Friday, October 12, 2012

A visit to the FRRO (or - losing the will to live)





Once the initial surprise, shock and awe of Mumbai has worn off, all new arrivals into the city settle into the process of easing into daily life. The first major shock to the system comes in the form of the innocuously named FRRO - the Foreigners Regional Registration Office. Ask any expat who has been here for more than a few months about their experience with this spectacularly bureaucratic government body, and their response will range from the overtly angry - spitting with rage and fury, to a teary reminiscence, to a weary sigh filled shoulder shrug borne of final resignation.

The FRRO office is the place where every foreigner who comes to India on an employment or business visa must register, and the body which deals with all visa enquiries for long term foreign residents, or even those on tourist visas who may have inadvertently overstayed their visa. The process of dealing with the FRRO is somewhat similar to that of dealing with a death or news of a terminal disease – as the 5 stages of emotional reaction play themselves out – first denial, then anger, bargaining and depression and finally, acceptance. When I first arrived in India to work, I made the mistake of landing up at the FRRO two weeks after the stipulated 15 day timeframe for registration, so I went through all those 5 emotions in one sitting. For the average foreigner landing up at this innocuous looking office, the process generally goes as follows, over a number of visits or even in the space of a single morning : 1. Denial. On encountering the bureaucracy of the ladies in ugly sarees, the foreigner feels that they must all just be having a ‘bad day’, for surely no human being could ordinarily be this rude / curt / unhelpful / difficult and especially not en masse. This is India after all, people are known to be friendly and smiley here, and all Indians are by definition nice people. Plastering a big smile onto the face, and striving to keep the tone light and friendly, the foreigner bravely continues to try to explain the reason for the visit. As the documents which have been painstakingly collected together and copied as per the long list of requirements are scrutinized, and rejected one by one for irrational ‘irregularities’, the foreigner’s intention to smother the official with kindness and loving vibes slowly starts to transition to the surpressed rage which has been lurking not far below the surface.

Then comes the second stage as anger bursts out in staccato interventions “but all my documents are correct!” .. “but I checked the list twice!” “but I don’t have my bank statements from 5 years ago” .. no that IS the same signature” … and so on. This expression of anger is not only uncharacteristic behaviour for the typically buttoned up foreigner, but also has zero effect on the official who is busy throwing out painstaking collected documents. Realising that anger in this instance is futile, then comes the Foreigner’s attempt to bargain. Now bargaining and bribery, though alien to the foreigner, are part and parcel of the Indian experience, and expressed in a wonderful “one size fits all” descriptor – ‘jugaad’. This wonderfully evocative word means, according to Wikipedia, “a colloquial Hindi word that can mean an innovative fix, sometimes pejoratively used for solutions that bend rules, or a resource that can be used as such or a person who can solve a vexatious issue. It is used as much for enterprising street mechanics as for political fixers. In essence, it is a tribute to native genius, and lateral thinking”. “Jugaad” or “jugaad giri” (how to jugaad) is a simple word which summarises a way of life for an entire sub continent. Ever wondered why Indians all over the world are no 1 in any league table or industry you care to look at (with the exception perhaps of some notable sporting events)? Jugaad giri. Ever stopped to think about why in India, despite the chaos and the seemingly unmanageable bureaucracy, things just seem to happen? Jugaad giri. So Indians are very well versed at stretching and bending and manipulating the rules in the name of jugaad, but its an art you have to be born with. The hapless foreigner, when faced with a brick wall in the form of the FRRO officer, may resort to bargaining but it’s usually a sadly pathetic attempt to reason, cajole and / or beg. “If I get the signature redone by my office and bring it back will it be OK?” is met by stony silence. “but that’s a new rule and they didn’t tell me about it when I phoned” will be met by a blank look. And finally, “can I, er, um, er, pay something” is far too awkward an attempt to bribe, which will fall on deaf ears. Bargaining at the FRRO office will always result in disappointment, unless conducted by a true jugaad or one very very experienced in the art of when is a bribe not a bribe (and no, the FRRO does NOT accept bribes. Allegedly).

