Jock's TravelBlog Because sometimes I go places

Mumbai

When you step out of the plane into the Airport in Mumbai, the air is still quite cool. It was early in the morning arround 5 AM, so there weren't that many people pressed around us (though more than a few). You go down a flight of stairs to the immegration line and it begins. The air becomes hotter, and the humidity begins to become noticiable. In the line I am struck by the worn down look, but it is a modern place. New video cameras are mounted to a piller with a noticeable crack in it, that was then painted over. The line moves at a slow but steady pace. I see all the different stereotypes, the business man, the seasoned traveler, the family returning home, the college student, etc

I expected just to be asked the standard questions when I got to the front of the line. "How long will you be staying here?" "What is the purpose of your business?" then a stamp and pushed out into the chaos of the outer airport. That is what happened to My Boss. I was given a different introduction.

"Your passport is in very bad shape," the first man said. The lamination is starting to come up -- this is the last trip I planned to take with that passport. He shows it to the second man. He shakes his head. Not the head wobble that means "yes," but an exaggerated slow "this is a very big problem" shake.

"How do you think you can come into the country with this?" He asks, almost sad.

I explain that the consulate had no problem with my passport when I got my visa. The man then explains that that is not the consulates concern, it is his, and he is the one who says that he has the authority to say if I can pass into the country. He says it very fast, underneath the PA system so it his hard to hear him. I ask if there is anything that can be done. He smiles and says that I can go back to the US and get a new passport.

He is smiling when he says "You're name is joke, but this no joke."

Great. A lifetime of people mispronouncing and making fun of my name in my own country, and I get it from a clerk in a uniform in another country. Of course he is the two bit trumped up clerk with Authority, so I don't press the point. I think I know where this is going, but I want him to make the first move.

"Is there anyone I can talk to? Anyone who can help me?" I ask.

"No sir," he says, "there is no one you can talk to. Just me." I look worried, then he says, "but don't worry you will be alright." OK this seems like a contradition, but I play along. He asks if I am here with anyone else, and I point to My Boss, who starts to come over.

"You tell her to sit down, and this will all be OK" he says. I call over to My Boss and she takes a seat and watches bemused as I keep talking to the man. He then points out that my visa says Tourist and that I am here on business.

"How do you think you can conduct business with a tourist visa?" He says. Again I look worried, and again he says the contradictory "but don't worry you will me OK." He says it with a heavy accent on the O.

He's not going to make the first move on where I think this is going. I've been in the Philipeans, I have some idea how the game is played. So I try and make the opening. I ask if there is a fee I can pay.

"No sir, no fee" he says. Maybe he wasn't suggesting a bribe. Maybe he is just the most picky immegration official on the planet. "Nothing can be done, but you will be OK." Then he adds "You just have to decide what you can do."

That wasn't the ringing endorcement for a bribe I was hoping for, but decide it was the best I was going to get. Why the hell didn't he play ball with the fee thing. It gives him the opening to make this all seem legitimate, and let me know how much he wants. It's all made so much harder by that dammed PA system. There is lots of repeating ourselves, and half understood sentances. I reach into my pocket and pull out 1000 Rupees -- about $22 US -- and put in on his desk.

This loosten some things up, and he tells me I need to sign in black. I ask for a pen and he hands me one. I start to sign and he gets angry and tells me it must be black. Of course I was signing with the damned pen he gave me. I dig out my own pen, and as I do he looks down at the desk.

"The amount is very small," he says.

"Would twice that be better?" I ask. Mind you 1000 Rupess would buy a pretty nice meal, but this guy has me on the line. Besides I had spent 30 hours getting here. I was tired. I needed a shower. I wasn't going back without making a fuss to anyone who would listen, but if paying the guy would do it, I was willing to play that game. I drop 1500 more on his desk. I only have 1000 left. I'm glad I made a point to exchange some currency before I left.

He looks down, and seems disapointed, but there isn't anyone in line anymore. Nor is it like I can get any more cash. And $55 is a damn fine bribe, I was beginning to get mad, and I think it showed.

"OK sir," he stamps my immegration card. Then he leans forward and says "If anyone asks, your passport fell in the water"

I thank him and go join My Boss to find the customs line and I hope no one else needs bribing. When we are clear, I explain what had happen. I ask how to describe it on my expense report. Eventually we decide it should go under tips...