"Oh, I'm in Kerala for another 3 weeks, yet." I replied cheerfully.
"But your visa expires tomorrow, Mr Harvey," he remarked, with a concerned expression on his face."
 |
| India's civil service was established, based on the Whitehall model, for better or for worse. |
And so began the sort of episode you don't want on holiday, so let me refrain from telling the story twice, and talk about my trip to Cochin Airport this morning, to the Office for the Registration of Foreigners, to try and avoid being quietly frogmarched onto the next available flight to Heathrow.
Drawing on all the work I put into my book "Tork and Grunt's Guide to Effective Negotiations," I started with abject apology.
"I am terribly sorry to be a nuisance, but I'm afraid those desk-wallahs in Birmingham who are contracted to handle the issue of your visas, just don't seem to be anything like as well-organised as you are here.
"I told them I was visiting Kerala for two months, I showed them my flight reservations outward and return, and yet it now seems that the visa they gave me has already expired."
The charming officer, smiled and apologised for the confusion I was having as a result of my experience in Birmingham, but regretted that tourist visas could not normally be renewed or extended. Not normally. Ah! - the magic word that is the panacea in the medicine cupboard of the bureaucrat: normally. I glimpsed a chink of light in the all-pervading gloom.
I took the initiative to respond: "I can see now that the visa's validity starts when it is issued, and I was silly enough to think it started when I arrived in India. I do wish your chaps in Birmingham had explained that - or simply looked at my travel dates. It is causing a lot of inconvenience and I hate to put you to any trouble. Is there anything we can do?"
They offered me a 15-day extension, and would not fine me for being an illegal alien. Well, that was a relief, and I knew that I could change my flight - but that would cost me £100 payable to the airline for an alteration fee. I explained that I would prefer to give my money to Kerala tourism, rather than Qatar Airways, and I had booked three weeks of Ayurveda, and would like to keep to the full programme if possible.
The official went away for further consultations.
[The word to listen for, after the word Normally is the word Exception.]
She returned and said that on this occasion, they could make an exception and issue me with an Exit Visa dated mid-May, but that as this exceeded their 15-day rule, there would be a fee of Rupees 5,305.00 - (£53.05.) She pointed out that this would save me the cost of changing my airline ticket and would also allow me to complete my programme of Ayurveda. I tried to look pensive and thoughtful.
[Never appear over-eager to accept a deal.]
After a brief pause, I smiled, nodded, and began a profuse expression of my gratitude.
Which was genuine, and I heaved a sigh of relief. It had all been conducted in such a polite, gracious and civilised manner.
The charming lady who had steered the process through to mutual satisfaction, now wrote out a check-list for me of the necessary documentation (to be emailed from Mattindia.)
She told me where to obtain the requisite passport photos, and advised me that I could pay by VISA or Mastercard, or I could draw out cash from the ATM on the forecourt of the airport.
A couple of phone-calls, a quick photo-session, and a rapid miracle of plastic and PIN and I was back in the office to finalise the arrangement.
It was not long before my passport was returned with a newly stamped Exit Visa and a duly-signed permit to be surrendered on my departure.
As she gave me my documents she said that her boss would like to meet me, as I was a published author, and I was delighted to oblige, and praised the helpfulness and efficiency of his team.
My face was wreathed with smiles as I returned to my taxi. "Come on," I said to the young driver - a student on vacation. " I'm starving; let me treat us both to lunch."
And that was the end of a rather different kind of day on my holiday.
I took the initiative to respond: "I can see now that the visa's validity starts when it is issued, and I was silly enough to think it started when I arrived in India. I do wish your chaps in Birmingham had explained that - or simply looked at my travel dates. It is causing a lot of inconvenience and I hate to put you to any trouble. Is there anything we can do?"
[Well, of course there would be a solution. . . that's what the word "normally" is all about. We needed something that would benefit both parties, - back to my book, again.]
They offered me a 15-day extension, and would not fine me for being an illegal alien. Well, that was a relief, and I knew that I could change my flight - but that would cost me £100 payable to the airline for an alteration fee. I explained that I would prefer to give my money to Kerala tourism, rather than Qatar Airways, and I had booked three weeks of Ayurveda, and would like to keep to the full programme if possible.
The official went away for further consultations.
[The word to listen for, after the word Normally is the word Exception.]
She returned and said that on this occasion, they could make an exception and issue me with an Exit Visa dated mid-May, but that as this exceeded their 15-day rule, there would be a fee of Rupees 5,305.00 - (£53.05.) She pointed out that this would save me the cost of changing my airline ticket and would also allow me to complete my programme of Ayurveda. I tried to look pensive and thoughtful.
[Never appear over-eager to accept a deal.]
After a brief pause, I smiled, nodded, and began a profuse expression of my gratitude.
Which was genuine, and I heaved a sigh of relief. It had all been conducted in such a polite, gracious and civilised manner.
The charming lady who had steered the process through to mutual satisfaction, now wrote out a check-list for me of the necessary documentation (to be emailed from Mattindia.)
 |
| They needed 2 but I bought 8 for £1.50 I'd like to think I'll need a few more visas in the future |
A couple of phone-calls, a quick photo-session, and a rapid miracle of plastic and PIN and I was back in the office to finalise the arrangement.
It was not long before my passport was returned with a newly stamped Exit Visa and a duly-signed permit to be surrendered on my departure.
 |
| My permit to stay on till my flight |
My face was wreathed with smiles as I returned to my taxi. "Come on," I said to the young driver - a student on vacation. " I'm starving; let me treat us both to lunch."
And that was the end of a rather different kind of day on my holiday.
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