Snoozing until 6:45am, out the door by 7:05am, and a quick rickshaw ride later, we enter class at 7:25am. Though 10 minutes late according to our timetables (which we quickly learnt have no relation to the actual beginning of class!), we are still some of the first students to arrive. I pass the time waiting for the professor by looking at the dog sleeping beside me while Emilie plays a game on my ipod Touch. I listen as the other students give up hope that the professor will show up and in fact, it turns out our professor has decided to skip his Monday morning 7:15am class (Ahhhh India!). Take two, we go to our Labour Laws class and there at least the professor has shown up and we at least get half an education today. We head over to the library to see if our student cards are ready but the librarian isn’t there. We’ll try tomorrow. Home for movies and it’s worth mentioning the delicious baked fruit supper we have. To date, our restaurant hasn’t seized to impress.
Tuesday
Today our blind professor does show up. A highlight of the class is the continued presence of my dog companion, who again sleeps beside my desk in the aisle. To my great disappointment, the caretaker escorting our professor shoos the dog out of class but minutes later he returns through the back door and takes his place beside me and sleeps the rest of class. After our second lecture, we again head to the library to try and get our ID cards. Once again, the librarian is still not there and no one else can help us. This is a frustrating thing we will continue to experience throughout the week: If a task is not in someone’s job description, they are either incapable or unwilling to help you in any way… though it’s not much better when the task does fall within their job description! Discouraged, we walk out of the College and run into Mrs. Sakalkhar. She informs us that school will likely be extended by a week or two but they are still waiting for confirmation from the University.
Back at the hotel, Vaishali calls us and tells us she is taking some of the other Canadians to the police headquarters to get registered. She’s not sure how the process works or whether we even need to do it but invites us to come along if we like. Thinking it’s better to do this with her than alone, we agree. For the sake of a comprehensive blog, I’m going to focus now on the hoops and ladders we jumped through over the span of a couple of days, all in the hopes of registering as foreign nationals at the police HQ.
First Vaishali dropped by to talk to our hotel manager about the “A Form” they had. When a foreign national resides somewhere in India, the owners of that place must immediately fill out this form, register it with police, and then keep it with them in case the police were to drop by and check up on them. Vaishali wasn’t sure if we needed the original or not, but either way we needed a copy of the form. The assistant manager sent a member of the staff out to the nearest Xerox center on the street and came back with a copy for us. Vaishali asked if we could also borrow the original but the assistant manager wasn’t sure about this and referred her to the manager. She said she would call him later that night and hopefully when she came to pick us up the next day, we would be able to bring it with us.
The next day we were indeed able to borrow the original form, meet with Vaishali, and together we drove to the International Center at the university where we also needed another letter from the University confirming our registration. With that letter in hand, Vaishali drove us, Aisha, Kathleen, and Michelle to the police HQ. Vaishali wasn’t quite sure where it was though and we spent some time looking for it. When we finally found the police station, it turned out not to be the right one. From there we walked to another building about 10 minutes away, which of course turned out also not to be the right office. This one was where that “A Form” was registered but of course that wouldn’t be where foreign nationals would register. We were redirected to another office but since Michelle had a class to attend, we first drove her back to the University and Vaishali decided to leave her car there and that we should just take rickshaws to the Police Commissioner’s Office since she wasn’t sure where that was. It turned out it was just further down the way we had already gone, and retracing our steps once again, we made our way to the HQ (witnessing a small road accident along the way).
And by small road accident, he means a school girl riding a bike who smashed into a van who stopped suddenly!! But it turns out she seemed ok and after getting back on her bike, she was on her way again.
