... or: How I spent a day at the FRRO
The FRRO? What on earth is that? Is it contagious? Is there a spray against it?
If you're a foreigner, lucky/stupid/adventurous/adjective of your choice enough to go to India and are planning to spend more than six months here (which I am), you will have to register with the FRRO, the Foreigners Regional Registration Office. "They don't trust you people", you said and that is probably true. Registering sounds easy: you go to an office, passport, work contract and possibly copies thereof in hand, show them to a friendly clerk, fill in a form and that's that, right? Wrong.
The adventure "registration" starts online where you fill in a form, upload a photo and get an appointment. You are supposed to show up no later than two weeks after arrival in India. Note: the day OF arrival counts, too. So in my case, the last fee-free day - I arrived on the 16th August - would have been the 29th, not, as my calculation of 16+14=30, the 30th. Anyway. So you filled in that online form and sent it off into the world wide .. you know. When you're about to choose an appointment date, the site tells you that the next possible one is after your legal period of registration, the above mentioned 14 days, and you better "rush to the FRRO" immediately. Which I did. Not the next day but the one after that, the 30th, because I was waiting for another document to bring in.
During about an hour of standing in line, I notice that everyone else seems to have a form on top of their paper pile that I didn't think of bringing: a printout of the online form. Why would I print that out, I had thought, I sent it to them and they acknowledged its receipt. Turns out, as the friendly man at the "Help & Scrutiny desk" let me know, you need it in print. Knowing their potential clientèle, several copy shops, stationery shops and even a travel agency offer this service for a small fee. Armed with my Application ID, I entered one of those shops and requested them to print out my application. Now in order to do that, you have to choose an appointment date. Travel agency guy did that and the 4th September was printed on top of my form. I didn't pay much attention to this, the "scrutiniser" all the more. "Your appointment is the 4th", he informed me, and that's also where I learned about the two weeks having ended the day before. No, they could not process my documents today. "Come back on the 4th. We don't have your application in front of us before that." Fine, I packed up, a little frustrated and decided to make the best of my remaining day off.
Fast forward almost a week. The 4th September had arrived. I had decided to be there particularly early so that I would definitely be done by noon and arrive for class on time (in retrospect, I'm giggling about my naive ideas). So let me give you a little overview about the D-Day .. err .. R-Day:
6:30 am. My alarm goes off. I beg it for an additional 9 minutes of slumber which it grants. Then I haul myself out of bed, shower, have breakfast, get dressed etc. I re- and double check all of my documents with the list another teacher had sent us after her successful registration just two weeks prior. I grab copies of everything, my passport, pictures and head out at 7.30 am.
8:00 am. Although the FRRO officially opens at 9.30 am, a relatively long and colourful line has already formed outside the gate. Roughly an hour later, the gate opens far enough to start letting the masses in. First stop: Help & Scrutiny Desk (believe me, I'm not making that up).
This time, the 'scrutiniser'has nothing to say about my documents, he tells me to proceed to the "Tokens & Queries" counter to get my token, a piece of paper, stating that I have token number 7A. This surprises me a little because there were definitely more than 6 people before me. The mystery is solved on the 1st floor (or second if you count the groundfloor as 1) where there are five counters, lettered from A to E. My first impression of the large waiting room is however that it is freezing in there. Fans whirring, A/Cs blasting at full power. 'Poor employes', I'm thinking, 'working in this freezing hell day in, day out'. 'Poor me' is what I think later, and not just because of the cold.
9:35 am. The clerks are starting to take their seats, two people behind each counter, to work more efficiently I'm sure. The token numbers are lit up as well as announced over speakers. When the sign at counter A shows 7, I head over there and present my documents not without pride, considering their comprehensiveness. You would think. First point of critique is something that I initially hear as 'Viginals, viginals! Where are the viginals?'. Seeing the question marks on my face, the employe repeats slightly slower 'Where are your originals?'. Oh. Oh damn.
I need the originals too? Apparently yes. Ok, my mistake. He keeps going through the paper pile, grabs my rental contract and is unhappy again. Since the institute I work at doesn't own the property I stay in, I will either need the contract between institute and house owner or a personalised letter, stating that 'we, the ... institute provide accomodation to Ms. ...'. To my question if I can bring that tomorrow, he vigorously shakes his head no. Today and only today or I have to get a new appointment and start a-fresh.
