Genghis Khan Vs the 'stan visa wall

Guest post by She-Who-Must-be-obeyed 

As usual she is planning a decade ahead in travel....this is a frustration blog on planning for a cycle expedition 2 years away...she is frustrated because she has been working on it for months and months already.

I don't even know what I will be doing next weekend :0

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Been trying to work out the visa paperwork for a bunch of Central Asian Stan visas,   as part of my planned Pamir Highway cycling

Expedition next year.    It is frigging easier to cycle up Ak Baital Pass at 4644meters ten times,   than it is to get these damned visas.

Almost kicked Almaty out of my itinerary,   atleast it would save me the bother of getting a Kazakh visa as well....   now I know why

The Mongols burnt and killed their way through Central Asia.....    read on.

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Genghiz and The Great Game

I have a theory why Genghiz Khan and Timurlane  left a trail of death and destruction in Central Asia....  it is not like

they were bloodthirsty barbarians,   they were extremely civilised people.

One day Genghiz decided he wanted to go to Constantinople with his entourage,  he had heard so much about the famed Silk Route

and the wonderful towns like Damascus and Constantinople which lay beyond....   And like all civilised people,    he and his entourage

applied for transit visas to  Kazakh / Kyrgyz / Tajik / Uzbek / Turkmenistan.    They stumbled upon an obstacle which even

surpassed the Great Wall of China,   the famed VISA SUPPORT AND LOI  (Letter of Invitation).      For the uninitiated in the Great Game,

a  local  travel agent in say Kazakhstan  has to submit a LOI  with all  passport and trip  details   to the Ministry of  External Affairs (MEA)  in   Kazakhstan,   and the Kazakh  MEA will approve

your   LOI and  telex their acceptance DIRECTLY  to the Kazakh  embassy in Mongolia,    where you eventually apply for the visa after the Kazakh MEA

has notified the Kazakh embassy.   Repeat this process for each Stan.

Genghiz Khan had travelled about quite a bit,  but had never heard of this LOI,   so he employed the best travel agants in the world.

They in turn shopped online,  floated a global tender and invited bids from every self-respecting travel agent in the world for visa support.

The sophisticated western agents with slick websites,   glitzy brochures  and 24 x 7 customer sales agents quoted 200 gold coins per head per country for the LOI,

But the shady Central Asian guys quoted  30 gold coins,  and the sophisticated Central Asian agencies wanted 100 gold coins.     The Mongols

were a worried lot,   each fellow needed five visas just for the Stans,   and at 200 gold coins per country per head  for visa support  ( actual visa fees extra),    that was more gold

than had ever been mined    on Planet Earth.       Due negotiations were held,   and finally a  reputed  Central Asian agency was given 45 gold coins per head per country ,   100% advance

payment and told LOI will be issued in two weeks    poor Genghiz even decided  to limit the number of  concubines in his entourage,     the horrendous  

expense on Visa Support  pained him.

Now the Central Asian travel agent   came with stellar  references,   he claimed to have arranged Marco Polo’s  visa support two centuries ago,   and even waved Marco Polo’s

tripadvisor review.     The travel agent saw so much money he decided to splurge on the finest Russian whores and vodka money could buy,   and had a jolly good time for a fortnight,  By which

time he had no money left to pay the MEA fees,  and so the Mongols  did not get the Visa Support  and all their gold was gone with the wind.     The Mongols eventually

crucified the travel agent,     and quartered his family,   but that did not solve their problem of  obtaining the LOI  for five Stans.

By now,    visa support had become a Mongol obsession,   and Ulan Bataar University even offered a doctoral course to scholars on  Horizons Unlimited and Caravanistan

forums.   They could recite every post ever written by any lunatic  traveller on these forums,   and  exams were held on the finest / the most difficult /  the most challenging itineraries through

Central Asia,   and they were so fiercely debated and trolled  on Facebook and Twitter,   it was not funny.      One whole season passed,  not a single Visa Support Letter in hand,

winter set in,  travel plans abandoned  and the Mongols threw themselves at it,  hoping to get everything right before next summer.

Then some rookie traveller  figured out   Tajikistan was handing out e-visas.    All of Mongolia erupted in Nadaam like celebrations,  and Genghiz dragged the CEO’s of Visa and

Mastercard    at sword point and commanded them to issue a credit card  to all his entourage so they could pay online and obtain the elusive Tajik e-visa.     The CEO’s   went bald

overnight,    WTF is the exchange rate from Mongol Togrog to Kazakh Tenge,   to Tajik som to....   but  they had to fix something or risk the ire of Genghiz  ka sword slicing them like carpachio in red wine... 

anyway the Visa and Mastercards did great business,   and the Mongols soon got their  e-visas.     But like with all credit cards,   they could not read the Terms & Conditions for forty five pages

in Font Size 5,   and they ticked the square boz next to I  have read, understood and agree to all T & C....and did the same on the e-visa application.

In an exceptional display of equestrian skills,    the Mongols  and their horses jumped over the Great Wall,    raced overnight across China  to the Qolma Pass  border crossing with Tajik, 

and waved their e-visas triumphantly.      The dozen drunk Tajik soldiers laughed HAHAHAHAHA  with so much contempt  at the vast Mongol entourage,    HOHOHOHO they laughed clutching

their sides and vodka bottles,   ROFL   another bunch of morons smitten by technology,     idiots,  please read  page 33  Para 4 Line 3 Font size 6,   it says  e-visa acceptable only for arrivals in

Dushanbe  International Airports,   not for overlanding Mongols,   you don’t even have carnet for your horses,   so please FO now and slammed the border gates shut in their

face.   The sad Mongols went  back,  and half of  their  Made in China  cheap  horses  died enroute,   and  the Chinese enslaved  the stragglers..... Genghiz Khan tied  the poor rookie traveller’s legs to two horses,  one went east and one went west,  as a reward for his e-visa counsel.

