Deaf in Delhi: A Memoir

39. The Elusive Visa

39 The Elusive Visa A F T E R E X A M I N I N G A L L M Y P A P E R W O R K , T H E visa clerk asked, “Where is the P Form?” From the expression on the clerk’s face, I knew all was not right. Jijaji and I looked puzzled. “What is that?” he asked the clerk. The clerk talked and Jijaji nodded his head in understanding, while I looked at them, feeling alternately bewildered and worried. Finally, Jijaji picked up all the papers, put them in an envelope, and walked out of the office. I had no choice but to follow him. I kept asking him what was wrong, and he kept telling me to wait until we reached home. All this could not be explained in a jostling bus with people staring at us. The P Form was an assurance that I would have full financial support in the currency of the host country. India had no foreign exchange reserve at that time, and its exports were horribly below its imports. Thus, the government did not allow Indian subjects to travel abroad without making sure the necessary foreign exchange was available. The U.S. embassy could not issue me a visa unless I produced the ‘P’ Form issued by the Reserve Bank of India. That did not sound so bad. After all, I already had the required amount of money. All I had to do was to demonstrate to the Reserve Bank of India that I had the money, and I would be on my way. This was occurring in late August; I had received a letter from Mr. Philips telling me to arrive at Gallaudet by September 6 for student orientation. I did not know what that was, but I wanted to follow his instructions. Again, Bhai Narain made inquires on my behalf. He learned the whereabouts of the office that issued P Forms. We went there early one morning with all the necessary paperwork in hand. The clerks there told us that we had to go to another office for specific application forms. That 205 206 deaf in delhi office was a few miles away; however. When we arrived at the second office, we were told that they did not have the application forms handy and that we should return the following day. The forms were not handy the next day either. I felt like crying, but Bhai Narain got very angry. He was a big man and could express himself very well. His eyes got red and he began yelling at the clerks. I got worried that his anger might cost us my visa, but somehow it worked. The application form materialized from somewhere within a minute, and we walked out leaving the scared clerks sitting there. Outside, Bhai Narain explained by writing on his palm that those lazy bums had wanted a few hundred rupees in bribe. People who needed a P form were usually going abroad for business or pleasure. For wealthy people, shelling out a few hundred rupees was nothing, and those clerks were used to getting that baksheesh, or tip, as they called it. But for us, that money was difficult to get. I was glad that Bhai Narain’s ferociousness made the clerks forget their “tip.” We filled out the form in a teashop and went to the office where we had gone originally and started on another wild goose chase. We arrived there only to find that Mr. Erady, the director of the department that issued the P form, was not there and would not return until the next day. The following day, after several hours of lounging in the hot and steamy corridors, we were finally ushered into Mr. Erady’s cool office. He was a very brisk and businessman-like gentleman. Mr. Erady glanced at our paperwork for only a second and then handed it back. Bhai Narain continued to plead with him as we were escorted out the door. The P Form was denied because the $250 donation from Mr. Burnes for books was “from a private party.” The Indian government, which meant Mr. Erady, recognized only government or major university grants, not private donations. We were back to square one again! We spent the next ten days pounding the pavement in various government offices known as the Secretariat area. Everyone we knew had...