The Visa Verification

After we visited the FRRO last week, we knew there was a next step involving a constable visiting our apartment to verify we were who we said we were and we lived where we said we lived. Based on what our immigration people had said, we wouldn't go through that step until after we returned from the U.S. at the end of October. The immigration people were wrong.

On the way home from the gym this morning, my trusty driver Kailesh politely mentioned that he had received a call from our other driver that the police had been there to visit this morning. He said that the guards had told the policeman to come back when ma'am and sir returned, likely around 9pm. When I arrived at the apartment, the guards mentioned that the constable had gone to another unit and was likely still in the complex. Thankfully, he was able to contact the cop and that he was willing to come back. At this point, I called the wife, who was busy at the salon correcting a highlight nightmare she had been living since the weekend. Not knowing if her presence was necessary, but assuming that it was, I suggested she hurry back.

A few minutes later the doorbell rang, and unsurprisingly, it was the constable (it just sounds fancier than "cop", right?). I had no idea what documentation I was supposed to have or what exactly he was there to verify but it seemed the polite thing to do to invite him into the apartment. He motioned that I sit (always nice to be told where to sit in your own home), and he started fumbling through some paper files. His English, while still infinitely better than my Hindi, was limited (I later learned from my HR guy at work who had the pleasure to speak to him on the phone that his Hindi was somewhat garbled as well). From his first question, I understood that he wanted two copies of the lease and copies of our passports. Thankfully, we keep a copy in the safe, though only one of each. When I brought it back, I basically said, "sorry dude, only have one copy".

He seemed content for the time being and started asking some basic questions like "Nationality?" and started to write up his very official looking verification report. This official looking document started as a blank 8-1/2 by 11 sheet of paper and gradually was built into a fairly official looking piece of paper; that is, as official as a handwritten piece of paper can look. After he finished the first page, he looked at me and said, "Two copies of lease. Need to neighbors or Indians to verify who you are." Seeing as the only neighbors we knew moved out last week, I responded, "Can I go get the guards?" He didn't seem to like that response. He asked, "Can any colleagues or HR people from work come?" Based on this question, the light finally went on. I actually had resources that could help me with this situation.

I called my HR guy, explained the situation, and handed the phone to the constable. They spoke for a few minutes and I was handed back the phone. Ramen told me that he'd connect with someone at the office and send a couple copies of the lease over with some people that could "verify" me. He also made the astute recommendation to offer the guy a Coke or something. I hung up and turned to the constable, saying that people from the office would be there within five minutes (it is actually very close). He feigned annoyance (something tells me he was just fine sitting there for as long as it took) and we waited in silence.

Finally, Lindsay made her way back to the apartment, but I'm not sure she technically needed to be there. I decided not to let her know until after she arrived. Immediately upon her arrival, the mood changed in the room. He started asking questions about us, were we married (he wasn't sure because we had separate applications), did we have kids, etc. Upon answering "no" to the kid question, he motioned over to the pictures we have of our nieces on the entry table and Lindsay explained, gushing (of course) about how cute they were. He seemed to like this exchange and the topic quickly turned to the Commonwealth Games with Lindsay mentioning how great the opening ceremonies were and how the constable should be proud. From that point forward, I decided she would do the talking.

The doorbell then rang again and our HR contacts arrived from the office. After pleasantries, they two guys were able to sign the official looking verification papers (now actually looking somewhat official) and copies of the lease. I'm still not sure why they had to sign the lease. At that point, I thought we were done. But one of the HR guys and the constable began engaging in a discussion in Hindi. I really had no idea what was taking place, but my colleague then pulled out his wallet, drew Rs. 200 (about $4.50), and handed it to the constable.

A "donation"!

The constable, now satisfied, took one last swig of Diet Coke (it's entirely possible he disliked me simply because I didn't have regular Coke), and abruptly left the apartment. Our colleague turned to us and said, "Sometimes, in the third world, 'donations' are just the way it works. But for $4 or $5, it didn't seem too bad." Relieved the verification was over, we thanked our colleagues profusely, reimbursed the donation, and let them go about their day.

Things like this don't happen EVERY day in India, but I felt like I had been on a bit of a cold streak lately. As I embark on my first trip back to the U.S. tomorrow night, this was a great reminder that I still have a lot to experience, witness, and learn when I return at the end of October.