Now Genghiz was really despairing,   his Caravanistan and HU forum scholars were flogged every night for a solution,    but poor sods found tons of info  and facebook selfies about Marco Polo and the rest of his

Western   brethren  overlanding  eastbound on the Silk Route,     and  a  pannier load of  updates by every  demented Central European cyclist  who pedalled solo up the Pamir Highway,  but they

had no info about  Mongols overlanding westbound on the Silk Route.      The cyclists amazed them,  why would any frigging  fool not take a horse up  a mountain  pass,   and insist on using his own  measly horse

power to climb uphill?    The visa rules for Mongols overlanding  were more murky than squid’s ink.        Finally unable to bear the horse whip and cat o’tails  every night,    an elderly scholar  told Genghis his best chance

for visas was to apply in  the Delhi embassies,    which had a fame for compassion to second world visa seekers.

So  the  Mongol   Minister of  External Affairs  duly set off  with his Caravanistan  - sixteen caravans of  visa paperwork for five countries for the whole entourage.     They bagged quite a few visas,   and made brilliant

discoveries like a Kazakh five day transit visa doesn’t need visa support.      They figured that if they flogged their best horses for five days and nights non-stop   like in a Mongol Derby,    they just could get from Barnaul  in Russia ro to Bishkek in Kyrgyz,    bounding across Kazakhstan  before  the five day transit visa  expired.       

But the damned Kyrgyz embassy screwed them royally this time.... first they were told to go to Ratnakar Bank Limited in Baba Kharak Singh Marg,  New Delhi and pay the visa fees into “The Account of the Embassy of the Kyrgyzstan Republic to  the Republic  of  India” and bring the receipt back.     (I am not kidding about the Ratnakar bank,  pls see the Kyrgyz embassy Delhi website)    They struggled for three days because they could not find this world class Ratnakar bank,    NOBODY in India had heard of this bank either,  so how can you blame the poor Mongols?     The Ratnakar Bank  sported  the fancy initials of RBL in the consular website,    so some people directed them to RBS, the Royal Bank of Scotland  in Kasturba Gandhi Marg,    then somebody sent them to the RBI  in Parliament Street,   (and RBI  didn’t even know RBL existed),      all  to no avail.     Eventually after a three day door to door search on  Baba Kharak Singh Marg,  the Mongols found the Ratnakar bank.      They held a sword to the manager’s  throat,   and told him the staff couldn’t go home until all visa fee receipts were ready.      Now the poor Ratnakar Bank  had a poor clerk who had gotten the job on SC / ST or a VIP  quota,   and couldn’t spell  Kyrgyzstan right,  don’t blame his SC / ST for that,    even many FC friends of mine,   some of them very literate and well travelled,  can’t spell Kyrgyzstan right,  and think it is a part of Russia.    So the Mongols got   4982 demand drafts in three  categories,    single entry tourist,  double entry tourist,  single transit for visa fees of  USD 50,  70 and 30.     But the Kyrgyz  embassy got very angry about the spelling mistake in the demand drafts,  and  showered MC BC abuses at  the Mongols and kicked them out  for not spelling Kyrgyzstan right.      The Mongols went with their swords and horsewhips back to Ratnakar Bank,   and got 4982 drafts reissued.    And yes,  the clerk and manager were both waterboarded in the Yamuna river,    but they didn’t drown,   the polluted water killed both instantly.

The Mongols including Genghiz camped  in Rashtrapati Bhavan grounds (the horses had enough grass),    because the embassy had said it might call them for a personal interview if it wanted to.     Finally the papers were verified,  and the Consul bellowed at Genghiz  – where the hell  is the confirmed return air ticket on Kyrgyzstan Airlines ????  The Mongols got really really upset  now,   WTF  and  HTF  does a Mongol on his horse travel in an aeroplane,    his sword can’t even be checked in,   and they massacred everybody in the Kyrgyz embassy.    A couple of diehard Mongols still tried to get their return air tickets on Kyrgyzstan Airlines,  by now they were ready to sell wives daughters and concubines in exchange for a visa stamp,      and got royally scammed by the Connaught Place and Paharganj  travel agents who sold them bogus  tickets at inflated prices.      Hahaha they sniggered,  don’t these fools know Kyrgyzstan Airlines has been defunct for four  decades now (consular website not updated,  that is all)..... anyway with the embassy staff all massacred,  there was nobody left to issue their last visa,    the much needed Kyrgyz visa,     because China and Tajik had by now closed Qolma Pass  border crossing to third country nationals.... hahaha,  so how can the Mongols cross from China to Tajik,    except via Irkeshtam  pass  into  Kyrgyzstan?

The Mongols went back completely defeated in the Great Game,  of obtaining  all  five Stan visas,    which is a greater feat than Winning the Grand Slam....    Genghiz Khan roared,  he was becoming like Prince Charles waiting for the throne,    he told his entourage ab bas bahut ho gayaa,   bring the horses and swords,   and off they went galloping across the steppes.      They razed all  border posts and embassies to the ground,  and threw immigration officials,  border guards  and consuls in the bonfire.       Like the embassies occupying prime real estate in Peddar Road and Chanakyapuri,    the embassies in Samarkand,  Bukhara,   etc  were all located in the royal quarters ( so the king could get express visas),   and as bad  luck would have it,  when the embassies burned,    so did the magnificent  palaces,  the  great libraries,   and amazing  monuments.    Not the Mongols’  fault really,  they were just trying to rid the world of these pesky,  rude,   hare-brained  embassies...   it was just unfortunate collateral damage  that everything else burned too.

Historians  say the Mongols  killed innocent  civilians mercilessly,   not really,   that was not the intention at all,  when they saw “Visa Support provided”  boards in every second door in Central Asia,   (half the Stans’   GDP  is from scamming  gullible and / or desperate overseas  travellers’    hard earned money in return for elusive visa support)    They remembered all their gold coins  now,    and all those years of waiting for their visas,  and their long suffering,  the Tajik soldiers’ drunken contempt of their e-visas,   their search for RBL / RBS / RBI  on a hot summer day in Delhi..... and they went berserk,  and pulled everybody out of those “Visa Support Provided”  doors and skewered them.     And over a half of the local adult population died in their wake.....

Can’t blame the Mongols,  really....