10:20 am. Fine. I start to run home (which is just a half hour walking distance) to grab my "viginals', call N.K. in panic who promises to email the responsible at the school to write a letter that I can then pick up before running back to the FRRO.
The auto drivers outside, not unlike a flock of vultures, offer me a ride for the mere cost of 100 rupees. Just for the drive home naturally. I laugh and decide to walk instead. After about 500 metres, there is a lone auto standing and the driver offers thedistance for 30 rupees, still a bit too much but a lot more reasonable. He drops me home, I'm about to pay him when the idea hits me to keep him for the entire tour FRRO - home - school - FRRO. He agrees, demands 200 for the entire trip, waiting times included and I sighingly agree.
10:45 am. When I reach the school, Ni. hasn't received any email and does not have a clue of my predicament. Quickly, I explain what I need, she seems to understand the urgency, tells me to wait in the teachers' room because it will take '5 minutes'. (Btw, whatever you're waiting for in whichever situation in India, the waiting time will always be '5 minutes') I remind her that I have an auto waiting, she nods and I close her door from outside. After '5 minutes' that can hardly have lasted more than 15, she hands me the document, I make a copy (just in case) and hop into the waiting auto.
11:15 am. I walk past the line, show my token number to someone who then lets me pass and walk right up to counter A, as previously agreed. He takes my original documents and then pauses at the letter Ni. just composed. 'It doesn't have your name' and points to the part where it says 'guest lecturers' instead of 'Ms. S.T.'. In my mind, I am strangling Ni. right now, outside I say something along the line of work contract, guest lecturer and please. The employe is human (super-human? humanoid?) after all and lets it slide.
I am aware that I will have to pay a fee for registering late, after that legal period of two weeks. How exactly that is going to happen however, I don't know. One of the two behind "my" counter is about to send me off to the bank when the other one intercepts. Let's get the approval first and then you go is the essence of his statement. Fine, I sit back down and wait. And wait. And then wait some more. Slowly, I'm starting to panic. My class starts at 1:30 and I'm not sure I will be done by then. Another frantic message to N.K. She promises to start my class if I don't make it in time. Message to K. who assures me that she can take over after the break, just in case. Phew, I'll owe them forever but that's settled then.
1:40 pm. A board downstairs announces that lunch break is between 1.30 and 2.30 pm. And while there was no sign of slowing down one floor up, my stomach is starting to grumble. Breakfast at 7, now it's almost 2 - you do the math. In the waiting room, there are officially no "eatables permitted", a rule people seem to stick to, as opposed to the no mobiles rule that we collectively ignore.
The employe from counter A waves me over, tells me that it's lunch break now, I should go grab a bite and be back in 30 to 40 minutes.
1:45 pm. Outside the building, I blink into the unfamiliar daylight and ponder where to eat. I remember the rule K. and I established the other day: it's good where many locals go. Looking around, I see a cafeteria type place (not unlike Chaitanya's - the gobi manchurian place for the initiated) and walk in. A few minutes later, I'm enjoying tea and a veg grilled cheese sandwich, washing it down with a cup of water.
2:10 pm. I am back in the waiting room, announce my presence to the duo behind counter A and sit down again. A few minutes pass until I am called over. Oh and being called doesn't mean by your name. No, by now, I had become 'Number 7, Germany'. They hand me a paper slip, to be taken to a bank of my choice and exchanged - together with the required cash - for a DD (demand draft) in favour of the DDO, Bureau of Immigration, Bangalore. A friendly Korean lady who is here for the second time advises me how to get to the nearest bank. She also tells me that I need to be back within an hour, the process takes 20 minutes and the bank is 10 minutes away if you walk (with two children maybe but it took me hardly more than five minutes), 'so you need to hurry'.
2:20 pm. Out on the street again and just when I'm turning towards the given direction, one of the vultures approaches, starting to tell me tales about a bank. 'I can walk' I tell him and walk I do. Without a problem I find the bank, hoping that it's not their lunch break now but luckily, that was from 1:30 to 2:00. I enter and approach the first person sitting there and tell them what I need. They send me to a grey-haired gentleman who asks me to 'takeapinkchallan'. 'Sorry, what?' In slightly reduced speed, he repeats 'Take a pink challan!'. No idea what a challan is but I walk towards the spot he points at and see a number of differently coloured papers, the word challan on a sign above them. I pick a pink paper and turn questioningly back to the gentleman. He nods his approval and I return. He sends me to another desk.