At the HQ, we registered with security at the entrance, found the appropriate building, passed security, and stopped in front of a hallway filled with foreigners, all bunched together and trying to enter a doorway. We asked around and the “C Form” we needed to fill out was inside that door. Thankfully someone was able to make their way through the scrum and pull out some forms for us. We headed back out of there to find the nearest Xerox machine (4 copies of the form are needed) and of course there were no photocopiers in that building. We located a Xerox place (there are a LOT of these everywhere in Pune) where we proceeded to fill out the form asking us about our citizenship, how it was acquired, where we arrived from, what we were doing there, height, eye color, etc. etc. etc. etc. Kathleen and Aisha also took passport photos as those were required on all 4 copies of the “C Form” and then just for shits and giggles, we decided to make copies of our passports, visas, and “A Forms” 4 times each just in case. Back at the HQ, the scrum of foreigners informed us that the doorway was indeed where you dropped off your forms, but that this could only be done between 11-1:30pm, and given it was now 4pm, we were shit out of luck. This meant two things, first we essentially got nothing accomplished today, despite 6 hours of running around, and secondly we would have to come back at least two more times: once simply to drop off our forms and then again another day to pick up our registration documents. Ahhhhh India! Defeated, we headed back to the University, from where Vaishali drove us back to the hotel. Later that evening the manager made sure we gave him back the original “A Form” as he would be in a lot of trouble if they were caught without it.
Not eager to repeat that marathon and a little under the weather the next couple of days, we only headed back to the police HQ after school on Friday. By the time we arrived, a sizable lineup had already formed and we patiently waited our turn as one or two at a time, foreigners were allowed in through the door to deposit their forms. During the wait we met a nice German girl recently arrived who was to study English and complete her thesis. Several Africans, Europeans, Asians and Middle Easterners (mostly Iranians) were also there and then Kara, Kathleen, and Aisha also showed up to drop off their forms. A half-hour later my turn came up (the wait having been made longer by an impromptu tea break taken by the employees).
I squeezed into the room and politely handed over my documents. 5 staff members chatted in Marathi, joking around and laughing, sometimes seemingly about me… The woman dealing with me was quite rude…
She: “Where is your “A Form”? This is not the original.”
Me: Oh God… “Yes I know, the hotel manager did not want to give it to us, but this is a copy. You can call him.”
She continues flipping pages. “Passport”
I hand her my passport and she flips through it. “This says you arrived August 3, why did you write 2nd?”
Me: “We arrived the second at night, but before midnight”.
She: “This says third, you write third”.
I correct the date on all four forms. And then the real fun begins…
She: “You had to register within 14 days of arriving. You have to pay late fee.”
Me: “But we couldn’t come sooner. We received the letter from the University just this week.”
She couldn’t have cared less. The fact we had just received the letter we needed from the University didn’t matter. The fact it was closed because of swine flu didn’t matter. This was our fault, we had to deal with it, and we had to pay the fine regardless. She was however generous enough to offer us a discount on our fine! Should we go to the bank, we would have to pay a fee of Rs 1,500 each, but if we paid right now, in cash, we would only have to pay Rs 1,000 each (i.e. pay her a nice bribe under the table and this would be taken care of). Several things bothered me about this, a lot! We were being forced to pay a significant fine for something that was in no way our fault and the only thing we could do was to pay, or pay a slightly less sizable bribe, at the POLICE commissioner’s office!!! We refused to pay, they refused to take our forms, and we left angry. On our way out we spoke to the girls who weren’t sure themselves what they were going to do. Once again, we had accomplished nothing and weren’t getting any further ahead in this.
I must say, this was the first time that I was fuming about how things work in India…I’ve been frustrated before but having to pay late fees for decisions made by the GOVERNMENT (i.e. to close the school) was definitely not our fault and we shouldn’t be penalized for it! But clearly, they didn’t care cause they were making money off of this!
Adding to our frustration, on the way home our rickshaw driver took us on a shortcut which actually turned out to be a longer detour. We argued with him and after paying him Rs 60, we walked off. He actually had the nerve to drive up to us and ask for Rs 3 more! I yelled at him telling him he was lucky I was paying him that and walked off. He continued following us, now wanting Rs 10. We ignored him and kept on walking and he finally gave up and drove us.
