I made an idiotic mistake with my Indian tourist visa. I did not check the dates on it when the Indian government granted me a one-month tourist visa. I gave them the dates of my planned visit when applying and assumed those were the dates my visa was issued for. I was wrong. They approved my visa application on January 28, and that is also the date my one-month visitation started. When I arrived in Bangalore as planned on March 3, my visa had already been expired for a few days, as the immigration officer pointed out. I was completely dumbfounded and didn’t know what to do. He directed me to a separate counter for further information.
The immigration officer at this counter also told me my visa had expired. I said yes, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the mistake I made. I asked him what I could do, and apologized again. He did not want to help, indicating I needed to head back to my airline and book the first flight out of India, but Andrew gave the officer his business visa and said I was his wife, and asked if there was anything we could do. Thus began a 3-hour introduction to Indian bureaucracy (at 2:00 am after we had been traveling for 30+ hours). I felt horrible for Andrew, who was letting me tag along to his work trip because I really wanted to visit India, and I already screwed up more than I had in my lifetime of traveling.
We sat on a bench across from the plexiglass-barricaded officer as he was visited by various other workers, making and receiving phone calls, swapping mobile phones mid-call, walking off and reappearing, occasionally calling me or Andrew up to the counter for more documentation or questions, but never letting us know what was going on. (Photos of my passport now live on no fewer than 5 personal cell phones in India.)
About 1 hour and 45 minutes into the wait, a man (whose name I would later learn is also Andrew) sat one seat away from me, talking on his phone and holding a piece of paper on which I could see my name but couldn’t get the gist because of the angle and his hand placement. He took pity on me and set the paper down on the chair between us without a word. It was a letter to Qatar Airways, on which I flew to India, telling them I arrived without a visa and they needed to remove me from India on the first available flight. My stomach dropped. I whispered to my Andrew what it said, but he was optimistic. “I bet that’s the first step, and now that they have it documented, they can move to the next step of maybe letting you stay.”
Immigration Andrew left without a word, and came back later to explain what they decided. I would write a letter of apology to the immigration officer and they would grant me a temporary landing permit (TLP) that would allow me to stay in India for 72 hours. He told me to go to the immigration office in Bangalore (called the FRRO) on Monday morning to ask for a visa extension or an exit permit. He said there was no guarantee I would be granted one, but that was my only option. If the FRRO decided not to grant either document, I would need to leave India within 72 hours.
I was so relieved I could have cried, but I held it together to ask where I should send my apology letter after I wrote it (thinking I would type something up in the hotel and email it). Immigration Andrew chuckled and said, “No, we’re giving you paper and a pen and you’ll write it now. You need to address it to this particular man behind the counter.” It seems a little silly now, but I was too ashamed to form any opinions in the moment. Immigration Andrew went to get me paper and a pen, and explained I should address it to “Dear Immigration Officer” and write 4 paragraphs saying how sorry I was for wasting his time and humbly requesting clemency and a TLP. After reading my draft and recommending some changes, Immigration Andrew took the letter and handed it to the immigration officer. He read it and requested a few changes as well, and then it was deemed acceptable.
I was charged a fee of USD40 for my temporary landing permit and reminded to visit the immigration office first thing in the morning on Monday. By this time, Immigration Andrew had been making small talk with me for about 30 minutes, telling me he wanted to get a new job in another country (maybe Kuwait or the US) because pay in India is so low. He also told me multiple times how rare it is for people to be given TLPs; they are usually shipped home on the first available flight. If that had happened to me, not only would I have to pay for a new flight, but Qatar Airways would have fined me for traveling without a visa. He said those airline fines are usually more than the cost of the flight. I was lucky to have him advocating for me, he said. The hints weren’t exactly subtle, and I let my Andrew know I needed to tip him but wasn’t sure what a good amount was. He suggested USD20, which he luckily had on him.
Almost 3 hours after we landed, I was handed my TLP and escorted back to the standard immigration processing counter. Andrew and I both received stamps in our passports (mine stating I only had permission to stay for 72 hours) and were released to the baggage claim. We met Andrew’s coworker Adriana, who was on our flight and had been patiently waiting on the other side of immigration for us this entire time. She’s an absolute saint. Immigration Andrew walked us over to pick up our bags, and then my Andrew slipped him the $20 while we both thanked him profusely.