FRRO, Part 2

If you've ever wanted to experience pure, unbridled Indian bureaucracy, the FRRO (Foreigner Regional Registration Office) is probably about as close as most foreigners will ever come. It's a little like going to get your driver's license renewed, except it's paper-based, there's no official queue, no air-conditioning, and lots of people sitting around and/or literally sleeping on the job.

For a detailed and balanced account of everything required for an FRRO registration, check out this link from a Wall Street Journal affiliate. For slightly more disgruntled (yet equally accurate) accounts, you can find in nearly any expat's blog in India.

Based on our type of visa (Employment), we were first required to visit the FRRO within 14 days of entering the country. Since we only have a one-year visa that expires in December, it was time to start the renewal process. Fortunately, we have the help of immigration attorneys as part of our expat package so we literally just have to appear there in person, sign a couple things, and our handlers do the rest.

While it's nice to have the handlers, it certainly cuts down on the number of interesting things you can witness. In fact, I think the most startling thing I learned yesterday at the office was that both of our handlers were Mormons. Of all the religious diversity in this country, I have to admit these were the first Mormoms I had met. Upon doing a little research on the information superhighway, I learned that, as of mid-2009, there were 7,500 Mormons in India. While that's 7,500 more than I expected, it still seemed noteworthy.

My other impression of the experience was my general comfort level being at the office. In all honesty, the building in January seemed cold and intimidating, if not a little scary. After nearly nine months, it just seemed like another place to go and another errand to run (thanks to the handlers). Sure we were stared at while we walked the halls, but that tends to happen here from time to time.

While there are any number of (fairly obvious) ways the Indian government could make this an easier and more inviting process that gave a better initial impression of the country, they don't, which is entirely their choice and right. And until they do, all of us foreigners will just have to deal with it.

Everyone Needs a Handler

One of the benefits of entering India on an employment visa is the experience of visiting the Foreigners Regional Registration Office (FRRO) within fourteen days of arrival in the country.  Registration is also required if you stay for more than 180 continuous days on any other sort of visa and since we didn’t meet that criteria during our prior assignment, this was our first experience with true Indian bureaucracy.

Leading up to our appointment I was in fairly regular contact with the law firm assigned to assist the process.  Initially, I was providing documentation and asking questions of a resource that I thought was in Bangalore so it wasn’t a complete surprised when he hadn’t me over to a “Mr. Kumar” who was described as his “man in New Delhi.”  Within India, the salutation “Mr.” or “Ms.” is very much a sign of respect, especially for authority figures within a business relationship.  As an example, during cultural training in the states, our facilitator had mentioned how, in a traditional Indian office, it would be appropriate for Lindsay and I to refer to each other at the office as “Mr. Luth” and “Mrs. Luth”; thankfully based on prior experience, we knew our office is westernized enough that we knew that such formality wasn’t necessary.  Or maybe I’m just disrespectful in the office.  At any rate, this “Mr. Kumar” seemed  fit for the title.

Blankly stated, without the help of Mr. Kumar and his associate, I’d still be trying to find the FRRO office much less actually registered.  Prior to our visit to the office, we were requested to provide seven passport photos, our assignment memo from Hewitt indicating that we were employed, a letter on hotel letterhead stating that we resided in the hotel, copies of our passports, visas, and entry stamps, and a copy of our unsigned lease indicating that we were going to be around for a while.  From this documentation, Mr. Kumar and his associate had put together an application packet intended to quickly move us through the process.  A colleague that had been through the process had described it as “I’m pretty sure our contact just had a fistful of rupees and was paying people off to get through the registration process.”  Naturally, I was intrigued.

I found it somewhat odd that Mr. Kumar wouldn’t give us the address of the office (even though the concept of an address is somewhat different here; they tend to go by sector numbers and landmarks, at least in Gurgaon), I was told instead to call him as we left the hotel and that he would provide directions to the driver.  The driver still struggled to find the location, which turned out to be the local general purpose government building, including both the police headquarters and courthouse.   Somehow Mr. Kumar was able to identify us as the car dropped us off at the entrance and he quickly whisked us into the building and we started climbing stairs.  At that point I may or may not have smelled hashish.

We passed the office, went through a door marked “authorized persons only” and Mr. Kumar pulled out our application packet, reviewed it with us, glue-sticked our passport photos to each page, and instructed us to sign.