Now quite angered by the day’s scamming, we hid in our room and vowed not to come out until supper, lest someone else try to cheat us. A few hours later Vaishali called us. She had spoken with the other girls who had called her from the Police HQ and after speaking to the woman there (the one asking for a bribe), she told us we were right not to pay her because there was no guarantee anything would actually get done and we would have received no proof of payment. She then gave us more good news: After speaking with the coordinator of the German exchange program to Maharashtra, she found out that if our Visa was valid for less than 180 days, we didn’t even need to register as foreign nationals! We looked at our visas and in very fine print, it was indeed written that. Not surprisingly, everyone at the HQ had forgotten to mention this to us! And with that, several useless frustrating hours, pointless rickshaw rides and useless photocopying later, our experience registering as foreign nationals was over.
Sadly, this wasn’t the only administrative hell we had to deal with that week. By Saturday, we still had not received our student cards, which we needed both to take out books and to use the computer room. After visiting the library on a daily basis (the librarian was never there), the desk where all students go to get their cards and to the man in another office who had taken our forms 3 weeks earlier, we still didn’t have our student cards. The most entertaining illustrations of what we had to deal with follow.
We went to the library and they directed us to the desk down another hall where all students get their cards. There we asked for our cards, showing the forms we had gotten with our rolls numbers: C-112 and C-113. They ask us for our roll numbers. Despite having already given them the form and pointing out the number, we repeat it several times. They start looking through a box of student cards. Nope, no card there. They direct us to the librarian. When we’re told at the library a few days later to go back to that desk, we ask again for our cards: C-112 and C-113. They look through the box once again and pull out a card. I take the card and look at it. Well let’s see… I’m not in first year… That’s not my name… I’m not Indian… Oh and I’m not a girl! When I point this out to them, without blinking, they point at the number and say “112”. “But I’m C-112!” “112” they reply, pointing again at the number on the card. The worst thing is, they don’t want the card back. I literally could have walked away with my card and who knows, maybe if someone asked me for it, it could’ve have worked if I just repeated robotically “112”?! Maybe I really should’ve just done that… Instead I pointed out once again that this clearly wasn’t me and finally, one of them gets up and slowly, OH SO SLOWLY, shuffles his way along to the library with us in tow. There the librarian has decided to make an appearance. We speak to her about the card issue. At one point, she picks up the phone and starts talking about our cards. We realize soon after that she hadn’t actually called directly to whoever needed to be spoken to, but had instead phoned the assistant librarian, who was one desk away, and had asked her to call to find out what was happening… A few minutes later, a man walks over and he hands the librarian… no, not our cards, but the forms we had filled out 3 weeks earlier, still untouched and unprocessed. The librarian promises they will be ready by 4pm, but we know better, and vow not to return until the middle of next week.
Just one final story to show that the robotic “112” incident wasn’t a fluke. We went to the reading room to look at textbooks we needed for our classes. Unfortunately this is located in the same place as the desk with the student cards. When I ask for certain books, one of those same men asks me for my student card… I show them the form we received when we paid, which Sakalkhar had told me to give them, and ask for our books. He looks at the roll number and begins searching through the box of student cards. He finds one and pulls it out, hands it to me. You guessed it, it’s the 112 Indian girl’s card!!! Once again I show him the photo and my face and try to explain the librarian is taking care of our cards and that Mrs. Sakalkhar said the form would be ok for now. He grudgingly takes the form. He then begins looking for the books I’m asking him for. Among the four books I need is “International Economic Law” by S.R. Myneni. He returns with the books and Emilie and I begin to look through them. We notice that the Myneni book he gave me is actually “Economic Order in India”. Ok, honest mistake. I go back to the man and show him the book and the name of the one on my syllabus. “Myneni” he says pointing at the author’s name. “Yes but this is not the right book. I’m looking for International Economic Law, not Economic Order in India”, clearly pointing out the two titles. “Myneni” he repeats, pointing at the name. “Yes but not the same title,” I reply. “This wrong,” he says. I plead with him, “but this is the syllabus for the class, and I need this book. I’ve seen other students with this book.” He finally gives up, points to a shelf behind his desk with books on economic law, and invites me to come around. I walk over, see the right book, grab it, look at him (his face is completely uninterested), and walk back to the desk, wonder how on Earth this college can afford to employ robots as staff members.
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