The longest journey starts with a single queue, especially when you are talking about passports and consular offices that dispense visas. And even more so when the bureaucracy in question was established under the British Raj. Arrive early, collect a numbered ticket from the dispenser and wait to be told that your documentation is incomplete, or inaccurate, or your photographs are the wrong size, or that you need an address in India even if you plan to arrive with a wallet crammed with plastic, an open mind and a yearning to search for Nirvana. Indian bureaucracy has now been further complicated with the introduction of computerised systems, online forms and some very precise rules which are so tricky that they are generally disregarded, and other simple rules that are enforced for no apparent reason.
You need to take your grandparents' family bible since the requisite genealogical information stretches way back beyond memory. The cost is over £100 (by the time you add in SMS progress updates and Signed-for delivery.) It is a painful process, but the reward is beyond price. I love India with a passion, it is my spiritual home, and I scrape and save any fees I can earn towards my airfare and towards the modest cost of Bed, Breakfast and Enlightenment. My last visit was in 2011, and I am already putting money aside to escape from the Lincolnshire winter again in 2015.
I am counting down the five weeks till my trip to Heathrow and then on to the Gulf. I learned the hard way that it's a very long journey, so this time I am spending a day and a night in Doha. I'm not actually sure where Doha is, but I'm sure it will be warm and full of Starbucks and ice-cream.
Yes, I am excited, and I intend to recount the saga in this blog over the next few weeks.
First there's my birthday: which will certainly merit some coverage - so watch this space.
