Adventures at the Indian Embassy
Why, you might ask, would I devote an entire blog entry to the Indian Embassy? Well, considering the amount of time, energy and patience I expended there, it deserves an entire chapter. Let this be a lesson to those of you who wish to obtain an Indian visa at the embassy in Katmandu (or, I have a sneaking suspicion, any Indian embassy) – do not underestimate the power of mindless bureaucracy to reduce even the most even-tempered individuals to raging lunatics. After our experience at the embassy in Katmandu, I’m starting to believe that the Indian government has a secret conspiracy to keep tourists out of their country by making it next to impossible and utterly distasteful to get a visa. A few words of advice:
1. Before attempting to obtain your Indian visa, take a large dose of Prozac for at least two weeks (it’s widely available over-the-counter at most pharmacies in Nepal);
2. Plan to do nothing else for at least two of the next three days;
3. Paste a bland smile on your face and resolve to keep it there no matter what;
4. Bring along a good book (preferably a joke book);
5. Set your expectations low so you won’t be disappointed – plan for anything and everything to go wrong;
6. Set aside any preconceived notions you may have about customer service and remember that these are government officials you are dealing with – it’s not their job to serve you; they are there to confuse, frustrate and exasperate you while acting as if they are doing you a favour.
So now, let our story begin. Shortly after we arrived in Katmandu, we went to the Indian Embassy to start the process of obtaining our Indian visas. After running some other errands, we arrived around 11am, expecting to be able to pick up the necessary paperwork and leave. That was our first mistake. Rule #1 (well, #5 actually) – expect anything and everything to go wrong. First, we spent fifteen minutes signing in and getting searched for weapons (my six-year old looks pretty threatening) before being directed to the visa office with a casual wave in the general direction. After standing in line at the wrong office for a while (no signs), we were told to go around the corner to the next office. As we rounded the corner, we encountered a chaotic mass of grumpy-looking people standing in three lines. The only sign that made any sense was over window #3 and it read, “Absolutely no visa inquiries at this window.” OK, so only two left to choose from. After looking around for blank forms, I asked a few people where they had gotten theirs. They said that there had been some out on the tables earlier but that they were all gone now. I went to the front of the line at the first window to try to get the official’s attention and got ignored for about ten minutes before I gave up and went and stood in the line while Claude tried to keep the kids amused. Twenty minutes later, without warning, all three windows suddenly slammed down and everyone started walking away. Apparently, it was lunchtime and the office was now closed until 4:30pm. All we had wanted to do was pick up the forms! No worries, I told Claude, we’d just download the forms from the internet.
On my next attempt, I decided to take a different approach. The first thing I did was go online to the Nepal Indian embassy’s website. There, I discovered that, since we would be in India for only 12 days, we qualified for a transit visa (valid for two weeks) which cost about $13Cdn vs $50Cdn for a full tourist visa. The only catch was that it was meant for transit only and wasn’t intended for tourism purposes. You could also apply for and receive the visa on the same day as opposed to waiting 72 hours for a tourist visa. We decided to take our chances and try for the transit visa. Unfortunately, when I clicked on “Forms,” all it said was “Obtain forms from embassy.” This time, knowing that the embassy opened at 9:30am, I left the kids at the hotel with Claude and went there right at 9:30am. To my surprise, there was a line-up of about 75 people waiting to sign in and it was almost 10:30am before I made it to the visa office. Once again, there were no forms in sight so I marched up to the front of the line at the first window and managed to get the official’s attention. Next window for transit visas, I was told. “I’m just picking up forms,” I apologized as I went to the front of the line at the second window, which was also the payment window. “Back of the line, lady!” yelled a crusty lady with really bad hair, “You have to stand in line for forms, too!”
So forty-five minutes later I reached the front of the line and requested the damn forms which the guy just ripped off a pad and handed to me after grilling me about whether we met the criteria for a transit visa or not. The next morning, I arrived at 7:30am to ensure that I got to the window first and discovered that there were already twenty people there ahead of me. Oh well, better than the seventy-five that were ahead of me the day before. I had all my forms filled out properly (black ink, block letters), photos attached, copies of our ongoing tickets, passports, you name it – I had all my ducks in a row and nothing was going to stop me today. While I waited for the embassy to open, I reached into my bag for the brand new sealed bottle of water I’d brought along and realized that somehow it had leaked – ON MY FORMS!!! I laid them out on the sidewalk to dry and only Simon’s suffered a tiny tear where the water had soaked through. As soon as I got into the embassy, I went straight to the Transit Visa line (I was a pro now) and when I got to the wicket, the man threw Simon’s form back at me and said, “This form is torn – I won’t accept it! You must fill out another one.”
I figured that while he was processing the other three, I could redo Simon’s, but, no go, he made me get out of line and come back. Luckily, I had made friends while waiting in line and the nice British gent a few people behind me promised to let me back in. On the second go round, I was told that I needed to go see the visa officer to get our transit visas approved and he demanded a copy of our tickets to India (first time I’d heard this). I just smiled meekly and handed over our tickets, expecting him to make copies on the photocopier that was RIGHT BEHIND HIS DESK! But no, it was my responsibility to make copies and when I politely inquired where I could go to do this, he told me I had to leave the embassy and go down the street. As I stomped out of his office, muttering expletives under my breath about government officials with “little big man syndrome,” I passed several other visa rookies looking around for forms and moaning to each other, “Why can’t they just put the forms out on the tables?” Suckers!
Finally, by 11AM, I had gotten photocopies, convinced the guards at the gate to let me back in, gotten the required stamps from the Nazi visa officer, and stood in line again to pay (exact change only). I was told to return at 5:00PM to pick up our passports so I arrived at 4:30just to make sure I was first in line. Since all I had to do was pick up the passports, I brought Alexa with me and read to her from her Harry Potter book while we waited outside the embassy. When we got inside, we were the first ones at the wicket and waited patiently until 5:00PM when the window shot up momentarily while the official announced that the visas weren’t ready yet and that it would be another half an hour. Now used to these kinds of delays, I shrugged my shoulders, turned around, sat down on the floor in front of the window and opened the Harry Potter book. As I read aloud to Alexa, an Israeli guy with dreadlocks inched closer and politely asked if I could read a little louder. Soon, Alexa nudged my knee and I looked up to see a group of about ten people sitting cross-legged on the floor around us listening intently. It was “Circle Time” at the Indian Embassy! Forty-five minutes and three chapters later, the window opened and we were finally able to get our passports with their precious visas inside. As Alexa and I left, people thanked us for helping to pass the time and the next morning as we waited to check into our flight, we recognized one of the girls from the embassy when she turned and shyly called out, “Thanks for the story!”
If nothing else, my experiences at the Indian Embassy provided me with an opportunity to work on personal attributes likes patience, humility and good humour while providing me with excellent blog material.
Tags: Nepal, Travel
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