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Random outpourings

I was walking home one day, when I saw a monstrous new building on the road. “Oh wow” I thought “must be the new ultra luxury modern sky scraper project from Hiranandani’s, or possibly  the new MUTP mega project.”

But it looked a bit different. And I when I got a little closer, I saw that it was the local chapter of Bindeshwari Dubey’s Sulabh Shauchalaya. Well, I suppose in number of people relieved and happy, Mr. Dubey has done more for the country than any godman or politician.

I don’t know whether India is shining or not, but I must say that the public toilets are looking very hep. This one was a large and imposing building, looking more like the local “Shakha” or a post office or something. I would imagine that the locals will be afraid to pee in it, it looks so gleaming and posh. What a paradox – the toilets look like post offices and the post offices…well, never mind.

I was going to ‘go’ inside, but the attendant prevented me.

“Sorry saar. Not operational as yet.”

“Why not?”

“Inauguration yet to be done saar.”

Inauguration?!! Of a loo?

But the evidence was unquestionable. The attendant pointed to a huge marble notice being put on the wall - ‘This public facility inaugurated by Mr. So-and-so, honorable commissioner, on this date, etc’

I went home wondering how a toilet must be inaugurated.

Does the Hon. Commissioner get to cut a ribbon? or do the first pee? Or both? Just imagine – the commissioner cuts the yellow ribbon, goes inside, unzips and pees as the enthusiastic crowds applaud. I wonder what they will shout – “For he’s a jolly good yellow.” Then he will probably give a speech – and I wonder which of his outpourings will be more appreciated. To honour the occasion he will talk shit, I suppose

Imagine the complications – suppose the ceremonies get mixed up. The commissioner has unzipped and then someone hands him the scissors…oh no.

And just think of how much the official will have to care for – he will have to ensure a steady and impressive flow, not to mention the need for a good aim and steady hand-eye coordination.

And suppose the official has more than one engagement, won’t he run out of …ideas? Also his ideas and outpourings should come in a smooth flow, and not in fits, starts or trickles.

But wait – there are more complications. Suppose the official is a woman? Will she skirt the issue, or settle down to a solution?

Later I was discussing this issue with a friend, and he said that this was the best thing to have happened in the neighborhood.  Now all the people should be forced to patronize this “temple of modern India” rather than letting it all hang out in the streets.

But it costs fifty p to go and P, I reminded him. And since most people in India are im-pee-cunious, they would probably carry out an illegal transaction in the open.

If that is the case, then we must force them – he replied.

We can’t force them to pee, it would be an infringement of the freedom of action of the individual. The international community would object, I said.

In that case, we must do it under IPKF supervision.

IPKF supervision?

Oh yes, he answered. “The International Piss Keeping Force.”

Dress Sense

I was waiting for my flight at Bangkok airport when I saw a person with vaguely Indian features sitting next to me. We got into conversation, and it turned out that he was not Indian, but a Bhutani. This was close enough to home, especially when you are in a foreign country, and so we warmed to each other.

 He looked fairly Indian, and also had Indian mannerisms. I was planning to go to Bhutan for a holiday, and had done a lot of reading about it, so I was able to ask him about the cities of Paro and Thimpu, the ‘Dzong’ monastery -fortresses, the black necked cranes of Phobjika, the 23 day snowman trek, etc. He was very happy that a foreigner knew some things about his country and told me all about them.

After some time he stretched luxuriously and said “It’s so nice to be casually dressed all the time. It makes a nice change.” 

I looked curiously at him. He was dressed fairly normally in jeans and T shirt. 

“Why? Don’t you dress like this at home?”

“Well, we can dress any way we like inside our house, but when we are in a public place we are supposed to wear only our national dress.”

“National dress?” I asked

“Oh yes. We have a national dress called the ‘Bakhu’, and we are very proud to wear it. We wear it all the time, and in fact it is compulsory to wear the ‘Bakhu’ in office.”

“Compulsory?”

“Oh yes. In fact, we are fined if we don’t wear our national dress in the office. Why, don’t you have a national dress?”

“Oh yes, of course. We have a rich variety of ethnic dresses. We have Dhoti, Kurta, Achkan, Salwar kameez, turbans…we have some pan national dresses, and every state has its individual dress. We also say that we are very proud of our dress and heritage.”

“But you don’t wear them much in public do you?”

I thought for a minute.

“No…we prefer to forget them, and prefer to wear the dress of our invaders – Shirt, pant, tie, coat, etc. In fact, we are ashamed of wearing our national dress in public. In your country and in your office you are punished for NOT wearing your national dress; and in our country and our offices, we are punished if we DO wear our national dress.

 In fact, if I come to work wearing a dhoti, kurta and chappals, I will be coldly asked whether I am participating in a fancy dress, and will be ordered to go home and come back properly dressed in shirt, pant and shoes.”

He thought about it for a moment and said “Strange ways you have in your country.”

I couldn't disagree.

Fly past

One thing they don’t mention in the tourism brochures of Western Australia is the  population problem.

The country is overpopulated.

Not with humans, but with flies!

As soon as day breaks, they are all over the place, in their thousands...millions...billions! In your eyes, mouth, face, ears...going bzzz bzzzz bzzzz.

They are not nasty ones like our desi flies, which seem to have a personal vendetta against humans – these ones seem to be extremely friendly – moronically friendly – and all of them have come over to hug you and pat you on the back and shake you by the hand and  say ‘G’day mate....g’day mate...g’day mate...’ all day long and not realise that you are not as thrilled to be meeting them as they are to be meeting you.

In India you get flies when there is garbage around, or shit, or something rotten or something equally unpleasant. Not so in WA – they are everywhere – like oxygen. Stop your car anywhere and step out in complete wilderness – virgin landscape...extremely beautiful...there won’t be a soul around for 100’s of kilometres – and whooom! You are surrounded by a cloud of flies who’s dearest wish is to get as close to you as they can.

You wave and jump and dance and curse and then surrender and jump back into your car – only to find that a dozen or more flies have decided that they love you dearly and want to hitch a ride with you. Then again you curse and wave and the car wiggles dangerously in the road, causing your wife and any other driver who may happen to be in the vicinity to have a minor heart attack. Cursing and bad language happens, and then you roll down your window and shoo as many flies as you can out of the car.

