Going to India!

Indian Adventure

     This adventure, like so many of my travels, begins with the ORDEAL OF THE VISA. Many of my colleagues here in Tashkent breathed a huge sigh of relief when the Indian government announced that it was making the visa process easier, and was now offering visas on arrival. The sigh of relief wasn’t shared by the Brits and the Canadians. Apparently we’re still threatening enough that we need to submit all of our paperwork in person, at least a few weeks before we even think about getting on a plane (except that in order to apply for the visa, you have to first have a ticket – a bit of a catch-22).

     The first step in the process was to fill in the very lengthy application form online. Unfortunately, the internet in Uzbekistan is not the speediest, so just loading and saving each page seemed to take a lifetime. I had to list every country I have visited in the last ten years, and the place of birth and full names of my parents, and give information about my grandparents. At least I didn’t have to list every job I’ve ever had (Russian visa). I had to come up with references both in Uzbekistan and in India. The last part of the online submission was loading a photo. Not just any photo. A headshot with a white background with specific size restrictions. Using my limited computer skills, I managed to size and resize a photo. Once all of this was submitted, I was generated an appointment date. NOWHERE on the Indian government site, (or anywhere on the entire world-wide-web) could I find the visa fee for a Canadian applying in Tashkent. 

     On the day of the appointment, I arranged with my regular taxi-driver to pick me up at school at 11:00 and take me to the Indian embassy. I had with me; passport, printout of application, letter from my school; copy of my lease agreement; copy of my bank statement; copy of my plane ticket; extra copy of my passport and Uzbek visa. I was also carrying about $300 in various denominations of US dollars, and a bag full of soums. (Not only did I not know how much the fee was, but I didn’t know what currency I had to pay it in). The taxi driver didn’t know where the embassy was, so I had directions from a friend, and a rough map. After a few wrong turns, and stopping for directions a few times, we made it. 

     At the gate, I showed the guard my paper with the appointment time. “Passport.” I handed over my passport, in it’s pretty blue passport cover. Inside the cover, there are handy little pockets. I had shoved the extra photos in the pockets. The guard opened the book, looked at the photos, me, and the word Canada. “Canada?” “Da.” And the gate swung open. 

     The grounds of the Indian embassy, by the way, are quite lovely. There is a little stream with a fake water wheel, and fat white ducks swimming in the water. There are cats wandering around (do they eat the ducks?). 

     I entered the door with the visa sign. It opened to a small waiting room filled with benches. At the end of the room, was a little window reached by a small flight of stairs. There were people seated on the benches, and two people in line at the little window. I looked around to see if there was a number-machine like you find at the deli, but I couldn’t see anything. I got in line. 

     When I was second to the front of the line, a number of people started to quite aggressively tell me that I  was out of line, that I had to wait. I honestly couldn’t figure out how the waiting worked, so I fell back on the tried-and-true stupid-foreigner gambit. I kept pointing to my appointment time, and speaking hopelessly and rapidly in English. I could hear the mutterings around me, and feel the eyes burning into my back, but I held my ill-gotten ground. 

     When I got to the front of the line, the first thing the visa person said was, ‘Did you wait in the queue?” “Yes,” I said. “I have an appointment.” “Everyone here has an appointment. That is the time you’re supposed to enter through the gate.” “But the guard told me to come in!” The visa person took my papers, and told me to wait ‘downstairs.’ 

     I took a seat on the benches, still not sure what was going on, or how long I would be sitting there. Were the visa people going to punish me and make me sit there all day? I had made arrangements to cover my class immediately after lunch, but that was it. What if I had to miss lunch, and didn’t have time to eat for the rest of the day? I pulled out my kobo and started to read. I told myself that, if they didn’t call my name within an hour, I would very sweetly inquire about what was going on. 

     Twenty minutes later, I heard my name called. I pushed my way to the front of the queue (yes, I was extremely popular). There was a new visa person. “Do you work at TIS?” “Yes.” “My daughters go to TIS.” Yay! I’m not going to be punished for being a pushy foreigner! I’m going to be rewarded for having the right connections! The visa fee was $53. The first 50-dollar bill I handed over wasn’t acceptable. Luckily I had another with me. I was told that they have to contact Canada (to make sure I’m not a criminal, or using a false passport, I guess), and they would call me when my visa was ready. 

     I leaned into the window, and asked if I had done something wrong with the queueing, and explained again that the guard had sent me in. I was assured that everything was fine (by the man with daughters in my school). I walked back through the grounds, out the gate, out to the street, caught a taxi, and was back on campus in time for lunch. 

  One week later, I received a telephone call. My visa was ready, and I could come collect it and my passport at 4:30. I called my favourite taxi-driver, Vladimir, and he picked me up at school at 4:30, zoomed me home to pick up my receipt, and then to the Indian embassy. I showed the guard at the gate my receipt, walked to the visa office, and I was the only one there! Within minutes my passport was back in my hands! Yay, I’m really going to India!