March 4
We took an Uber to the hotel and checked in. The front-desk woman was also not happy to see me. She said the room was only booked for single occupancy (Andrew’s company booked him the room) and Andrew said, “Yeah, we weren’t sure if my wife was going to come or not. Can we add her to the room?” It was about USD240 to add me (the hotel provides a complimentary breakfast buffet and has a gym and pool, so the cost seemed reasonable), and then she asked for Andrew’s passport and visa. She didn’t request any documentation from me, and I was too tired to think anything of it. We took our keys and went up to our safe, comfortable room.
I Googled the FRRO countless times on Sunday (March 3) to make sure I knew where it was, about how long it would take to drive there (about 1 hour), and what time it opened (9:30). When the time came on Monday morning, I ordered an Uber and was dismayed by its demand that I pay my driver in cash. At least the ATM worked for me yesterday (it didn’t work for Andrew and at least one of his coworkers). When I was dropped off at the FRRO, I was thankful for Google street-view because there were no signs on the building, at least none that I could see. When I walked into the building, a couple was sitting on a bench and noticed me looking around the lobby. The woman smiled kindly and told me I wanted the 5th floor. I walked into the rickety elevator and took it to the top floor. When I came out, there was a couple with their daughter sitting in the landing’s waiting area and 2 security guards at the entrance to the office area. I walked over to the guards but they told me to sit and wait. It was about 9:45, but it looked like the office wasn’t open yet. After a few minutes, the guards called the family over and they took a few minutes filling out the logbook and setting off a metal detector. Then it was my turn to enter my passport details in the logbook and set off the metal detector.
I entered a large room with an empty desk near the entrance, rows of chairs like at the DMV in the center, a row of empty plexi-glass cubes facing the chairs, and 2 desks at the far end. The family was at one desk talking to the worker, and there was an employee sitting behind the second desk, so I headed over to him. I showed him my passport and documents and explained the situation. He glanced at everything and told me to leave and apply for an exit permit online. I repeated his instructions to make sure I heard correctly and he confirmed. I asked him if there was anything I needed to do at the office first, because the airport officers were clear that I needed to visit the office in person. He said no and told me to leave.
I sat in the lobby and pulled up Uber on my phone. It insisted I pay with cash again, which sucked because I only had large bills from the ATM and the drivers couldn’t provide change. I made my first driver very uncomfortable with a huge tip (the ride was about Rs590 and I gave him 2 Rs500 bills, about USD12 in total). When I was booking the ride home I selected an auto-rickshaw/tuk-tuk instead of a car because it was about Rs375. I figured my Rs500 bill wouldn’t make for an excessive or uncomfortable tip. It took 1.5 hours to get back to the hotel, and I headed straight to the room to apply for my exit permit.
I finished the application and just needed to upload my passport, a photo, and something called a Form C from the hotel, which essentially tells the government that I have somewhere to stay while I’m in the country. I called downstairs for the form but they needed me to go to the front desk. I hit the save button on my application before heading downstairs and immediately lost all the data.
The man at the front desk said I wasn’t even a registered guest at the hotel and the room Andrew was staying in was single occupancy. I told him we paid a fee when we checked in to add me to the room, so he asked for my passport and visa to add me to the room. I gave him the expired visa and the TLP, and then he said he couldn’t give me a Form C because my visa expired. I told him I need a Form C to apply for the exit permit. We were stuck in a loop for a few minutes, before he relented and said he would talk to a manager and I should come back in an hour.
When I came back, I had to explain the situation all over again because all the employees had changed. They asked me to sit in the lobby while they looked into it. 30 minutes later I caught the Front Desk Guy’s eye (he was just standing at the desk) and he came over to tell me he was waiting for someone to get out of a meeting. I asked how long he thought it would be and he said 10 minutes. 20 minutes went by and he was still avoiding eye contact with me.
[Is India teaching me to let go of expectations? Is it trying to help me learn to not cling to my plans and desires? To accept that sometimes you sit in uncomfortable airplane seats for 20 hours to reach a dream destination, stay in a hotel for 2 days while engaging in futile exercises of bureaucracy before spending hundreds or maybe even thousands of dollars more on flights to leave the country without doing anything on your sightseeing wishlist? Did India want me to understand that life is disappointment and sadness unless you find gratitude in what you are afforded?1]
I saw a new man approach the front desk and chat with Front Desk Guy, both of them looking over at me. New Guy came over and asked me if I was waiting for something. I said I needed a Form C and he said he didn’t know what that was. He asked if I informed anyone that I needed it. Yes, sir, I informed multiple people.
My original guy, Farzan, came back! He told me I could have a Form C that shows I’m staying at the hotel through March 6, but I told him I needed it to show I was booked in the hotel through March 16 (my planned departure date). He went away to talk to someone else. He came back and told me they would contact the FRRO on my behalf to see what they can do, because they didn’t understand what documentation the FRRO needed. He told me to check back later and didn’t appreciate me asking what time I should come back. He said later. I asked what time. He said later. I asked what time. Finally he said I could come back at 6.