I developed a theory about why there are so many flies here.

After God made the 4 continents, he got very bored with doing the same old same old.

‘Bugger this.’ He said ‘I am sick of making deer and cattle and monkeys and shit like that. I am an artist! I cannot allow myself to be bound by any one style. Now, I will make something totally weird.’

And so he thought and thought and made up all kinds of weird stuff for the fifth continent– kangaroos and duck billed platypus and koalas and stuff like that...

He made every bloody thing here so poisonous that absolutely anything can kill you with a horrible death – snakes, spiders, molluscs, shell fish, jelly fish– anything.  He made giant crazy landscapes – deserts, mountains, gorges, long winding rivers, mangrove swamps, the tallest trees in the world etc etc.  He totally freaked out.

But the problem was that so much ideating took so long, that he ran out of time. The seventh day was coming and he had to rest – but he still had a huge amount of life force to finish off.

‘Fuck this shit.’ He said ‘I’m bored.’  and fooooosssssshhhh – turned all the life force he had left into flies and went off for a rest.

That’s why the bloody place has no animals but only flies.

She-who-must-be-obeyed heard my story with a cold glare and said ‘what nonsense.’

‘Why? Is it any worse than the aboriginal story of a giant snake and a kangaroo jumping around in dreamtime when the world was soft and malleable and thus making the hills and valleys? Or for that matter, the story of a dude in a big white beard creating all of creation in 6 days and then taking a nap on the seventh day?’

‘I see a bright future for you as a mythologist re...’ she said ‘...very promising indeed.’

‘They can send me an invitation for mythologist of the year – address it to Mr Ketan Joshi and Fly.’ 

The biggest loser

The biggest loser.

Some people go around the world collecting souvenirs, while some people go around the world leaving them.

These people are cheerful, sharing, not obsessed with detail, not bothered about material possessions, believe in ‘vasudeva kautumbam’ – or the world is one family.

Unfortunately, they are also known as forgetful, absent minded, idiot, would forget head if not screwed on .. and also as ‘KETAAAAAAAAAN!!’

I had reached Perth after a bit of flight delay and was staying with Jimmy and Monaz. Bharathi had landed before me and  had reached there already. When I reached there, I noticed that they were all  staring at me like one may stare at a circus performer – waiting for him to do his next trick.

‘Err...hi...’ I said, looking from side to side and uncomfortably noticing Bharathi’s grin.

‘Bharathi has told us a lot about you.’ They said.

 As far as scary sentences go, this must rank pretty high.

‘Oh....really?’ I said. ‘It’s all false, I assure you. A fake. A fabrication. A fiction. A tissue of lies and deception.’

‘Arre, you don’t even know what she said.’ Monaz’s mom said.

‘Aunty – she is my wife....so unlikely that she would have said anything complimentary.’

‘True that.’ All the males in the room nodded. Jimmy and his father in law getting nasty looks from their respective wives.

‘She said you lost your passport!’

‘THAT’S NOT TRUE! THAT’S A FALSE ALLEGATION! THAT’S SLANDER! CALUMNY! CHARACTER ASSASINATION!’

‘Mummy..’ Monaz interrupted. ‘She said that he WASHED his passport’

‘Er....’ I went silent.

‘You really did??’ they all stared at me round eyed. I wiggled with embarrassment.

‘Well...technically I didn’t wash my passport. She did.’ I pointed at Bharathi. They all turned to look at her.

‘The fool gave me his pant to wash with his passport in one pocket and his goggles in the other...’

‘You should have checked the pockets! What kind of dhobi are you?’ I protested

‘...and imagine my state when I pulled his pant out of the dryer and noticed something in its pocket and pulled out a passport which had been in the washing machine for a full wash and spin and in the dryer for 1 hour. I nearly had a heart attack.’ She continued, completely ignoring my interruption.

 ‘And what did he say when you showed him his washed passport?’

‘HE WAS HARDLY BOTHERED! HE JUST SHOOK HIS HEAD AND SAID ‘WELL IT’S TOO LATE TO WORRY NOW’ AND WENT TO SLEEP!!!  I WAS DYING THERE, AND HE MERRILY GOES TO SLEEP!!!’

They were all looking at me in shock.

‘And what happened after that?’

‘Well, it was a bit of a circus, but we got him back safe and sound.’

‘Show the passport, show the passport! ‘they begged and I reluctantly showed them the bruised and battered passport, and they all oohed and aahed over it. Clearly, I was a paisa vasool entertainment.

‘So what’s the tally now?’ Bharathi asked.

‘Excuse me?’

‘What all have you lost on this trip?’

‘Ha!’ I was stung. ‘What have I lost? That’s rich. That’s fine. That’s shameless. Who was the one who lost my gamcha in South Africa, eh? Who was that forgetful anti-kleptomaniac? Who? It was you! You! You! You!’ I said, pointing my finger dramatically at her.

‘Anti – kleptomaniac?’ uncle asked, after a pause.

‘Well....a kleptomaniac is a person who goes around taking things...so an anti-kleptomaniac is someone who leaves things behind.’

‘Ah. OK. Nice one.’

‘Thank you.’ I turned my attention back to Bharathi ‘for your kind information madam – I have not lost a single thing on this trip. Not a sock, not a hankerchief, not a safety pin. You, on the other hand, have lost an irreplaceable gamcha. So you are the scatterbrain here, not me! YOU YOU YOU!  BUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA’  I roared with laughter, and everyone tapped a finger on their foreheads and looked at Bharathi with sympathy.

Bharathi just shrugged with a ‘You can’t win them all’ expression and said, ‘OK, never mind. Let’s start listing down the things to do before we start our road trip. Firstly, you have to get  a mobile connection...’

‘I GOT IT. I GOT IT. I GOT BEFORE YOU TOLD ME TO! I WIN! HAHAHAHA’ I cried in joy, and then looking at the stunned faces in the room, realised that my joy was disproportionate to the issue. ‘Er...I mean.. I already picked up a sim card at the airport.’

