I will publish this in parts because it was an exceptionally long day with much going on... my connection at this cafe (if you can call it that) is very slow, so I'll have to wait until next time to add pictures)
Part 1. My Indian Visa NON-Application
I had to bail out on my visa application. Well, I didn’t have to, but I chose to.
As the day started after running back and forth to the bank and the pharmacy and all that I asked the building manager Rosario at Kassandra’s building to help me find a CNG (which, incidentally just means Compressed Natural Gas) to the Indian Embassy, and then wait for me before going to the Mohakali Bus Station. Well, I meant Mohakali, but I said Kalabaggan - 2 very different stations in 2 very different parts of the city (oops!)… more on that to come.
[CNG and BAGS and STREET VIEWS - PHOTOS COMING]
On the internet when I looked ahead to plan my application it said to go to the visa office, get an application, fill it out, and bring it up to make your application. So, laden with my pack and my daybag I trucked up to the window. When I first arrived there was an old woman gesturing to a pile of bags - I thought she meant to see me one, but that wasn’t quite right (lost in translation!).
I got to security and the 16-year old guard said only “no bags inside.” I looked around, no lockers. What did they mean for me to do with them? The guard at the gate wouldn’t give me 2 seconds of his time but another came up and showed me back to the gesturing lady, where he told me to leave both my bags (with pretty much all my worldly possessions in them) on her tarp. I looked at the old lady, I looked at the throng of people standing around, and I weighed my options:
1.) Leave my bags with the CNG driver and hope that he doesn’t drive off with them rather than waiting for his fee, in hopes that there’s something in my bag worth more that the double-fare I’d already agreed to pay him.
2.) Leave my bags on the grandmother’s tarp (picture a dirty holey camping tarp that shouldda been tossed years ago for the size of holes in it, wrapped so it folded over the bags with a dirty log on top to keep them from flying away)
3.) Leave and just go to my next destination and worry about the visa later, because I wasn’t getting in there with my bags.
Well, #3 sounded like a good option, but (a) I really want to go to India, and (b) the security guard is telling me it will be fine, so I handed my bags over to the little old lady and her tarps and got in return this little cardboard ‘ticket.’
[TICKET - PHOTO COMING]
I shook my head and smiled looking at it, shrugged my shoulders (I had my cards and my camera and passport, the rest is just stuff… while it is my stuff, it is still just stuff - nobody would die if it were gone when I got back). While I was headed back to the embassy I passed another couple who asked me what to do about their bags and I filled them in on the situation. They looked worried, but again, what other choice was there?
So, leaving my bags behind (you couldn’t even bring a purse) I rejoined the line and trucked my way up past several pairs of security guards. I was patted down by female security, and ushered and “ma’am”d up to the third floor where foreigners could apply. I asked (3rd time now) for a visa application, and once again was told “just wait, it’s there,” so I waited politely and quietly, and it was only about 5 minutes before I saw the officer.
He shuffled through my papers and flipped through my passport and asked for the online printout of my completed application. I didn't have one of those because I was told I only had to show up and fill out the application there.
“No. It is not correct. You must fill out the online application and select and appointment date."
“Ummm, your website said to come in and get an application and that I could apply here, now.”
“Yes, it is a very new procedure, just today actually (meaning: “I’m doing this because I can”. You must fill out the online application and select and appointment date. Go do that, and then you can apply. And your fee will be Tk3,300. Well… No, your fee will be Tk3,450”
“So there‘s no way I can apply here today without an online application?”
“That is correct.” (shoving my papers and passport back at me and picking up his cell phone call, in effect dismissing me).
I love visa officials. LOVE them. I picked up my crap and headed back outside thinking about what to do next.
Well, that was that. The friendly couple I met downstairs (she from Mexico, he from Bangladesh) were next in line, and I explained my situation. He translated for me trying to intercede on my behalf (he was guessing the guard was being difficult because I was a single woman), and he asked me to hang around 5 minutes and he’d see if he could change his mind.
After 10 minutes they came out and were told the same thing - even though the security guard at the door gave them a paper application to fill out the dude at the desk wasn’t gonna budge and we were all SOL. I fear that they may have gotten the same story because he through his lot in with me, but I appreciated the thought and the gesture!
So, I could have gone to find an internet café and then lined up outside and then lined up inside to do it all again but I wanted to go on to the bus (and I had my driver waiting for me), so I returned to the tarp to pick up my bags (which, mercifully were still there untouched) and paide the grandma some money (way too much money, but you know how it goes).
