Teach yourself patience. In these past few unexpected days of chasing a visa extension for Kavita, I realised the recurring motif is one of patience. Islamabad is the typical administrative capital with its typical bureaucracy and, big tall buildings and crowded offices where you can get lost and overwhelmed. During this and previous visits, one meets and notices so many other ordinary folks chasing documents, visas, permits, and extensions. Almost everyone is patient and, has traveled far. I remember the desk officer asked the person, where did you travel from and, so many times I heard of the name of a small town I did not know. I remember a woman quietly sitting on a bench under one of the trees near the entrance of the Ministry of Interior. She was wearing a white chador, and she was sitting on the bench when I entered the gates and after I left. I don't know how long she would sit there. Patience is really what one needs to deal with the bureaucracy that is modern life.
It looks like I've spent half my life running behind visas. Either for myself or for Kavita. I mean, really, f*** borders.
I know I'm quite ineffective and inefficient at not having realised that the 6-month visa issued by the Embassy of Pakistan in Morocco (the delightful Embassy under whose jurisdiction Liberia is) was only single entry. We have been getting the Pakistan visa for Kavita from Morocco via courier and, they have been issuing multiple entry 1 year visas. Somehow, this time around, the visa they issued was only single entry and, only for half the year, even though they charged full fees.
When I had asked at the time, they said the visa fees are the same for 6 months and 1 year. And of course, the Embassy was quite slow in responding to e-mails and/or answering phones.
And, all this time, I was so careless that I did not realise I will need to exit and re-enter Pakistan with Kavita.
11 June
So when I landed back in Islamabad in the second week of June from an excellent holiday in Malaysia at around 1030 PM, the airport officials alerted me to the fact that Kavita merely had a single-entry visa. I was extremely embarrassed (and secretly angry with the Pakistan Embassy in Morocco). The airport officials were extremely kind and issued us with a 72-hour landing permit. They even said if it weren't the fact this was a child, they might even deport the person. They told me to apply for the Pakistan Origin
card.
We were finally able to leave the Airport at around midnight.
Kavita and I arrived home with a Metro Cab and, came home to a boiling hot oven of a house. We had left just after mid May for a 3-week holiday and, Islamabad weather was still very pleasant. I couldn't believe how hot it was. I spent the next unpacking, recovering from a bit of jet lag and adjusting myself back to the conditions.
13 June
Without thinking, I proceeded straight to the
Directorate General of Immigration & Passports in G-8/1. I met with a desk officer (he was not from the visa section actually but the passport section, I guess). I hadn't been here at this office in a while, nervous at what would happen and stressed out. I kept calculating when the 72 hour landing permit would expire and, how to explain that I had only got it at around midnight and, they shouldn't do something bad to us because, technically, you see, the 72-hour landing permit would only start Tuesday morning.
Well anyway, while I waited for the officer to speak to me, I noticed a very stressed person sitting next to me. He had traveled all the way from Hyderabad. He had applied for a passport to travel for Haj but was denied because he had been erroneously linked to a deceased person linked to terrorism and, was on an exit control list. he was very frustrated and angry and, kept relating his story. Apparently, just as he had been issued the passport at the Passport Office and, had even left the building, the authorities asked him to return it. This person said, if he misses his Haj, he would ' see to everyone. ' The desk officer when finally attending to him got self righteous and, said, he would sincerely work on his case but can't answer for the entire Pakistani state.
All this time, he was assisted by someone who seemed to know all the rules and procedures and kept advising him.
The desk officer finally attended to me, read my landing permit and, in a scolding tone, told me to proceed to the Ministry of Interior, R - Block the next day at 9 AM.
I was quite stressed as I left the Passport Office that day. I don't know why! I asked my father if he had any contacts at the Ministry. I asked a cousin. I thought Kavita and I would be in big trouble.
14 June
The last day before the 4-day Eid weekend, I woke up really early to take Kavita to the Ministry of Interior. We woke up at 8 AM and, reached the Ministry at around 9:30 AM. I have no idea why I had stressed so much. Maybe it was because last time, they made a little fuss over the father's Indian nationality. I don't know why it felt like I was in a lot of trouble.
I was shown into the same visa hall (which I have visited so many times
before) and, saw the same familiar face of Mr. Sajjad who receives applications, returns letters/documents, etc. The visa hall was relatively empty at this time. He looked at the landing permit and, we exchanged a few pleasantries. He told me to copy various documents (passport, landing permit, my ID, birth certificate, etc) and, come back to him.
We walked to a tiny nearby market which had a photocopy shop. One of the guards at the Ministry gates showed me a path which actually led to a ditch and, one had to cross a makeshift bridge (made up of a couple of wood logs) and, I was so angry (and remembered my
fall from grace during a HASH walk). Kavita and I walked back in the scorching heat and, then walked on the road to get to the market. I had my documents photocopied. The fellow at the shop was knowledgeable and even advised me how to fill out the form (put 2 months extension at the top, he advised). The shop made me colour copies and it cost me a 250 rupees or something.
We walked back to Mr. Sajjad who told me to come back in a week for the approval letter. I told him I was flying back on the 3rd of July. He said it would be OK.
While I was waiting to see him, I overhead someone's case and it would cost $ 400 because his permit (residence? or visa?) had expired. There's another desk that deals entirely with Afghans. I wonder what experiences and stresses they have to suffer.