I explain the story again, drop my 'challan' and the slip from the FRRO on his desk and wait for things to happen. Passport and a proof of residence, please. I hand him my passport and rental contract, the only document they didn't need in 'viginal'. He looks at both and asks if I don't have a copy. No, sorry, I don't. Well, we need a copy to proceed here. And of course there is no copying machine in the entire bank. Offfff course not. I ask him for directions to the nearest copy shop but either I misunderstood him or he wasn't all that sure himself, there were no copy shops to be found anywhere near. At another travel agency, I stop and ask the guy where I can get a copy. Not here, so sorry, although I clearly see a fax/copying machine/printer combo sitting there. He directs me to another place that indeed does photocopies.
2:40 pm. Back at the bank, slightly out of breath. Finally, the clerk dictates my data to yet another person who then types them into a computer. We fill in the 'pink challan' as well and I am being sent to - believe it or not - a fifth person in this bank. After handing her cash and challan, picking up my passport and asking if that was definitely all, I head back to the FRRO.
3:05 pm. I show my DD to the person who decides - somewhat similar to Petrus - who can go up and who stays down. 'Do you have a xerox copy of that?', he asks. Of course I don't, so I rush out again to get another copy. Better make it two. Copies in hand, he lets me pass.
3:10 pm. Reporting back to counter A, I see them slightly impressed at my speed. They send me over to the DD counter, yes, they have one just for that purpose where I hand in the note and return. 'You can collect it at 5 - 5:30' I am told. No point in leaving now, so I sit down, take out my book and wait. Every now and then, I glance up but actually I am sitting close enough to the counter that I wouldn't miss 'Number 7, Germany!'.
5:35 pm. As even the longer time has elapsed by now, I walk up to the counter again to check how things are progressing. 'Five minutes, madam!' Apparently, my registration is ready and just needs to be signed. I sit down and go back to my book.
6:05 pm. 'Number 7! Germany!', I hear and jump up. They tell me to sign here, here and here, hand me the 'Registration Certificate/Residential Permit' and I am free, free! I am finally done dealing with them!
Until December of course.
If you're a foreigner, lucky/stupid/adventurous/adjective of your choice enough to go to India and are planning to spend more than six months here (which I am), you will have to register with the FRRO, the Foreigners Regional Registration Office. "They don't trust you people", you said and that is probably true. Registering sounds easy: you go to an office, passport, work contract and possibly copies thereof in hand, show them to a friendly clerk, fill in a form and that's that, right? Wrong.
The adventure "registration" starts online where you fill in a form, upload a photo and get an appointment. You are supposed to show up no later than two weeks after arrival in India. Note: the day OF arrival counts, too. So in my case, the last fee-free day - I arrived on the 16th August - would have been the 29th, not, as my calculation of 16+14=30, the 30th. Anyway. So you filled in that online form and sent it off into the world wide .. you know. When you're about to choose an appointment date, the site tells you that the next possible one is after your legal period of registration, the above mentioned 14 days, and you better "rush to the FRRO" immediately. Which I did. Not the next day but the one after that, the 30th, because I was waiting for another document to bring in.
During about an hour of standing in line, I notice that everyone else seems to have a form on top of their paper pile that I didn't think of bringing: a printout of the online form. Why would I print that out, I had thought, I sent it to them and they acknowledged its receipt. Turns out, as the friendly man at the "Help & Scrutiny desk" let me know, you need it in print. Knowing their potential clientèle, several copy shops, stationery shops and even a travel agency offer this service for a small fee. Armed with my Application ID, I entered one of those shops and requested them to print out my application. Now in order to do that, you have to choose an appointment date. Travel agency guy did that and the 4th September was printed on top of my form. I didn't pay much attention to this, the "scrutiniser" all the more. "Your appointment is the 4th", he informed me, and that's also where I learned about the two weeks having ended the day before. No, they could not process my documents today. "Come back on the 4th. We don't have your application in front of us before that." Fine, I packed up, a little frustrated and decided to make the best of my remaining day off.