That brings me on to depression. Its not uncommon to exit the FRRO office feeling like you’ve lost the will to live. What started out as a seemingly straightforward, even innocuous task to get a visa stamp, has turned into a war of wills, a battle to end all battles, and an exhausting and seemingly never ending slide into a deep pit of bureaucracy, with all the cards seemingly stacked irreconcilably against you. Many foreigners stumble out of the office, glassy eyed and shell shocked. Along with the failure to have renewed the visa or been granted the magical ‘blue book” (the passport type book which allows you to reside in India), there comes the realisation that more paperwork is required (in triplicate) and yet more evidence needs to be submitted about one’s intentions for life in India. Some foreigners even give up in the face of this, and decide that India is simply not for them, booking the first plane back to civilisation and sanity. The majority however move on the next and final phase - Acceptance. This stage has more to do with a dulling of the senses, a feeling of helpless submission and final defeat at the hands of the senseless bureaucracy that characterises the FRRO experience than it does with finding inner peace or calm, but its Acceptance nonetheless.

A friend of mine recounts a particularly horrific experience at the hands of the FRRO – on showing up at the office for the compulsory registration process, the official in front of her took more than the usual painstakingly slow time to scrutinise her passport, looking for her entry stamp. When it became apparent that in fact there was no entry stamp in the passport and that the official at the immigration counter had overlooked this rather vital procedure she was told to ‘go back to the airport and get a stamp’. Now given the complexity of getting inside the airport with a valid ticket to travel, let alone trying to gain entry to get an entry stamp a week after entering the country is no task for the fainthearted. My friend managed to get inside and was not only asked which queue she had stood in (there are 20 odd lines at the immigration hall) but asked to identify the man who had failed to stamp her passport. Miraculously given that she had arrived a week earlier and at 2am, she managed to respond on both counts and there then began a pantomime farce which involved ALL the other immigration officials running after the ‘guilty’ party, pinning him down and tickling him (yes, really!), slapping him and throwing her passport at each other. Once the aforementioned stamp was in place, and a fat bribe taken, the passport was literally thrown in her direction, sailing right above her head to land on the extremely grubby floor. When she returned to the FRRO the following day, brandishing her entry stamp, the officials there could hardly believe their eyes. Apparently this ‘impossible’ task had been assigned to her to have her run in a wild goose chase before returning cap in hand to beg for the FRRO’s help. Unfortunately, my friend was far too smart and tenacious for the party poopers at the FRRO.

A wise friend gave me the following piece of advice when I first told him I was moving to India ; “don’t try and change India. Let it change you, but above all don’t try and change it. You’ll only go mad’. Truer words were never spoken. Surviving and learning to love India is all about the ability to embrace rather than criticise, to learn to love the craziness rather than be sucked under by it, to maintain a sense of calm detachment and rationale when all about you seem to be losing their heads. Take the FRRO. I’ve been visiting the same office for 9 years. Since I started going there on my annual pilgrimage to get my employment visa renewed, and then for my PIO card for me and then my newborn, I’ve seen the same faces working there, and have built up a relationship with them to the point where they raise an eyebrow when I sit in front of them to submit my (ever more complex) paperwork. I’ve even managed to crack a smile out of one of them. But, when I stopped and thought about WHY these government officers were SO very inflexible and so very difficult to deal with, I started to become aware of the frustrations which they themselves must be facing, day in and day out. Take the simple issue of money and the principle of fairness of distribution of wealth. Now each of these FRRO officers probably earns in the region of 4000-9000 rupees per month, if they’re lucky (USD$100-200). That money has to support an extended (joint family) of kids, uncles, aunties and aged parents. And they are made to scrutinise the tax returns and employment letters of foreigners who are earning say 200 times that per month ( a monthly salary of an expat in Mumbai will probably hit the one million rupees a month, or USD20,000. Even the ‘poorest’ expats will easily clear three or four times the monthly salary of these officials. So don’t you think they deserve to be cut just a little bit of slack? What can be worse than dealing with a bunch of whining foreigners day in and day out, who are trying to extend visas with incorrect paperwork, shouting and ranting incoherently and shoving their goddamned huge fat salaries in front of your nose, when you’re struggling to make ends meet, have a respectable if lowly paid job, you’re up at 4am to prepare breakfast for your extended family of in-laws and children and demanding husband, AND you’re also tired of saying the same thing to someone who you can hardly understand as they’re talking AT you and very fast. I kind of understand where these guys are coming from, at least when I’m in a more forgiving mood. Some of them clearly see their jobs as their own private vengeance against the days of the Raj, and yes that can be stressful, exhausting and frustrating but others are simply following their orders, and in India that means everything.