Obtaining an Indian Visa from the consulate in Nepal is more than just an administrative process... it's a test of will and determination...
In order to convert or join some religions, it’s necessary to visit the Rabbi/Guru/Leader three or more times in order to show sufficient levels of commitment and zeal. Obtaining an Indian visa from the consulate in Nepal is a similar ordeal requiring equal degrees of persistence and virtue, not to mention patience. The process lasts about ten days (if you fill out all the forms correctly the first time) and requires three separate visits to the consulate.
Visit #1
When I arrive at the consulate at 8:30 a.m, there are already twenty people in line waiting for the big metal gates to open at 9:30. An hour later, we enter, take a ticket and sit, reading and re-reading our applications to ensure every ‘i’ is dotted and ‘t’ is crossed.
When I arrive at the consulate at 8:30 a.m, there are already twenty people in line waiting for the big metal gates to open at 9:30. An hour later, we enter, take a ticket and sit, reading and re-reading our applications to ensure every ‘i’ is dotted and ‘t’ is crossed.
My number is called and I put on my nicest smile and sweetest namaste. I hand over my application and hold my breath. Check check check, the man scribbles on my paper. Four thousand rupees, he demands, which I eagerly hand over. Take my money! Just let me into your country! Come back next week he says in a tone that suggests that my turn is over.
The good thing about a visit to the consulate is that it’s very social, because there’s a lot of waiting time. “Everyone I know in Kathmandu I met at the Indian consulate,” a Canadian guy tells me. He accidentally used his single entry visa during a six hour outing from the Delhi airport en route to Kathmandu and needs to re-apply. We went out for lunch after and took a tour of Patan the following day.
Visit #2
I return four weeks later, after 21 days of trekking and some relaxing time in Pokhara. This time there is an even greater line because the consulate was closed for several days last week for Holi celebrations and things are backed up. I talk to a couple who have a flight to Delhi this afternoon, yet this is only their second visit. They are hoping to pull some strings and get their visa today. I keep my doubts to myself.
I return four weeks later, after 21 days of trekking and some relaxing time in Pokhara. This time there is an even greater line because the consulate was closed for several days last week for Holi celebrations and things are backed up. I talk to a couple who have a flight to Delhi this afternoon, yet this is only their second visit. They are hoping to pull some strings and get their visa today. I keep my doubts to myself.
I scramble to the counter when number 31 is called. I hand my receipt to the man and wait while he leafs through three piles of applications. He looks at the top five documents of each pile three or four times before deciding to dig a little deeper. I would have thought it was a make work task if there weren’t 50 people waiting in line behind me (my friends have ticket number 84). He finally pulls out my application and I breathe a sigh of relief as he asks for my passport, in which my visa will be pasted. With the same tone of finality, he tells me to come back the next day at 5 p.m.
Visit #3
Visit number three is more of a free-for-all, with no number-calling, just one big mob lingering by the counter to pick up their visas. I see the American couple who were not successful in obtaining their visa yesterday and had to re-book their flight. They are already two days late for a yoga course in Rishikesh.
Visit number three is more of a free-for-all, with no number-calling, just one big mob lingering by the counter to pick up their visas. I see the American couple who were not successful in obtaining their visa yesterday and had to re-book their flight. They are already two days late for a yoga course in Rishikesh.
After more than 30 minutes of waiting with absolutely no communication between them (the employees of the consulate) and us (the poor beggar-travellers), an official-looking person walks into the compound carrying a briefcase. We suppose it is full of passports and visas. Finally we form a disorganized queue and people start moving through. I don’t know why I’m anxious, because it should be a done deal at this point: everything’s been approved, I’m just picking up my passport and visa.
Pass or Fail?
But it’s not so for everyone. A young American man is distraught. They told me to come back in two days, he exclaims, trying to keep his good humour from cracking into pure frustration. Why? The supportive crowd enquires and he says he was given no explanation. That’s how it works here, one way communication. Now I’m nervous. Why did he get rejected at this stage? What if I was rejected too?
Pass or Fail?
But it’s not so for everyone. A young American man is distraught. They told me to come back in two days, he exclaims, trying to keep his good humour from cracking into pure frustration. Why? The supportive crowd enquires and he says he was given no explanation. That’s how it works here, one way communication. Now I’m nervous. Why did he get rejected at this stage? What if I was rejected too?
At this point we’re all resigned to our fate. Either they let us in or they don’t. If I get rejected I don’t know if I’ll try again, from scratch...another ten days. Maybe I could go on another trek in Nepal to kill the time? Or forget India! Maybe I’ll go to Morocco, or the Philippines? Do I really want to go to India anyway?
I hold my breath as my turns arrives. I’ve got it! I’ve got my Indian visa! Hallelujah!
After all this, travelling in India will be a piece of cake...
