TRAVEL An Indian Odyssey, part 5

An Indian Odyssey - part 5


Personal Trainer
Paul O'Brien

The visa debacle
I have never been the most patient person. I don’t like waiting, or wasting time in long queues. As luck, or karma, would have it though, I have been taught the ultimate lesson in patience recently here in India.
This story begins in the Indian Embassy in Dublin, where my visa was stamped until May 31st, even though I was not to return home until mid-June. Upon discovering the error, I immediately brought it to the attention of the embassy officials. The response I received was that nothing could be done now and that I would need to visit the immigration office in Bangalore or Chennai for an extension. I was assured that no further charge would be incurred. I didn’t get this in writing. Big mistake.
So to India and after a few weeks of not thinking about it and another few days of trying to find another solution (being stopped at the airport and possibly jailed was the general feedback), I finally succumbed to the inevitable. Off to the bureau of immigration in Chennai, locally known as the FRRO. Then the fun really began. I was shown into a room, instructed to sit only on the right hand side and await my turn. People shunted their way forwards until called forward to speak with an embassy representative.
My turn came, I put on my best smile in the insane belief it would help, and presented my case. Without so much as looking at me, the lady behind the desk produced reams of paperwork, instructing me to fill them out and return the next day. The information being sought was beyond belief – personal letters, references, company articles etc. As I turned to leave, dejected, I was called back. Eye contact was made and the lady said, with her best smile; “Sir, the charge will be Rs7400” (€130). I could have cried but was way too angry to do so. My patience had been severely tested.
Two days later (it took this length to arrange all the paperwork), I returned. I was shown into a different room, where I again played musical chairs until my name was called. Into a second room, this time a private audience with a bored-looking diplomat.
I regurgitated my story, the diplomat alternating between vague interest and taking phone calls. Then the money question came up. He seemed to be unsure as to why I was applying for an extension at all. After making a couple of calls, he produced an official stamp, and for one elated moment, I thought I was going to be set free, my extension in hand with no charge. Not to be.
Instead, room No 3. The same one as day 1.
This time, I was given some numbered chips and directed towards room No 4 – the cashier. Ok, I thought, at least I can still get out of here today. Again, not to be.
After waiting another 30 minutes, I was called up, documentation re-checked and my Rs7400 handed over. ‘Come back next Tuesday please’.
Breaking point! I employed the ‘count to ten before reacting’ approach (just as well) and explained that I was leaving for Bangalore the following day and was prepared to sit here all day until my case was sorted. Whether it was my plea or the Jedi stare I gave her afterwards, the assistant replied, “Ok, come back tomorrow, no problem.”
For my third visit, I arrived even earlier. The same assistant was there, none the worse for wear after having been ‘Jedied’. I produced my receipt and was informed to sit and wait.
At this point, I was beginning to see the funny side of it all. A friend who had accompanied me informed me that the system was a hangover from British rule. For some reason this made me laugh hysterically. I had an image of sweat-clad manual workers in the basement below the building, straining to turn the massive, rusty cogs of this archaic system. It all seemed so comical and so uniquely Indian.
My name was called, I was handed my passport with my one-month extension. Smiling beatifically, I left.
The only thing on my mind was a stiff drink. I felt the need to celebrate my escape from the clutches of bureaucracy. I was also thankful for the lesson in patience.

Paul O’Brien is a certified personal trainer with the American Council on Exercise and a qualified life coach based in Westport.
He is currently spending a couple of months in Bangalore, India, where he is setting up Summer fitness camps for children. This article is one of a series detailing his experiences as a fitness instructor in a foreign culture.