Fast forward almost a week. The 4th September had arrived. I had decided to be there particularly early so that I would definitely be done by noon and arrive for class on time (in retrospect, I'm giggling about my naive ideas). So let me give you a little overview about the D-Day .. err .. R-Day:
6:30 am. My alarm goes off. I beg it for an additional 9 minutes of slumber which it grants. Then I haul myself out of bed, shower, have breakfast, get dressed etc. I re- and double check all of my documents with the list another teacher had sent us after her successful registration just two weeks prior. I grab copies of everything, my passport, pictures and head out at 7.30 am.
8:00 am. Although the FRRO officially opens at 9.30 am, a relatively long and colourful line has already formed outside the gate. Roughly an hour later, the gate opens far enough to start letting the masses in. First stop: Help & Scrutiny Desk (believe me, I'm not making that up).
This time, the 'scrutiniser'has nothing to say about my documents, he tells me to proceed to the "Tokens & Queries" counter to get my token, a piece of paper, stating that I have token number 7A. This surprises me a little because there were definitely more than 6 people before me. The mystery is solved on the 1st floor (or second if you count the groundfloor as 1) where there are five counters, lettered from A to E. My first impression of the large waiting room is however that it is freezing in there. Fans whirring, A/Cs blasting at full power. 'Poor employes', I'm thinking, 'working in this freezing hell day in, day out'. 'Poor me' is what I think later, and not just because of the cold.
9:35 am. The clerks are starting to take their seats, two people behind each counter, to work more efficiently I'm sure. The token numbers are lit up as well as announced over speakers. When the sign at counter A shows 7, I head over there and present my documents not without pride, considering their comprehensiveness. You would think. First point of critique is something that I initially hear as 'Viginals, viginals! Where are the viginals?'. Seeing the question marks on my face, the employe repeats slightly slower 'Where are your originals?'. Oh. Oh damn.
I need the originals too? Apparently yes. Ok, my mistake. He keeps going through the paper pile, grabs my rental contract and is unhappy again. Since the institute I work at doesn't own the property I stay in, I will either need the contract between institute and house owner or a personalised letter, stating that 'we, the ... institute provide accomodation to Ms. ...'. To my question if I can bring that tomorrow, he vigorously shakes his head no. Today and only today or I have to get a new appointment and start a-fresh.
10:20 am. Fine. I start to run home (which is just a half hour walking distance) to grab my "viginals', call N.K. in panic who promises to email the responsible at the school to write a letter that I can then pick up before running back to the FRRO.
The auto drivers outside, not unlike a flock of vultures, offer me a ride for the mere cost of 100 rupees. Just for the drive home naturally. I laugh and decide to walk instead. After about 500 metres, there is a lone auto standing and the driver offers thedistance for 30 rupees, still a bit too much but a lot more reasonable. He drops me home, I'm about to pay him when the idea hits me to keep him for the entire tour FRRO - home - school - FRRO. He agrees, demands 200 for the entire trip, waiting times included and I sighingly agree.
10:45 am. When I reach the school, Ni. hasn't received any email and does not have a clue of my predicament. Quickly, I explain what I need, she seems to understand the urgency, tells me to wait in the teachers' room because it will take '5 minutes'. (Btw, whatever you're waiting for in whichever situation in India, the waiting time will always be '5 minutes') I remind her that I have an auto waiting, she nods and I close her door from outside. After '5 minutes' that can hardly have lasted more than 15, she hands me the document, I make a copy (just in case) and hop into the waiting auto.
11:15 am. I walk past the line, show my token number to someone who then lets me pass and walk right up to counter A, as previously agreed. He takes my original documents and then pauses at the letter Ni. just composed. 'It doesn't have your name' and points to the part where it says 'guest lecturers' instead of 'Ms. S.T.'. In my mind, I am strangling Ni. right now, outside I say something along the line of work contract, guest lecturer and please. The employe is human (super-human? humanoid?) after all and lets it slide.
I am aware that I will have to pay a fee for registering late, after that legal period of two weeks. How exactly that is going to happen however, I don't know. One of the two behind "my" counter is about to send me off to the bank when the other one intercepts. Let's get the approval first and then you go is the essence of his statement. Fine, I sit back down and wait. And wait. And then wait some more. Slowly, I'm starting to panic. My class starts at 1:30 and I'm not sure I will be done by then. Another frantic message to N.K. She promises to start my class if I don't make it in time. Message to K. who assures me that she can take over after the break, just in case. Phew, I'll owe them forever but that's settled then.