[Is this where I turned Farzan against me?]
I went back downstairs at about 6:15 (my olive branch to Farzan) and he gave me a Form C through March 6 with no explanation. I thanked him for it and went back to my room to complete the application. I don’t think he contacted FRRO at all.
March 5
I went back to FRRO on Tuesday around 11:30 and realized my first experience at the office wasn’t standard. They say they open at 9:30, and there were a few workers there when I arrived at 9:45 the day before, but it was nothing like today. There was a woman working at the front desk (empty the day before), plugging everyone’s passport numbers into her computer, issuing them slips of paper with cryptic codes on them, and directing them to different numbered openings along the immigration counter, which had been empty yesterday and was fully staffed today. I had no such guidance the day before and just picked the only available person to ask for help (the one who dismissively told me to go away and apply online).
I waited in a sort-of-line/sort-of-crowd for my turn with Front Desk Lady. I handed her my passport, she typed, and she asked why I came in. I said I applied for an exit permit yesterday and wanted to see what else was needed. I told her my TLP expired that night/early the next morning (4:30 am to be precise) and I didn’t know if my application would be processed in time. She told me to go to a numbered opening in the counter, and then thought better of it and escorted me over. I guess I looked as dumb as I felt.
A woman behind the plexi-glass told me to sit down, and Front Desk Lady left me in her care. I explained my situation and my concerns about the TLP expiring tonight. Another woman came over to weigh in and the woman sitting one desk down also joined the discussion. At one point, Front Desk Lady came back to chime in as well.
Eventually these four women told me it would be fine. I submitted my application for an exit permit before my TLP expired, so I wasn’t in violation of immigration policies. I asked if that meant I was allowed to stay in India while they processed my application, even though the TLP would be expired. They said of course. They took turns answering me or just nodding in agreement with the one who was answering.
At that point, I was flooded with relief and started tearing up. One woman asked me what happened while giving me a look like, “You gotta be fucking kidding me.” I told her I cry easily, which is an understatement, especially when stress and deportation are in play. The rest of the Badass Lady Crew seemed to smile and roll their eyes simultaneously. I left the FRRO on a cloud of bliss (even though Uber was still making me pay cash for my rides). I decided to sightsee a little now that I didn’t have any immigration tasks to complete for the day.
A few hours later, I entered the hotel still on cloud nine, and Farzan flagged me down in the lobby. He said I needed to check out if my application wasn’t approved by the time my TLP expired at 4:30 am on March 6. I explained that the FRRO said I could stay and they were processing my application, but he didn’t care. He said I need to leave tomorrow morning. I could have cried again, but instead I focused my energy on creating a superhero origin story featuring Farzan as the evil nemesis.
March 6
It’s 11 am on Wednesday and I’m back at the FRRO. My application was processed last night and they requested payment online, but every time I tried, I received an array of error messages or blank, dead pages. I emailed the help desk and they replied that I could come to the office to pay. So I’m here to pay and hopefully get something to appease Farzan at the hotel (I avoided eye contact with all employees as I dashed out today and am grateful that no one flagged me down).
Front Desk Lady recognized me and greeted me warmly. She had a tech guy come talk to me in the lobby to see what my payment issue was, and he told me I had to pay with an Indian credit card. I explained that I’m a tourist and I don’t have an Indian credit card, or an Indian friend who would pay for me, as he also suggested. I asked if I could pay cash. He said no cash, everything is paid online. (One of Andrew’s coworkers later told me they only take online payments to reduce corruption, which makes sense but at the time I was just frustrated.)
He then told me to go to an internet cafe and have someone there pay for me. When I asked if there was one that he recommended to people with my problem (thinking maybe I was misunderstanding the stupidity of this suggestion and this was a legitimate service that internet cafes provide), he said no, I had to do my own research. I told him that didn’t seem very safe for me, and he gave up arguing and wandered off to get other ideas from other people. A couple people waiting in the lobby nearby gave me encouraging smiles and nods to confirm that his suggestions were absurd.
I waited a little longer until Tech Guy came back and ushered me to a different man sitting behind the immigration counter. This guy had the air of authority about him and held Tech Guy’s hand as he explained my situation. They continued holding hands while they laughed and seemed to catch up on each other’s lives.
