The Foreign Registry

When you get to India you have to register with the police as a foreigner residing in the country. This is really common if you're staying anywhere for any period of time. I'm not sure if I had to register in Australia but I'm pretty sure I did in New Zealand and I think in the UK as well. Obviously those processes were sufficiently painless that I do not remember them. I think it involved filling out a form and having someone stamp it.

In India I was given a guide (a godsend really) from HR at the company and my driver and early on a Saturday morning we headed off to the main police station in South Mumbai which houses the FRRO, Foreign Regional Registration Office. The guy from HR took me through security, handed me to Rs. 2000 (about US$40) "to pay the officer." Not sure what he meant by that exactly… I had this big folder filled with the same papers I needed for the visa.  The people at the desk wrote some inscrutable numbers on it and said I needed to watch for the counter inside. Then they sent me through a door that my handler said was for foreigners only and so he could not follow. He said I would find a computer and I should enter my information. 

I went in to this big room filled with folding chairs. and lots of people from all over. There were computers in the back. I sat down at one and answered all the questions, Passport number, visa number, type, where issued, airline I flew in on, (cripes, I left my iPhone™ in the car to avoid security hassles so I had to remember the best I could on a few things.) DoB, parents home, where I'm staying, airspeed of fully laden swallow, etc. I got done with that and figured out I needed to print it out. Did that. Took it over to the desk where this woman was taking money and stamping things. She pointed to the front of the room where there was an LED sign. At that point another officer intervened, looked at the aforementioned inscrutable numbers and said, "You must wait for 3 under 3 then go in the next room and they will help you. Right now there was a 1 under the 3, so I took a seat.

Did you ever see Beetlejuice? OK, then you have the picture. I left my entire bag in the car. I had my passport, my folder with the inscrutable numbers and the printout. What an idiot I was. I did have a little Nokia phone, but it was supposed to be off according to the signs everywhere, although these signs, like many in India were being widely ignored by everyone. Anyway, the games on the phone were lame and I was afraid I'd miss my number. I looked up to check. Still on 1.

Later I looked up again. The 1 changed to a 2. Some people came out of the room. Some people went in. Some other numbers changed, some more people shuffled. Some came out, went back in, came out again, went back in. Still 2.

There's an American looking fellow across the room with woman who looks like his mother and big dufflish kind of carry-all. He keeps checking on it. Then it begins to cry. OK, it's a baby carrier. Odd. I go over to talk this guy as I am really getting bored out of my tiny skull. He's Canadian. From Ottawa. We chat about my relatives in Ottawa a bit. He asks why I'm here and I tell him. I ask him why he's here and he says, "We just came over for the baby." I think (densely) "Who comes to India from Canada to have a baby?" Oh… to get  a baby. Right. I wasn't really thinking about it that way. 

I look up. 4. What!!! Wait a minute! I was a little distracted, but not for that long! What the heck happened to 3? I go into the room to find out. I go up to a desk that says Counter 3 and say, "Wait a minute! I'm number 3. Why did you skip me?" The woman at the desk looks at the inscrutable numbers and says, "I am Counter 3. You need the woman who sits here at Counter 3A," and gestures at the empty chair next to her. I say, "but there's no sign at all for 3A outside so how do I know when I can come in?" She says, "She will come and get you. Please wait some time outside." Great. I love that phrase, "Please wait some time."

Back to the folding chairs. I sit where I can see Counter 3A through the door. The woman returns. Some one comes into the room, goes into the door and sits right down. Business proceeds with them. They get up. They come out. The woman leaves. She comes back. The same person goes back in. Business proceeds. The Nokia phone has finally coerced me into a game of solitaire. The interface is painful. The woman from 3A comes into the waiting room. She looks around. I lean forward. She sees someone across the room and beckons them into the other room. Did I mention that the chairs are not that comfortable? Why oh why did I leave my bag in the car with the iPhone and water bottle and my book. What was I thinking? Answer: I was thinking that this is all very strange and so I made a poor choice. It's gonna happen when you're in a new place. Oh well.

Finally after a few more entries and exits the woman from 3A comes looking for me. Yay! I sit down and she looks at my paperwork. She reviews my printout and my passport. She reads my contract. She looks at me and says, "This rate says per week. Is that correct? What do you do?" I tell her. She is suitably impressed by my connections but I can tell that tonight she'll be incredulously telling her friends that she interviewed this American who is making more money in a week than she makes in six months. Now who's taking advantage of opportunities in the Third World, Mr. Smartypants?

She takes all my stuff and gives me a slip of paper. She says, "Go outside, pay the woman at the desk 150 rupees. She will give you a book. Fill out the six pages of the book and then come back." OK. I feel like I'm in an adventure game now:

"You are in a room full of folding chairs and people of all ages and races. There is a woman here."

% inventory

"You have a slip of paper and 2000 rupees."

% give paper to woman

"She demands 150 rupees"

% give woman 150 rupees

"The woman gives you a small black book and says 'Please fill out six pages.'

% need pen

"here is a pen"

% take pen

The book has exactly all the same questions that I answered at the computer two hours ago and printed out. I realize that the information I entered at the computer was probably not actually saved but only used to make the printout and so to avoid additional bureaucracy I am now doing the paperwork myself. Now I know all the answers so I get through it and head back in to see 3A. 

"Done already! That was fast!" I've been writing with a pen all my life, miss.

"Now you must wait some time." Of course.

Some time passes. 3A comes out hands me my little black book and says, "You are done. You may go now." Cool! I rush out to the hallway and find my guy. He is shocked to see me so soon. Only 2 1/2 hours! What luck! He takes my book, looks at it, says "Wait here." and disappears into the room he said he couldn't go into. Now what? I could take that for about 30 seconds, then I get up and follow him. He says, "Why are you here?" I say, "Why are you here?" He says, "I'm photocopying your book for our records because I can get them to do it here as part of the process. Have a seat." OK. Geez, how am I supposed to know what is happening around here?

So that gets done and we leave. The HR guy is thrilled. It's only 1230pm and he thought it would be at least 4pm before we got done. Plus he gets 1850 rupees back which I think he never expected to see again. I think he expected that they would tell me that they could expedite if I paid more, but they didn't do that and it was expedited anyway. Bonus! The spirits have done everything in one night!

So that was done and now I have my little black book that identifies me as a legal foreign resident of India. Apparently this is an important document in some circumstances which I hope not to find myself in. Or maybe I just need it to ride the train. Possibly I can wave it at shopkeepers who charge me the Tourist Rate and get the local price instead. Haven't had to try that yet.