1:40 pm. A board downstairs announces that lunch break is between 1.30 and 2.30 pm. And while there was no sign of slowing down one floor up, my stomach is starting to grumble. Breakfast at 7, now it's almost 2 - you do the math. In the waiting room, there are officially no "eatables permitted", a rule people seem to stick to, as opposed to the no mobiles rule that we collectively ignore.
The employe from counter A waves me over, tells me that it's lunch break now, I should go grab a bite and be back in 30 to 40 minutes.
1:45 pm. Outside the building, I blink into the unfamiliar daylight and ponder where to eat. I remember the rule K. and I established the other day: it's good where many locals go. Looking around, I see a cafeteria type place (not unlike Chaitanya's - the gobi manchurian place for the initiated) and walk in. A few minutes later, I'm enjoying tea and a veg grilled cheese sandwich, washing it down with a cup of water.
2:10 pm. I am back in the waiting room, announce my presence to the duo behind counter A and sit down again. A few minutes pass until I am called over. Oh and being called doesn't mean by your name. No, by now, I had become 'Number 7, Germany'. They hand me a paper slip, to be taken to a bank of my choice and exchanged - together with the required cash - for a DD (demand draft) in favour of the DDO, Bureau of Immigration, Bangalore. A friendly Korean lady who is here for the second time advises me how to get to the nearest bank. She also tells me that I need to be back within an hour, the process takes 20 minutes and the bank is 10 minutes away if you walk (with two children maybe but it took me hardly more than five minutes), 'so you need to hurry'.
2:20 pm. Out on the street again and just when I'm turning towards the given direction, one of the vultures approaches, starting to tell me tales about a bank. 'I can walk' I tell him and walk I do. Without a problem I find the bank, hoping that it's not their lunch break now but luckily, that was from 1:30 to 2:00. I enter and approach the first person sitting there and tell them what I need. They send me to a grey-haired gentleman who asks me to 'takeapinkchallan'. 'Sorry, what?' In slightly reduced speed, he repeats 'Take a pink challan!'. No idea what a challan is but I walk towards the spot he points at and see a number of differently coloured papers, the word challan on a sign above them. I pick a pink paper and turn questioningly back to the gentleman. He nods his approval and I return. He sends me to another desk.
I explain the story again, drop my 'challan' and the slip from the FRRO on his desk and wait for things to happen. Passport and a proof of residence, please. I hand him my passport and rental contract, the only document they didn't need in 'viginal'. He looks at both and asks if I don't have a copy. No, sorry, I don't. Well, we need a copy to proceed here. And of course there is no copying machine in the entire bank. Offfff course not. I ask him for directions to the nearest copy shop but either I misunderstood him or he wasn't all that sure himself, there were no copy shops to be found anywhere near. At another travel agency, I stop and ask the guy where I can get a copy. Not here, so sorry, although I clearly see a fax/copying machine/printer combo sitting there. He directs me to another place that indeed does photocopies.
2:40 pm. Back at the bank, slightly out of breath. Finally, the clerk dictates my data to yet another person who then types them into a computer. We fill in the 'pink challan' as well and I am being sent to - believe it or not - a fifth person in this bank. After handing her cash and challan, picking up my passport and asking if that was definitely all, I head back to the FRRO.
3:05 pm. I show my DD to the person who decides - somewhat similar to Petrus - who can go up and who stays down. 'Do you have a xerox copy of that?', he asks. Of course I don't, so I rush out again to get another copy. Better make it two. Copies in hand, he lets me pass.
3:10 pm. Reporting back to counter A, I see them slightly impressed at my speed. They send me over to the DD counter, yes, they have one just for that purpose where I hand in the note and return. 'You can collect it at 5 - 5:30' I am told. No point in leaving now, so I sit down, take out my book and wait. Every now and then, I glance up but actually I am sitting close enough to the counter that I wouldn't miss 'Number 7, Germany!'.
5:35 pm. As even the longer time has elapsed by now, I walk up to the counter again to check how things are progressing. 'Five minutes, madam!' Apparently, my registration is ready and just needs to be signed. I sit down and go back to my book.
6:05 pm. 'Number 7! Germany!', I hear and jump up. They tell me to sign here, here and here, hand me the 'Registration Certificate/Residential Permit' and I am free, free! I am finally done dealing with them!
Until December of course.
2 comments:
*lol*....welcome to Indian bureaucracy ;)
talldarkman
I thought german bureaucracy is the worst but this is unbeatable!
humyo
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