So, all in all, I was relieved that everything was OK.
22 June
The first Careem that morning disappeared and, I canceled it knowingly incurring a 170 or 200 cancellation fee. When the second Careem came round, I told the Captain what happened. He told me to call the help line and, my cancellation charges were revoked. The second Careem Captain was quite polite and, helpful.
I went back to the Ministry on a Friday. Kavita waited in the
Careem as she was sleepy and tired. If any official needed to see her, I would easily be able to retrieve her from the car.
I waited at Mr. Sajjad's desk while he attended to other persons before me. There was a white gentleman who spoke very good Urdu who politely listened to Mr. Sajjad. Apparently, he would have to come back after the 4th. He was wearing a green shalwar kameez. After he left. Mr. Sajjad invited me to his desk. I asked him who he was and, was told he was a missionary. I was told that the officer in charge was new and, had left for the US on a visit and, had not signed any letters. I was stressed! I said but I was soon going to travel. He said, well, 'go to see the other officer and, let him know you filed your application a week ago and, that you need to travel.'
I telephoned the Careem driver and, asked him if Kavita was OK. She had awoken from her nap and, spoke to me. She said she wanted to stay in the car.
I walked to the R-Block and went up to Room 604 or 605. I was back in this familiar dust-gathering, file-filled corridor and room. I patiently waited to see the officer in charge. Until then, I watched a few clerks including a lady with a dupatta-covered head, quietly chatting and sharing tea and chaat. I started craving both. There were a few other persons in that tiny room, brimming with files. I asked one of the clerks to help me. They kindly looked at me. When the officer came back into the room (he was on the other side of the wall), I was shown to him. The clerk who took me there (slightly balding, kind face, slim and, energetic) made my case and, I also made my case. The officer though was busy with an East European couple. The woman was passionately making her case, trying to explain she needed an
NOC. I gleaned that the couple were traveling by road for a year and, were passing through Pakistan. They needed to extend their visa because she had to have a critical surgery in Peshawar and then wanted to cross into Afghanistan. She said the staff at the counter downstairs had advised her to get an NOC. The officer asked his clerk who said yes and, then the conversation kept going round and round. I believe the lady was Polish and, she kept gesturing with her hands and, saying she needed an NOC. The desk officer asked to see a doctor's consultation paper or scheduled surgery.
I managed to intercede, very very politely and meekly, to consider my case. The officer sahib was actually trying to run off to see his senior but I told him my daughter was waiting alone in a taxi. He kindly signed my approval letter. I quietly advised the lady to be patient and polite and, bureaucracy had the same face everywhere. I told her from experience I've learned not to provoke, insult or lecture a state official. I also tried to translate on her behalf to the officer. As I was leaving, I saw that the Polish couple were being advised to get an Exit Permit which covered a 2-week period. But then the argument started over again because the lady said what if Afghanistan border officials didn't let them enter and, they had to travel to Iran? The Pakistani officials said but they could only give an Exit Permit for one border point.
I took my approval letter, bowed and profusely thanked everyone. I left the Ministry, called the Careem and, then proceeded to the Directorate General of Immigration & Passports office in G-8/1. I found myself at the same person's desk as it was already 1 PM. He appears to be a very straight forward person. He sternly would attend to anyone at his desk but then lit up with folks he knew walked in. Anyway, he told me, again, I was at the wrong desk.
I met another lady through the closed visa office who listened to me and said it was too late to process the visa extension. She told me it would be processed before my flight and to come back on Monday before 12.
After this, I left the building to go and meet the Careem who it looked like was the same guy who had disappeared in the morning. I angrily called the Helpline who ordered me a new car.
25 June
This morning, I was back with Kavita at Directorate General of Immigration & Passports office in G-8/1 at around 1130 AM. I had had to make copies of relevant documents which I did at the nearby market. It cost me 25 rupees as these were black and white. I met the same lady in a crowded office, overflowing with files and papers, a humming photocopy machine, cups of tea, 2 or 3 officers behind computers behind glass counters, and the young slim man in a brown shalwar kameez running to and fro, organising the patient visa-seekers-extenders in line, passing documents, copying documents. I remember him from several visits. He is constantly in motion, flying from one desk to another, handling documents, meeting with people, facilitating everything. I wish I had asked his name. He happily exclaimed "only 20 more minutes to go."
The same lady (with a covered head and a niqab) who was receiving applications, swiftly stapling documents and making annotations on them, politely met me. I told her I needed the passport back soon. She said to meet her boss in the next room. I went inside. The officer at the desk was signing documents and, had 2 visitors. He asked me to have a seat. Kavita and I sat and waited. She asked me to play " I spy with my little eye." So, we played and, named the purple tie on one of the visitors, the brown desk, the clock, the thick green table cloth on the officer's desk, and the wooden brown frame around Jinnah's portrait. The purple tie man was asking whether an airport official can issue a visa to a foreign diplomat to which the officer said of course not. The purple tie man said he would go meet another big man and laughed. Another visitor was a women who was scrolling through her smart phone and, it looked like was founding out about a European visa and sharing the information with the officer.
Anyway, when it was my turn to make my case, it was quite easy and, the officer obliged and thankfully, said, I could the passport back 3 days later. I was very happy and asked Kavita to also that the folks there. She said '
Shukriya.'
I came back to the house at around 1 PM.