Authority Man turned his attention to me, and had me repeat the whole thing. He said they only accept payment via an Indian credit card or debit card. I explained again that I don’t have those as I’m a tourist and asked if I could pay with cash. He asked for my passport and typed some stuff into his computer and then turned back to me. He said “Okay, do you have the cash with you?” I said I didn’t but I could go to an ATM and come right back. He said they would make an exception for me and accept cash. Yay! What a relief.
I asked if he would also be able to give me something to appease Farzan at the hotel, assuming they would still need processing time after I paid the fee. He said he would give me an exit permit. It felt like a miracle complete with sunbeams breaking through storm clouds and I floated out of the office and played jaywalker-frogger as I darted across traffic to get to the nearest ATM.
I had to do 2 ATM transactions to take out Rs15,000 (about USD180) and I floated back across the street and up to the office. My fee was Rs13,780, or about USD167.
Authority Man saw me walk in and flagged me over to him, and then walked me down the immigration counter to a woman seated behind the plexi-glass. She would be handling the transaction. She pulled up my info and confirmed that I had a departure flight booked for March 16. She made a point of telling that to Authority Man (he was hovering), and I got nervous.
Authority Man looked at her screen and then at me and asked when I was leaving India. I said March 16. He looked at me in annoyance and said he made the cash exception for me because he thought I was leaving tonight. (Who knows why he thought that, but it didn’t matter and I certainly wasn’t going to tell him that was his baseless assumption.)
He asked about where my husband worked and couldn’t one of his coworkers pay with their Indian credit card? I said that would be bad for him at work and he wouldn’t want to do that. Then he told me to have someone at the Leela do it for me. I told him they were actively trying to evict me from the hotel and they would not help.
At this point I started full-on begging. I pleaded with him and said I just went to get the cash, I had it all on me, please, please, take my money. He interrupted me and said they would discuss it and let me know. (It felt very much like “the adults are talking.”) He turned to the woman and the man sitting next to her, both of whom seemed sympathetic. I think the woman was lobbying for me, but they were speaking their local language so I couldn’t tell.
Authority Man walked away and the woman and other man turned back to their computers in silence while I sat and tried to look as pathetic, compliant, and deserving of help as I could. About 5 minutes later, Authority Man returned and said something quietly to the woman and left again without acknowledging me.
She looked over to me and asked for my cash. Yay!!!! Then she confirmed the date of my flight again (March 16) and said she was going to set my exit date for March 17, just to make sure everything worked out. Yet again, I was struck by the kindness and professionalism of the women of the FRRO.
It was about 10 more minutes of silent bureaucracy but I finally received a printed copy of an exit permit. I made sure to check the date on the paper. Even though I completely trusted the woman helping me, I had learned my lesson from my initial visa screw-up. I thanked her profusely and walked toward the exit.
My new friend, Front Desk Lady, asked what happened and I handed her my exit permit while beaming and thanking her for all her help. She looked it over and smiled at me and told me to keep it safe. We said goodbye and I left the FRRO for what I sincerely hope was the last time of my life.
When I got back to the hotel (2 hours later thanks to the worst Uber driver in existence, but more on that separately), Farzan was behind the counter. I felt so smug as I walked over and put the exit permit on the counter. Not one to relinquish a claim to smugness, he simply said, “Good” and took a photo of it. Nothing else. Whatever, I was legal and had a place to stay through my planned departure date!
- India Gratitude ↩︎
As a result of my epiphany while waiting in the hotel lobby, I started focusing on the positives in my situation rather than dwelling on the stress and negatives. It was an opportunity to practice gratitude and here’s my list.
- I did not have to depart India upon arrival. I was given 3 days, which allowed me to check into a nice hotel, shower, and sleep in a comfortable bed.
- I did not have to sleep in the airport or struggle to find a return flight on my phone with airport wifi. I was able to sit at the desk in the hotel room, access all my documentation on my laptop and printed copies, and have that on hand when I called the airline from my hotel room. I was given a flight option to leave before my TLP expires. I know how much it will cost me ($663) if I need to change my flight, and I know what phone number to call and what flights to request.
- I do not have to pay fees to my airline that would have come with immediate expulsion from India. According to Immigration Andrew, the fees would have been thousands of dollars, in addition to paying for a new flight.
- I have enjoyed a delicious breakfast buffet at my hotel for 2 mornings, and will get to enjoy it at least one more time.
- I took a ride in an auto-rickshaw/tuk-tuk!
- I saw cows chilling in Bangalore.
- I got to meet Andrew’s super nice coworkers, who welcomed me to their group even though I was an unannounced party-crasher.
- I shopped in an Indian supermarket and bought local snacks.
- I still have the kindest, most patient, loving spouse in all the land.