‘OK...next...Aussie currency. We have already done that, by taking a travel card. (that story is here) Give me the card then.’ She said.

‘OK.’ I said confidently. I had kept all documentation safely in separate plastic folders in my computer bag. My passport, visa, yellow fever vaccination certificate, travel itineraries, etc.

I pulled out my bag and took out my folder casually and looked inside. Then looked again, with a little more concentration. Then looked again. And again. This time with full concentration. Then picked up my bag and rummaged through it again. And again. And again. And again.

Then I looked up.

‘YOU DIDNT!!!’ Bharathi looked at me with horror.

‘Well...er...’

‘YOU DIDNT!!!’

‘What happened dickra?’

‘THIS IDIOT HAS LOST THE TRAVEL CARD!’

‘Well, it’s not lost exactly...’ I said. ‘...I just don’t know where it is....’

‘Where can it be then?’ Uncle said, trying to give  constructive advice. I thought a bit.

‘Well...it could be in the hotel in Johannesburg...or at Johannesburg airport ....or in the plane from Johannesburg to Doha...or in Doha airport ....or in the hotel in Doha...or in the plane from Doha to Perth....or in Perth airport...’

I looked around to see everyone’s mouth open in ‘O’s of shock.

‘So...it could be anywhere on three continents.’ She-who-must-be-obeyed said, after a pause.

‘Er...yes.’

‘GRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrr’ She ground her teeth like a big truck changing gears and made a deep throaty sound like a tigress about to pounce on her prey. Just a can of yellow paint and some whiskers were required to complete the illusion.

Neville came running into the room, shouting ‘I AM BACK.....WHAT DID I MISS?’

‘Ooooh...what fun....he has lost all their money!’

‘It could be anywhere in 3 continents!’

‘She is going to kick him so hard, he is going to be incontinent...hehehe...’

 The Karani’s and the Kasad’s settled comfortably on the sofa and pulled out some popcorn! This is going to be fun! They starting placing bets

’10 bucks on a scream of 3.2 on the richter scale!’

’1 gets 50 that she will give a roundhouse kick to the face!’

‘best odds on her biting several pieces out of his leg!’

 But then suddenly Jimmy thought about how are they going to get back without any money? Shit. ...they will stay in Perth forever!

‘I will call the airport.’ He said brightly ‘and ask if they have found anything.’

He googled the number and called, and immediately got a recorded message saying that the office is closed now but if he was of a hopeful and trusting disposition, he should leave his contact details and issue and they would get back to him. Maybe they sell this database of numbers of trusting and hopeful people to telemarketers.

We all were watching She-who-must-be-obeyed  like the villagers of Pompeii must have watched the mountain glow and bulge just before the explosion – a weird fascination and urge to watch inspite of knowing that a cataclysm was on the way.

‘So, don’t you think that you should call ICICI and cancel the card?’ she asked with a dangerous calm.

 ‘Er...OK...I will call...good idea...’ I replied. ‘Wasn’t it a good thing that I got that SIM card with unlimited calling to India, hey?’ I said, trying to mention something positive to lighten the mood, but quailed at the expression on her face.

Now, ICICI has the worst customer service possible for travel cards. They don’t have an online portal to report lost cards, they don’t even have an online portal for travel cards at all. It is hidden somewhere on their sight, where only a hacking wizard can find it. They don’t have an international hot line. They don’t have anything.

Finally, I called the normal ICICI phone banking number, and got a message saying that they have only limited customer service before  6 AM. I was dumbfounded. I had no idea that they didn’t have 24/7 phonebanking.

But they had a special portal to report lost card – press zero for lost card. I did that, then it asked me whether I wanted to report lost card for banking, credit card or prepaid card. Thats it. No specific option for international travel card.

I deliberated for sometime before pressing the ‘credit card and prepaid card option’ but I had deliberated too long. The system cut me off.

Cursing a bit, I dialled again. This time, the system first informed me proudly that they were at the very forefront of technology and had instituted a ‘voice recognition’ technology, then they told me that only limited options of phone banking were available because it was so fucking early in the morning, then they asked me if I preferred English, hindi or Marathi, then asked me to report lost card, and then asked me if I meant to report ATM card, debit card, credit card or prepaid card. After I chose credit or prepaid – it asked me ‘all your credit cards will be disabled permanently!! Are you sure? Are you really sure? Are you really really REAALLLLLLLLY sure?’ and as I thought about it, it decided that I was too bloody slow, and threw me out.

My blood pressure spiked to dangerous levels.

Fuming, I decided to call my relationship manager and ask him to do the needful. First, I tried to whatsapp him. no response. Then I tried VOIP Whatsapp calling. No response. Then I tried calling him on mobile. No response.

Seeing my rigid face and bulging veins, even Bharathi didn’t make any inflammatory comment.

‘Maybe he is not taking the call because he doesn’t recognise your aussie number.’ She said ‘try sending him a message telling him that it is you calling.’

I whatsapped him, smsed him, emailed him, but no response.

‘Fuck this.’ I said ‘Why am I wasting time with these guys? Sambo, My batchmate, is some hotshot in that branch – I will call him.’

‘It’s still early in India.’ Bharathi said ‘You will disturb him.’

‘That will be even more fun.’ I said, and called Sambo – but again, no response. I messaged him and waited, but still no response.

‘OOOOOO.....HE CANT GET THROUGH.....OOOOO....SOMEONE WILL WITHDRAW ALL OUR MONEY AND WE WILL BE LEFT PENNILESS.....OOOOOOO....HOW WILL I GET BACK TO INDIA......OOOOOO...MY CHILD...HOW WILL SHE SURVIVE WITHOUT MEEEEEEEEEEE’ Bharathi wailed.

Seeing that, jimmy started wailing too ‘OOOOOO.....HOW WILL THEY GET BACK TO INDIA.....OOOOO....THEY WILL STAY HERE.....OOOOOO....HOW WILL I EXPLAIN TO THE IMMIGRATION SERVICE.....OOOOOOO....’