I found my CNG driver napping in the shade, and stuffing my bags back through the door we went to the next stop: The (wrong) Bus Station!
Part 1. My Indian Visa NON-Application
I had to bail out on my visa application. Well, I didn’t have to, but I chose to.
As the day started after running back and forth to the bank and the pharmacy and all that I asked the building manager Rosario at Kassandra’s building to help me find a CNG (which, incidentally just means Compressed Natural Gas) to the Indian Embassy, and then wait for me before going to the Mohakali Bus Station. Well, I meant Mohakali, but I said Kalabaggan - 2 very different stations in 2 very different parts of the city (oops!)… more on that to come.
[CNG and BAGS and STREET VIEWS - PHOTOS COMING]
On the internet when I looked ahead to plan my application it said to go to the visa office, get an application, fill it out, and bring it up to make your application. So, laden with my pack and my daybag I trucked up to the window. When I first arrived there was an old woman gesturing to a pile of bags - I thought she meant to see me one, but that wasn’t quite right (lost in translation!).
I got to security and the 16-year old guard said only “no bags inside.” I looked around, no lockers. What did they mean for me to do with them? The guard at the gate wouldn’t give me 2 seconds of his time but another came up and showed me back to the gesturing lady, where he told me to leave both my bags (with pretty much all my worldly possessions in them) on her tarp. I looked at the old lady, I looked at the throng of people standing around, and I weighed my options:
1.) Leave my bags with the CNG driver and hope that he doesn’t drive off with them rather than waiting for his fee, in hopes that there’s something in my bag worth more that the double-fare I’d already agreed to pay him.
2.) Leave my bags on the grandmother’s tarp (picture a dirty holey camping tarp that shouldda been tossed years ago for the size of holes in it, wrapped so it folded over the bags with a dirty log on top to keep them from flying away)
3.) Leave and just go to my next destination and worry about the visa later, because I wasn’t getting in there with my bags.
Well, #3 sounded like a good option, but (a) I really want to go to India, and (b) the security guard is telling me it will be fine, so I handed my bags over to the little old lady and her tarps and got in return this little cardboard ‘ticket.’
[TICKET - PHOTO COMING]
I shook my head and smiled looking at it, shrugged my shoulders (I had my cards and my camera and passport, the rest is just stuff… while it is my stuff, it is still just stuff - nobody would die if it were gone when I got back). While I was headed back to the embassy I passed another couple who asked me what to do about their bags and I filled them in on the situation. They looked worried, but again, what other choice was there?
So, leaving my bags behind (you couldn’t even bring a purse) I rejoined the line and trucked my way up past several pairs of security guards. I was patted down by female security, and ushered and “ma’am”d up to the third floor where foreigners could apply. I asked (3rd time now) for a visa application, and once again was told “just wait, it’s there,” so I waited politely and quietly, and it was only about 5 minutes before I saw the officer.
He shuffled through my papers and flipped through my passport and asked for the online printout of my completed application. I didn't have one of those because I was told I only had to show up and fill out the application there.
“No. It is not correct. You must fill out the online application and select and appointment date."
“Ummm, your website said to come in and get an application and that I could apply here, now.”
“Yes, it is a very new procedure, just today actually (meaning: “I’m doing this because I can”. You must fill out the online application and select and appointment date. Go do that, and then you can apply. And your fee will be Tk3,300. Well… No, your fee will be Tk3,450”
“So there‘s no way I can apply here today without an online application?”
“That is correct.” (shoving my papers and passport back at me and picking up his cell phone call, in effect dismissing me).
I love visa officials. LOVE them. I picked up my crap and headed back outside thinking about what to do next.
Well, that was that. The friendly couple I met downstairs (she from Mexico, he from Bangladesh) were next in line, and I explained my situation. He translated for me trying to intercede on my behalf (he was guessing the guard was being difficult because I was a single woman), and he asked me to hang around 5 minutes and he’d see if he could change his mind.
After 10 minutes they came out and were told the same thing - even though the security guard at the door gave them a paper application to fill out the dude at the desk wasn’t gonna budge and we were all SOL. I fear that they may have gotten the same story because he through his lot in with me, but I appreciated the thought and the gesture!
So, I could have gone to find an internet café and then lined up outside and then lined up inside to do it all again but I wanted to go on to the bus (and I had my driver waiting for me), so I returned to the tarp to pick up my bags (which, mercifully were still there untouched) and paide the grandma some money (way too much money, but you know how it goes).
I found my CNG driver napping in the shade, and stuffing my bags back through the door we went to the next stop: The (wrong) Bus Station!
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