Indian Passport Renewal Misery at High Commission of India London – Part 2

The Inside Story

High Commission of Indian - London - Bharat Bhavan - Entrance

After being pushed inside by the mob I ventured into an entirely different world. At the pearly gate, inside, there were 2 additional “chaukidars” who were there to check the bombs, AK 47s, Hand Grenades, etc etc. from carrot and cucumber eating innocent Indians. Security Check. Who the fuck is going to blow up Indian High Commission of India and that too in London. Even Naxalites wouldn’t give it a damn, but, yes, Indian has to be on highest of High alert after Mumbai massacre. Extra Precautions.

I remember seeing the cation at the gate “Bags are not allowed”, however everyone was carrying bags. So I learned the first lesson at High Commission of India, London – “What is written is not what it should mean”.

One guard who was checing bags asked me to open the bag, I opened, he found nothing and I was let go free.

The passage inside was similar to the steps to a typical underground pub, it was dark, it was narrow, it stinked, it suffocated. I walked fast towards the main room thinking it might be better inside, warm, and if lucky I would get a seat.

The HQ was quite a scene, it was little big room, not as big as to accommodate 300 people and not as small as to look like it is High Commission of a small country.

There were people everywhere, standing, walking, sitting, looking everywhere, ever confused Indians, asking Indians, paper checking Indians, cracking jokes Indians, lost Indians. I scanned the crowed and tried to feel something, not sure what, but I felt nothing. I was as cold as any Indian could get in cold London weather.

I leaned against the wooden partition of the cabin which was closed as I couldn’t see any seat vacant. I put back my earphone and tuned to some old bollywood melodies.

I looked around to find out where is the passport counter was and what is the process to follow. There were 7 counters, 2 for passport, 1 for PIO, 1 for OCI (I didn’t know what is this at that point of time), the door facing counter for some payment or something. There was small queues at the extreme end counters 7-10.

I observed the passport counter and try to get myself tuned to the process. The 2 passport counters were wo-manned by one North Indian good looking woman and one ever melancholic South Indian woman. World was balanced, I thought, Happiness and Sorrow side by side representing the light and darkness of the life.

I’m not quite sure why South Indians are so melancholic all the time, it seems that earth is vertical and they are carrying the whole burden of Indian land mass on their shoulders.

There was a display system which was working (surprise) and displays the token numbers. It was on 232 when I first saw it. I started to do maths to find out how much time it takes. With some observations and mental calculations I manage to conclude the rate of process and it came out to be 5-10 minutes of throughput. It will take another 30-45 minutes before my turn would come, with this calculation in my mind I started to find out a place to sit and relax.

My legs were in extreme pain and suddenly I realized that I need to empty my bladder. Thinking that it would be useless to search for loo as in India they don’t have any loo in the offices and even if they have it by mistake they are not for visitors and even if visitors are allowed you would wish to visit it. Indians would know what I mean.

To my surprise as soon as turn around I saw a door with “Toilet” word embossed on it in Golden Letters. I felt delight, and walked into it. Toilet was typical Indian toilet, small, windows open, water running. There are 2 extremes of water (mis)utilization in India, either you have no water or you have so much water that you keep tap open all the time to show ostentatious ness. The longer your tap remains open the richer you are. So letting water run all the time from tap is the status symbol. Something similar to like owning more than one mobile phone, or owning a Merc or owning a Bollywood Masala Actress.

After emptying my bladder I placed myself against the wooden separation and try to relax while eyes hunt for vacant seat.

Display shows 240, a woman walked to the counter and I grabbed the vacant seat before it was taken by others. After spending 2 hours standing I felt so in paradise.

Still a lot more to go in the pipeline and I had to pass the time. I would go crazy to watch Indians with their idiotic habits, I increased my headset volume and started to play Brick Breaker. I decided to break my previous highest score of 8920 as I had plenty of time to kill.

While breaking bricks I kept looking at the display, it was progressing slow thanks to ever incompetent Indian women who should be better off cooking Roti back home than wo-manning the Passport Counters in a “Phoren” land. What a pity. How they landed up in this place, they were the luckiest who were given such once a lifetime of chance to be in a land which is considered to be paradise. Back home people think that British Street are paved with golden bricks.