‘Here...relax...’ I said ‘I will call the ICICI portal again.’

I called them again, and again went through all the nonsense...welcome to ICICI bank....voice recognition tech..blalbla...press 1 for English 2 for hindi...press 0 to report lost card...press 1 for ATM card ..2 for Debit card...3 for credit and prepaid...all you cards will be blocked and you will be a pauper and no dukaandaar will ever treat you properly again...are you sure..are you really sure....are you really REALLY sure?

YES GODDAMIT! I am sure. I pressed the button.

And the bloody call went to a human operator! I was shocked!

If the call was going to be routed to a human – why on earth have that  irritating waste of time menu?!!

Idiots!

‘Yes sir....Welcome to ICICI bank...I am soandso speaking...how can I assist you?’

I almost wept with joy, and the tension level in the room abated. ‘YES YES YES...please help me...BOO HOO HOO...I am calling from Australia and I seem to be have been on hold for most of my adult life. I have lost my travel card...’ and I told him the story.

‘OK sir, no problem...I will connect you to the team responsible.’ He said and again I was on hold! ‘thank you for calling ICICI bank! Please wait as all the operators are laughing at you for being such an idiot! Thank you for calling ICICI bank....’

After several minutes, finally the call was answered.

‘Yeah?’

‘Thank god you picked up! Listen, this is an emergency! I am calling from Australia!....’ and again I told him the story.

‘OK...so you want to block the card...please tell me the card number.’

What a damn stupid thing to ask. I have lost the card – which I have never used – how am I supposed to know the 16 digit card number?

‘I don’t know it, I am afraid.’

‘Oh you don’t know it? Really? What an idiot you are!. OK...tell me your passport number then.’

I told him, and the line went dead for several seconds, punctuated only by vague ticking and tapping sounds. The tension mounted.

Finally he said ‘I can’t find any card on this passport number. That’s strange. Tell me your birthdate please.’

‘Wont it be easier if I tell you my bank account number?’

‘No sir...we don’t have bank details here.’ So I told him my birth date. More tapping.

‘I don’t have any records sir’ he said finally. ‘Are you sure you took the card from ICICI?’

‘Yes of course I did.’ I snapped. ‘It’s an ICICI multi currency travel card.’

‘AH!’ he said, with the air of a person who’s problems are solved. ‘I SEE! This is just the travel card department...you want the MULTI currency travel card department....I will connect you.’ And tuk! He vanished.

‘thank you for calling ICICI bank! Now please fuck off!’ and the line got cut!

I was left staring at the phone.

I looked up and everyone in the room backed away from me. My eyes were bloodshot, my incisors were growing into fangs and I must have been looking like Dr Jekyll turning into Mr Hyde. I was gripping the phone so tightly, I was a good thing I didn’t crush it into pulp.

I tried to calm down - might as well have a shit, I thought. Life is always better after a shit.

While shitting, I had a bright idea. My relationship manager might not be taking the call for any reason, but my classmate Sambo would definitely have taken a call. Maybe his number has changed. And I knew where to find his correct number – it would be in the class whatsapp group! I checked and sure enough, the number was different from the one I had been calling.

I called the new number and a puzzled  voice answered ‘hello?’

Sighing  with relief, I told him the whole story, and asked him to get the card blocked.

‘Can’t do that Kejo’ he replied ‘Only the call centre can block your card. We have strict security procedures.’

‘WHAT! But I have been trying to get through to them for hours...centuries...aeons!’

But he would not be moved. He could try to  do something once the office opened after a couple of hours, else my only bet was the call center.

I had another good idea while sitting on the pot. I had got the number of my travel card in a mail when I had written to ICICI complaining about their procedures. I checked and found it! Now I knew my card number! Hallejulah !

Moodily, I tried again, and jumped through all their hoops again. Press 1, press 2, press boob, press your throat and try to kill yourself... this time I confidently entered my card number....and got through to a human operator!

So, it made no difference whasoever, if you enter or don’t enter your card number!

‘OOH! THANK GOD!!’ I screamed, probably scaring the poor fellow. ‘I have lost my multi currency travel card and I want to block it....connect me to the MULTI CURRENCY TRAVEL CARD department...not to the travel card department...otherwise I will combust spontaneously here and cause third degree burns to everyone around!’

Luckily I got through this time to the correct department and to a very sweet guy, who found my card and blocked it. May the heavens shower blessings upon him!

Finally! Oof.  What an ordeal it was. Talk about an inefficient system . Good thing I had unlimited calling to India, or I would have been in the soup. This call would have cost the big bucks – it had taken so long to get things done!

I cooled down my frazzled nerves with a cup of tea, and saw Uncle and Aunty staring admiringly at us.

‘How cool you both are!’ aunty said. ‘No shouting, screaming or panic.’

‘I would have been hanged from the nearest lamp post by now, if I had done something as stupid as this.’ Uncle agreed, and aunty gave him a nasty look.

‘What to do...’ Bharathi said, as she linked her arm in mine. ‘You get used to it, when he loses something or the other all the time.’

‘But what will you do for money now?’ Uncle asked.

‘Oh, that’s not a problem.’ Bharathi replied. ‘We will withdraw from ATM. I just wanted to make sure that no one uses that card to withdraw all our money.’

‘Now you be careful!’ uncle and aunty wagged their finger at me. ‘Don’t forget anything else.’

‘No no...’ I replied. ‘I will be very careful. Once bitten, twice shy and  all that.’

We made our way out and Neville dropped us to the car hire shop where we were to pick up our car for our three week driving holiday across Western Australia.

‘We are very late....we should have made an earlier start.’ She-who-must-be-obeyed grumbled. ‘What time is it?’

I looked at my wrist. It was empty.

I had forgotten my watch at Monaz’s place.

Bugger!

Flight risk

I don’t think anybody has missed as many flights, trains and buses as I have.  Ever.

