The visa saga continues.
Mr. Tuna could not deliver anything except the possibility of an illegally obtained visa for Rs.250,000. A bit steep.
I finally went to the lawyer whose name I had obtained from some British friends. I sent him reams of documents and he went to immigration in the company of some senior police officer friend of his. They talked to someone who said the case was severe and would get a sympathetic hearing. All this blew up while was in Thalathuoya with Veenitha. The lawyer told me to get an updated Ayurvedic certificate from Kandy. So on Thursday, Nissanka, my tuktuk man, went running all over the place to find someone who would do it. He finally found someone and we went. Yet another experience.
We went to the Kandy Auyrvedic Pharmacy which has a good reputation. I pay Rs.150 and we are sent upstairs to the doctor. The space is very small but fairly clean. We go into a cubicle where a very old man is sitting behind a desk with a blood pressure gauge on it. He has yellowy white hair. He is dressed in the traditional shirt and lungi which are the same colour as his hair. He doesn't speak a word of English. So Nissanka is doing all the talking. Finally, I get a certificate that is just a piece of paper with some letterhead on it torn from a pad book. I get both Jayanthi and Sonali to translate it for me. It says something about 1 year's leave. Not knowing exactly what it says, I assume it is OK. It costs Rs.1200.
So yesterday, I took the 0610 train to Colombo. That meant I had to get up at 0415. I met the lawyer at the immigration office which is the usual zoo. We go to see the guy in room 2 who has been recommended by the lawyer's immigration contact as being someone who will be sympathetic. He is anything but. He says I have been here long enough and I should go home. He then peremptorily dismisses me saying I should see the more senior officer in the next room. This is Mr. Bribe with whom I have had previous dealings. I go out and meet the lawyer. We see that the most senior guy, the Controller is in his office, so we barge in, which is how you do it.
He is not interested in hearing the whole story. He just wants to see the papers which I produce. He says the doctor's thing is just a note in support of leave from work and will not do. He tells me to go and get a proper certificate and he will grant the visa for 1 year. We tell him I have overstayed. This does not bother him at all. He says I have to pay a fine which turns out to be only Rs.6500. So far good news.
Next step is to get a proper medical certificate. The lawyer is at a loss saying he does not believe in Ayurveda and therefore does not know anyone. After a bunch of phone calls, still no luck. Finally, I say, why don't we try the woman who gave the last certificate. The lawyer pounces on this like it is the best idea since sliced bread, telling me what a sharp cookie I am. Apart from his lack of ability to think on his feet, he seems to be quite alright, however. God knows how he litigates when he is not that quick. But I don't need him for that.
Off we go to the doctor's "office". It turns out to a hole in the wall off a busy street in Borella, a large slum/working class area of Colombo. The doctor is not there, but her daughter is. We try to persuade the daughter to give the certificate, but she is afraid of the mother and won't do it. The mother is not due back until 1400, so in the meantime, we drive all over the place trying someone else to do it without any luck. Meanwhile, I have called my friend Devaraj who is also trying to unearth an Ayurved who will do it. Amazingly, all these people have suddenly grown ethics, and won't do it. We go to some interesting places: a clinic just for women which seems to be a teaching facility as a bunch of nurses squeeze into the cubicle with us without even asking permission, an Ayurveda spa run by Siddalepa who makes the best herbal balm known to man, and the hole in the wall. Interestingly all the Auyerveds are women.
In the end, we have no choice but to go back to the hole in the wall where the mother has agreed to issue the certificate. The best joke is that she is out of the "office" because she is appearing in court for having issued a false certificate in an insurance case. This does not seem to deter her, however.
Finally, after being told she would be back at 1330, she arrives at 1430, which is right on time per Sri Lanka time. She is a real battleaxe. No wonder her daughter is afraid of her. Hard as nails. As she sits down behind her desk, I am reminded of a spider spinning her web.
The lawyer starts to work on her. She remembers when the last certificate was issued. Apparently, Yvonne came in with her father and told her she was an immigration officer. More trouble for Yvonne. I have no idea what Yvonne paid for the last certificate and the lawyer tells Dr. Battleaxe that it cost Rs.1500. She is too shrewd for that and says that she was paid Rs.7500. No matter. It is still cheap. So after more machinations like there is no original letter head available and the stationer that has them has gone out for lunch, we locate a photocopied letter head which will do, and we proceed. As the lawyer is dictating the letter, she decides that is price is now Rs.10,000. That is not really that much, but I am tired for being ripped off, so I put my foot down. Now, the tuktuk man who is with us and has really gotten into the spirit of the thing gets involved. He talks her back to Rs.7500.
As an aside, the tuktuk guy, Nishantha, is Jez's man in Colombo and is great. He is the one who retrieved my passport and yesterday went to the Canadian High Commission and got my citizenship certificate. By the end of yesterday's adventure, he had distinguished himself not only by negotiating Dr. Battleaxe back to the original price but also by obtaining a blank letter headed paper with her original seal on it without her looking. Sneaky but effective.
So after about 30 minutes of dictation, Dr. Battleaxe painstakingly writes out the certificate in a very wobbly hand. She is not more an auyrved than I am. The letter is actually prepared by a lawyer and a tuktuk driver. Here they are:
 | |
| I got this shot while they were all occupied. Left is lawyer, middle Dr. Battleaxe, right Nishantha, the tuktuk man. |
Meanwhile, the lawyer's police friend is a senior office who is on the President's personal detail. He is incensed at Yvonne's behaviour. He wants to see her prosecuted as a terrorist. That will mean big trouble for her. At this point, I don't care. She has put me in such a precarious position, I don't even care if she ends up in jail. To be continued.
It is Friday afternoon and all the train tickets are sold out, so I have to take the AC bus back to Kandy. Nishantha drops me off at the bus depot in the Petta, which is fairly well organized considering. I find the Kandy bus right off and even manage to get on the first one that comes despite the long queue. It is very crowded though with all the jump seats that block the entire aisle occupied with the conductor and three passengers standing in the entry well. Almost 4 hours later, we make it to Kandy. Traffic is very heavy on a Friday afternoon and there is also road work in progress that makes it even more difficult. By the time I get home, I am exhausted and dehydrated. I drink a bunch of water, take a shower and fall into bed with a back ache. 10 hours of sleep have cured the exhaustion, but not the back ache.
Monday will be fun as well as I have to catch the 0400 bus needing to be at immigration by 0830. So I have to get up at 0230. The only good news is that I have a train ticket for the return journey.
On the home front:
 |
| A lovely almost transparent grasshopper like bug on the pantry window |
 |
| Lovely anthurium that Veenitha has brought from her garden |
No comments:
Post a Comment