All of sudden North Indian clerk walks out of Window leaving hundreds of miserable Homo Sapiens waiting.

It must have been some women-ish break I thought, I checked South Indian woman with all my contempt and couldn’t stop cursing,mentally, her for being Donkey paced. No option but to keep mouth tight Shut as I’ve habit of swearing quite often and I didn’t want to create a scene inside a building which is in one country but belongs to another country.

250, I managed to go to 10th level in brick breaker however I was not anywhere near to my previous highest score. It was not too comfortable playing the game as people kept pacing up and down in the passage and people getting up and sitting down on the back seats. I kept myself fully focused on the game and ignored the disturbances and kept my temper down.

260, I paid attention to the queue, the other clerk was back and I waited for second one to disappear now but she kept herself glued to the seat. Throughput has increased now.

265, I was alerted and got ready for my turn, I took out all my documents from bag. Application Form, Passport Photocopies, 4 PP size photos, £34 in cash; one £20 note, one tenner, one £2 coin and two £1 coins. I felt that I’m missing something, it can’t be so less of documents. Dealing with Indian offices require loads of documents. Anyway I double checked the application form and found no document missing.

Finally the moment came, my token number flashed on the screen, I stood and walked up the counter calmly with confident, took out my forms slid into the counter hole, then dropped 4 photos following by notes and coins. I looked at the South Indian buffalo and waited for her first word. I was confident that all my documents are proper and it should just be formality now.

She looked at me looked at passport and asked, her face remained emotionless, is this your photo? Yes, I replied while keeping all my built-up anger inside.. “It doesn’t match”, she almost shouted. “Fucking bitch, how the fuck you expect to look like after 10 years”, I wanted to shout back but played it kool. It’s 10 years old, I tried to smile while replying. It didn’t work the bufalo remained buffalo, emotionless.

She took out some paper form, wrote COA on it, handed over to me and asked, rather ordered, GO TOO COUNTTER 7, no other words spoken, I was confused. What the fuck is COA? Cancellation of Application? What else, my brain started to crack the Enigma code, I needed a Super Computer to crack this code I realized. I gave up after few seconds of creaking the code and decided to ask. What is this, I enquired? Change of Appearance GO TOO COUNTTER 7 and pointed her fingers towards the last corner in the row.

I felt pissed off, I walked in with full confidence and now have to queue up again.

I collected al the documents, photos, picked up notes and coins and ran towards Counter 7.

Another queue, not again, I felt sick. I checked watch it was 12:15, 15 more minutes to go before they would shut down counters? I felt ground shaking underneath me. Almost 2 ours of torture and chances are I’ll go back home empty handed. I checked the queue it was short, 5-8 people in front equally behind. There were 2 girls standing in front of me and the guy behind me was the one standing in front of me in the queue outside. Somehow this guy has some business with the girls in the front and after 5 min tues these girls disappear giving their places to this buy. I kept calm, it is called Adjustment in Indian lingo. I knew the rule. I checked with this guy if we have to pay for COA? He was as confused as any other person in that room and replied, I’ve got my affidavit for COA from outside after paying about £100 to attorney. I felt sick. I didn’t have cash money to pay at the counter should they demand it. I checked the process again and it seemed no money changed hands. I felt relaxed.

My turn came the clerk was Jaat, took my COA form, returned back to me and asked sign in one box. He checked my photo looked at me and said “Yeh aapki photo hai”? Yes it is me, I replied. He looked again and asked where is my home town? how far it is from nearest big town etc etc.

I felt pity for him, if it was asking and getting anything from me then forget about it. I would even beat a mind reader so you are nothing, I thought.

It was a formality which he repeated with everyone, kind of Secret Services Scrutiny. What a rubbish way to to get somesone’s COA approved.

He signed and handed me the COA form back. I collected it and “Thank you” came out of mouth automatically, thanks to myself being tuned to British politeness.