I have missed trains because I was mistaken about the timing – on my very first backpacking trip, me and my friend Chinmay were supposed to go to Calcutta together on the Gitanjali express. Chinmay sent me a fax of the ticket (this – as you can guess – was a very long time ago) and the time of the journey was  a bit garbled. I thought that the time was 6.30 so I decided to reach the station a full half an hour earlier – only to see the Gitanjali express steam out at 6.00 AM – which turned out to be the actual timing. I tried to chase it in a local – but the express took precedence, and I had to give the chase at the end of the local line and come back and take a flight. You would think that this one experience was enough to teach me a lesson – but I have missed trains as late as 2014 by being mistaken about the timing. Even my mom has blogged about it! You can read that blog here. 

I have missed buses because – well, because I was late, or because I couldn’t find the bus stop – don’t laugh! Bus stops aren’t marked clearly – it could happen to anyone. And once I missed it because me and Dillu were having a drink at Lamba’s restaurant and bar at Chembur. It is right opposite the yogi hotel bus stand, and I am sure better people than me and Dillu have missed the bus by getting carried away by its prawns koliwada and cold beer.

But it is in flights that the true creativity of missing flights comes through.

In olden days (gotta stop  saying that – makes me feel like a neathandral) you could turn up just moments before the flight time and still get seated. Once I woke up at 6.00 Am for a 6.30 AM flight.

‘Oh, you have missed your flight.’ Dad said

‘Not on your life!’ I said and dragged him into the car, and drove like Ayrton Senna (gotta think of names of modern racing car drivers) to the airport – Shit shave shampoo and drive all happened in 25 minutes and we were at the airport at 6.25! Dad was white faced, shaking and almost catatonic as I left him and sprinted to the Jet airways counter. There was no irritating CISF at the time, so I could reach the counter in seconds and slammed my ticket on the counter and demanded a boarding pass.

‘Sir...the flight has gone!’ the check in girl said.

‘NO NO...’ I said ‘I can still hear them announcing the last and final departure. Give me the boarding pass.’

Unbelievingly she said ‘Do you have any check in luggage?’

‘NO! DAMMIT! GIVE ME THE PASS!’

She gave me a pass and I sprinted through the security and made to the boarding gate with moments to spare.

Obviously, this was before 9/11 when the world was more innocent. Try this stunt now and you will be in the clink with a security squad guy beating  your ass.

But we are talking about missing flights – now anyone can miss flights if you are late, or the flight is preponed or traffic is fucked up (all of which have happened to me) – but I have missed a flight sitting right there in the departure lounge in front of the gate!

I once missed it, because I fell asleep! I was dozing right in front of the counter and missed their boarding announcement and numerous appeals to the mysterious Mr Joshi to turn up. After I woke up, I had to sheepishly go and ask for a seat on another flight.  Luckily it was Indian Airlines so they obliged  - today's private airlines would have told me to go buy a new ticket.

That is also understandable – if you are asleep, you are asleep! But I had an even stranger experience once.

I was waiting for a Delhi  flight – it was an Indian Airlines flight IC655 or something, departing at 9.00 AM. I had reached well in time, and was sitting in the departure lounge, watching the people board. Now, I don’t see the point of boarding the flight early and just sitting in that cramped plane waiting for the other idiots to board. In my book, boarding early is done only if you are escorting neurotic elderly relatives or have a lot of cabin baggage and you need to be first in the cabin so as to get the space in the overhead locker.  I generally make it a point of sneering at the fools who stand in line to board the plane, and being the last guy to board the flight, so that as soon as I sit down they do the safety drill and take off.  This is a tried and tested procedure, and I have done it hundreds of times.

However, in this particular case – there was a twist.

I strolled up to the check in clerk and royally handed him my boarding pass. He tried to scan it a couple times, but the system couldn’t take it. He peered at my boarding pass and said to me

‘Sir – you are not on this flight!’

‘Eh? What do you mean?’

‘You are on flight IC 655 to Delhi – this is IC 654 to Delhi – via Ranchi! Your flight was at 9.00 AM – this flight is at 9.05 AM.’

‘WHAT!’ I was shocked ‘ Where is my flight then?’

‘At the next counter sir..’ he pointed to the neighbouring boarding gate. ‘But they have closed the boarding. The counter is closed.’

‘WHAT!!!!’ I screamed and ran to that counter, but it was closed. Puffing and gasping, I came back to this fellow and said ‘Put me on your flight man- you are also IC and you are also going to Delhi.’

‘I don’t know...’ he said doubt fully ‘the flight is full. Only one passenger is yet to board – if he turns out to be a no show, then I can give you his seat.’ 

I waited hopefully, but then the bloody fellow turned up, puffing and gasping  and I had to go down to their office and get a seat on a later flight.

However – all this was on domestic flights – which is after all a controllable environment. The worst thing that can  happen is an embarrassing call to the client or to the boss.

I have had some interesting goof ups on international flights too!

One was on the Mumbai Dubai flight. We had had a good year and the company was sending us on a junket to Dubai.

I reached the airport well in time and greeted my colleague Shekhar at the airport. We cleared immigration well in time, but after I cleared security, I just couldn’t find my boarding pass! I searched high and low, but the bloody thing had vanished!

Shekhar almost had a heart attack!

‘Sir sir sir....what will we do sir...the cops will arrest us and give us the third degree...OOOOOO.....my first foreign trip.....MERA KYA HOGAAAAA......MY POOR PARENTS....WHERE  WILL THEY SEARCH FOR MEEEEEE....’ he broke down and started sobbing bitterly.

‘Hush.' I said ‘Why so much tension? Whats the worst that can happen? They will not allow me to board the flight. That’s OK...I am not desperate to see Dubai. If they cut up rough, I will simply go home.’

He stared at me unbelievingly as I calmly went and spoke to the dragon lady who was running the Emirates operations and told her that I had lost my boarding pass.

 She almost blew a gasket.

‘HOW COULD YOU LOSE A BOARDING PASS?!!’ she screamed and Shekhar blanched and nearly shat his pants. ‘HOW COULD YOU?!!!!’

I was completely calm and said ‘OK...now that you have got that out of your system, let’s do something productive. I have lost the pass, and I am sorry about it – but shouting isn’t going to bring it back. Let’s get a fresh pass done.’