As a side note, I was extremely proud of my passport photo which was taken after we arrived here at the local Kodak shop (I was shocked this type of establishment still existed); it’s taken in very odd lighting that doesn’t seem to exist in the states, makes me look kind of green, and very much like how I’d expect a diamond thief to look.  In other words, the world’s perfect passport photo.  Lindsay’s original photos were considered “super cute”.  Unfortunately for her, I later read that the pictures were to be “despectacled” with both ears showing.   Of course, her “super cute” photo prominently displayed her glasses and no ears.  The replacement photo didn’t quite reach the same “super cute” status, and she’d be the first to admit she looked somewhat elfish.  Thankfully for her, it’s unlikely anyone will ever see the pictures.  That is, unless we get into some minor disagreement over the next two years and I decide to post on Facebook.

After our application packet was completely assembled, we entered the actual FRRO office (or would it be FRR office?  FRRO office just sounds better) which was much smaller than I anticipated (maybe 12 to 15 foot square) and divided by plexiglass into three smaller rooms.  The largest of the three subrooms was where you entered and quickly passed through.  This seemed to be the room where they were processing existing applications or requests.  The second room was some sort of waiting area with a desk (which is where Mr. Kumar instructed us to sit) and the third room was where the actual registration officers sat, wielding their considerable power.  It’s the third room where Mr. Kumar spent most of his time.  As we waited patiently, he quickly cut in front of everyone and started our process.  There appeared to be other “handlers” like Mr. Kumar helping other foreign nationals but I was impressed that there was a British national with paperwork from a prominent American accounting company that seemed to be there on her own.  While she went through the process slightly slower than others, she still successfully navigated the bureaucracy, which was certainly a afeat in and of itself.

We had to wait a few minutes for our application to make its way around the room.  When it got to the final stage, Mr. Kumar motioned Lindsay and I into the third room.  There seemed to be a slight issue with Lindsay’s entry stamp, in that it was very faint and not on the page next to her visa.  While it ultimately didn’t matter, it was fairly obvious Mr. Registration Officer was just making an issue because he’s Mr. Registration Officer and he can do pretty much whatever he wants.  After some back and forth between Mr. Kumar and Mr. Registration Officer, we were asked to sign a paper ledger.

I have no idea where this paper ledger goes or how they’d actually find our names in the ledger if they ever needed.  I say this because the entire room looked like it was about 3 weeks from appearing on “Hoarders” – bundles of paper held together like bundles of newspaper lined the entire room from floor to ceiling (though there may have been some shelving on one wall).  Needless to say, the electronic age doesn’t seem to have fully met the FRRO office.

We didn’t actually receive our paperwork, which we’re required to carry (at least copies of) while we’re traveling within or to get out of (or back into) India.  Mr. Kumar told us that it takes a couple days and that he’d go back in two days, get our paperwork, and have his associate drop off at the hotel.  Naturally, two days later I emailed for a status update, because to be honest I was still a little nervous since we hadn’t moved into our residence and just tend to worry about this kind of thing (i.e.,  I’d rather be 100% official as it’s never been a personal goal to recount my story on National Geographic’s “Locked Up Abroad”).

When Mr. Kumar’s associated responded that the paperwork was not finalized and that they would go back again the following week on Tuesday (which I doubt considering it’s a national holiday) but that it would help if we had finalized lease papers.  This started to worry me because it’s in my nature and the fact that our hotel paperwork said we were only registered until January 25^th.  At that point, I should have remembered the stacks of paperwork and the nature of the process, but I was still a little skeptical until I received a response from Mr. Kumar himself stating:

John,   

You both are registered.  You are official now.  Once you have the lease agreement ready please let us know we will take it to the FRO and collect your registration papers and hand them over to you.  Until then relax.  Nothing to worry.

It’s amazing the level of trust and faith we put in people here each day, whether it be wondering if our drivers are actually going to take us where we’ve asked them or blind faith in handlers like Mr. Kumar that are actually going to take care of the little details.  It’s an odd sensation to feel so powerless yet a necessary one to become comfortable in this type of setting.  Every decision we make has consequences, which is more obvious here than elsewhere; however, as long as one looks at dealing with the outcomes as minor problems to solve, it makes what makes life here interesting.  That, and having the pleasure to meet characters like Mr. Kumar.