratulated me.
As the date of dispatch was another 5 days away I rush back home and book the tickets to Bangalore so that I can be back during the time the delivery is made. I finish my reservation and leave for the railway station. I make it there with ample time to spare; The time I used for having an early dinner. It was a Thursday and I would be in Hyderabad till Tuesday before I returned to Bangalore. I decided to work on Saturday and Sunday to make up for the time I will be losing the next week.
I reached Hyderabad next day morning. My roomie will be leaving on the same day to Shanghai and I help him out with the packing. The next four days there in Hyderabad was the most restless days that I have spend till now. I would have checked the status of the file a hundred times during these four days.
I start to Bangalore on the day the dispatch was supposed to happen and reach there the next day. I reach home and had my breakfast and booted my laptop and started working and waiting for the the passport delivery to happen, which didn't happen on that day. This despite the online status of my passport application indicating the passport was dispatched on time.
The next day I wake up early and paranoidal. I call up the port office and inquire regarding the delivery times and regarding the status of the parcel in question. I got prompt and useless replies. I decided that if I don't get it by afternoon 2 PM I am going to go to the local post office and see for myself what's happening.
I eat my breakfast half heartedly. By 1 P.M. I had managed to lose my appetite completely and I was restless. I would have had a litre of black tea by then. Every time the bell rang I ran to the door to see who's at the door. Mom said she was feeling hungry and she started having her lunch. This was at around 1:30 P.M. and food was the last thing in my mind at that point.
At 1:45 P.M. The bell rings again and I run to the door again and thankfully the person at the door looked like a postman, and he was one. He was accompanied by a lady cop as well. I collect the passport and sign where I was asked to. As soon as they left, I locked the door behind me and opened the envelope and checked the passport for all the required details. The passport looked fine.
The passport had finally arrived. I am going to buy all sorts of jackets and covers for the passport this time. I have lost my trust in the immigration processes on the whole.
