Oh BOI, tales from immigration

I had a hard time picking the name for this post. Right now, I'm completely fed up with India's hardlining bureaucracy. I was furious with it before I got here, and had a short two week cooling off period before my plane took off. Now that I'm here, I'm realizing how much more of a pain in my ass it will be just to stay here. This story begins Friday morning.

My visa issues me a 14 day grace period before needing to register with the local ministry. In this case I have to deal with the Bureau of Immigration (BOI). Friday, I stupidly had forgotten my actual passport, but had what I had believed to be all the other necessary documentation.
1) Four identical passport sized photos (current)
2) Photocopy of passport and visa (apparently with arrival stamp)
3) Proof of local address
4) Letter of affiliation with the institute.

Friday, I got turned away at the door without passport and without the proper registration form. I was told to return Monday. So I went this morning to find a mob scene. I arrived at 8:45 AM after waiting on the train and getting an autorickshaw costing way too much money. I showed up this time with all necessary documents AND the passport. They were closed.

They start doing business at "9:30 A.M." IST. The important thing here is the IST (India Standard Time). I sat down and waited until they started processing people, which is to say 10. I implored the 5th level middleman that I needed a registration form. He said "get it inside." I knew this would be a long morning... I got into to see the 4th level middleman (or middlewoman) she looked at my passport and gave me a registration form. She said "Fill this out and return here." That meant I had to go away fill out the form I'd already asked for and start over in the line.

"Ok, fine." I thought. "I've got all my paperwork, this will just take a few minutes to fill out. What's this, local phone number!? I don't have a local phone number? Holy hell, what do I do? I'll just tell them the truth. I don't have a local phone." That problem however didn't arise until two hours later. After I made it through the queue for the second time the lady asked where all my documentation was. I was furious. I started unloaded 25 sheets of paper proving who I was, where I'm from, my immunization record, old plane tickets, you name it. She said, we need address proof. I said here it is, and handed her another photocopy of a piece of paper she already had.

Aside: I had learned my lesson in dealing with Indian govermental types back in the good ol' US of A. I had probably 15 times as many papers as necessary. HAHA, I've got you, you Indian Bureaucrat Bastards!

Oops, what's this? They need a BONAFIDE certificate from the institute. They need the original copy! WHAT THE F@*%!? I don't have the original, and furthermore, they wouldn't accept it anyway, because it's not addressed to them! (I'm about to punch someone in the face right about now).
So I sat arguing with the lady for a few minutes complaining to her about all the shit I had to go through at home just to get my visa with the Consulate General of New York.
I made sure to use big words and impress with my vocabulary, even while angry! It was a great show... I wish I could have been a spectator!
The lady sends me to the infamous counter number 5 designated by nothing more than a chair and cheap computer print out in purple saying "Counter No. 5" with no one sitting at the chair. After a few minutes of waiting another lady shows up, middleman level 3 (methinks) and I argue with her for a while about how I'm this, that, and the other, and how I'd rather be unemployed in America, than have a crappy job here. She said she was surprised to meet such a pessimistic mathematician. I told her, she hasn't met many mathematicians. Most of our life is spent failing rather than succeeding and that she was helping out my cause in this way.

I probably should have held my tongue at that remark, but whatever I was pissed off. I unloaded on her my stack of documentation. She said, "This is not in question that you are affiliated with the Institute." I asked her what the problem was then. She told me that "these are your documents, we need the documents in OUR prescribed manner." Then she added "You know, not everyone is as honest as you are, and we're worried about fake documentation." I could have exploded at that. That was a total slap in my face! An open declaration (off the record of course) that she believes my documentation is accurate and that I really am who I say I am, and pursuing the cause I say I am, but that my efforts are not sufficient. Oh my many many Gods. I swear to them all, I will punch someone in the face if I have to deal with this again.

So finally she agrees to let my documentation "half pass" and sends me back to middlewoman on the 4th level. I finally get a little token with number 39 on it and I'm told to go to Counter No. 2. Are you F-ing kidding me. This is the fifth queue I've been placed in this morning! ARGH! Finally after waiting for three persons in front of me to get served by mister counterman number 2 it's my turn.

Aside: I think it is quite apropos that at this point I have to go through number 2...

As soon as its my turn, he takes a break. I'm about to break off his fingers and feed them to all the starving people his government totally ignores! After another nice little sit and seethe session for me he comes back. I stand up and immediately hand him all my paperwork. He says "token." I say, "here's my paperwork." He says "token, where' your token?" I give him my little blue plastic piece of garbage token with 39 written on it, and give a snide remark of, "of course, THAT's the most important thing!" He then proceeds to look over my stuff. He accepts it, but writes down for me that I'm missing ACTUAL proof of address and other information (all of which he is holding in his hands) because it's not BONAFIDE. Give me a F-ing break. I asked if I bought a plane ticket and promised to leave India tomorrow, if I could avoid coming back to the BOI? They said no, I'd be held up at the border. Oh My MANY MANY MANY MANY MANY GODS. I have to get the same damn stuff from the institute, but this time ADDRESSED to the correct place, not a general address proof.

I left there with full conviction that I am coming back to the United States as soon as humanly possible.

Here are some pictures of the fun things I dealt with just this very morning.

There when we need you



I'm not the only one waiting on you!