After fulminating for some more time, we got to do the whole thing again- new boarding pass – new immigration stamp – an interesting discussion with the airport police – new security stamp – the works.

I had taken my jacket off for security, and as I put it on again – I felt a rustling in my sleeve. I put in my hand to investigate, and came out with my old boarding pass! The bloody thing had been in my sleeve all along!

‘See this!’ I said to Shekhar  and showed him two boarding passes – both with immigration and security stamps.  His eyes almost fell out of his head. ‘Put it away sir....before they arrest both of us!’

But the reason why I was thinking about all this was an interesting experience I had today.

I was in Johannesburg, South Africa – waiting to board a flight to Perth, Australia on Qatar airways. Qatar airways has a hub and spoke system – so the flight was Johannesburg to Doha; and then change to a Doha – Perth flight. 

‘It’s a tight connection in Doha’ She-who-must-be-obeyed warned me ‘Only a couple of hours. So please don’t fall asleep or dawdle in Doha.’

‘Not to worry, ma’m’ I replied, giving her a snappy salute. ‘I shall be alert and sober.’

I reached the airport at 10 AM for a 3 PM flight and spent the time looking around the airport and shopping for curios.

However, it turned out that the flight was delayed  and delayed and delayed -  first they said that it would leave at 4.30, then 5.00 then 5.30. At first, I panicked – as it would leave very little time to catch the Doha Perth flight – but when the flight became very late and then very very late -  I relaxed  - I would definitely  miss the connection – so why worry? The airline would do something.

The Qatar airways guys came and told us to eat at the coffee shop on them – and thus I was convinced that this was going to be a long long delay.

We were supposed to board from gate A3, so I was sitting in the coffee shop right in front of the gate, where I could see the planes. There was no sign of a Qatar airways plane – a South Africa airways plane was sitting at Gate A3.

 I surfed the net as long as I could - had taken a South Africa SIM – but as the flight was so delayed, all my balance got over in accessing the internet. When I checked the balance it showed – Airtime – zero; Data – zero.  

At 5.00 PM, I got bored of sitting in the coffee shop and decided that this was a good time to take a shit – before I got into a crowded airplane – and made my way to the loo.

I had a satisfactory dump and was feeling the satisfaction of a job well done – and was  just washing my hands, when my phone rang.

‘Strange’ was my first thought ‘who has my South Africa number?’

‘Shit!!!’ was my second thought ‘Only the airline has my number. Hope there is no security issue with the check in baggage’

‘Hello?’ luckily incoming calls were free – thus I could take the call on a zero balance

‘Can I speak to Mr JO SHEEE?’

‘Er...speaking.’

‘I am calling from Qatar airways Mr JO SHEEE’ he said ‘Where are you now?’

‘Where am I now.....I am here...in front of gate No 3...’

‘Please come to the boarding gate sir...we are about to close the boarding.’

‘CLOSE THE BOARDING!!! WHEN DID YOU EVEN START THE BOARDING?!! I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR SO MANY HOURS!!’

‘Yes sir...everyone has boarded...please come immediately’

I sprinted to the boarding gate, thanking the lord that I had a South Africa SIM which they could call on.  Unlikely they would have called an India number – and I may not have taken a call from an unknown number on international roaming

I made my way to the plane and saw that it was a bit of a concealed entrance – the entrance was from gate A3, but then the path led to gate A5, where the plane was standing. No wonder I had not seen the plane.

‘All’s well that ends well’, I thought as I sat down. My bowels are empty and I was the last one to board the plane, as I normally like to do.

The new superhero in town

The new superhero in town!

The wife and the brat arrived after a couple of day to add to the natural wonders of South Africa and the veldt resounded to the sounds of the new wildlife.

'SANJU! eat this!'

'NO!I hate you! I hate food! I hate eating!  I hate drinking! I dont want to become fat like you!'

'SANJU! take a bath!'

'NO!I hate taking baths! Is there a tub bath? Is it the most inconvenient time I can think of for taking a bath? Have you run out of clean clothes for me to wear, so that I can insist on taking a bath and changing clothes? If not, then I dont want to take a bath.'

'SANJU! lets go to see this beautiful place!'

'NO! I HATE seeing beautiful places! I hate going out! I REFUSE TO LEAVE THIS HOTEL! I WANT TO STAY HERE ALL DAY LONG!'

'SANJU! get your nose out of that tab and see this beautiful penguin - view - ostrich - '

'NO. I HATE SEEING THE REAL WORLD! I have already seen this beforeon the TV / on the internet / on my tab / on those silly TV shows you both keep seeing all the time. '

'SANJU! FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! PUT THAT TAB DOWN!'

'MOOOOOOOOOM! TECHNOLOGY IS MY LIFE! I love only technology things!'

She-who-must-be-obeyed wasnt being obeyed, and maternal instincts prevented her from tearing her first born into tiny fragments and dancing on them like a little Nataraj, so she turned on me.

'THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!' she screamed at me, turning big and green. The INCREDIBLE HULK was on the loose. 'PUNY HUMAN!'

I shied like a startled fawn and jumped 10 feet away in fright!

'What! why? when? what did I do?'

'You set a bad example to her by being constantly on the phone or on the PC or on the tab or some other pestilential piece of technology. Be like a good madrasi husband and father - your only possession should be a lungi and a shirt. And that too you should wear alternatatingly. Either lungi or shirt. thats it.'

'But...but...but...'

'get that little tyke to eat properly or HULK SMASH!'

I tried to play the stern parent and turned on the little one.

'What nonsense behaviour is this?' I thundered, wagging my finger at her. 'Is this the way to behave? Eat some food at once, I say!'

There was a sudden flash of green as if some cosmic rays had suddenly hit us, and a crack of supersonic sound and the smell of ozone in the air. We covered our eyes at the flash, and suddenly had to cover our ears as there was a sonic attack in the air.

'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!'

We looked at the scene dumbfounded - there was a new super hero in town! The daughter of Hulk was born anew.

'I HATE YOU ALL. LEAVE ME ALONE. LEAVE ME ALONE.'

She was big and green and sat in a corner.

she was .... THE INCREDIBLE SULK!