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"I have just been deported from a third world country"…I
repeated to myself over and over as I sat waiting for Aeroflot
Flight 141 from Mumbai to Moscow to depart. I had traveled
20 hours only to be sent back on the same plane upon which
I'd arrived.
I should have suspected something would go horribly wrong
when I commented to my sister that the flight from New York
to Mumbai had been the most pleasant experience flying to
India that I had ever had. Twenty minutes before that flight
was due to land, I received shocking news. My sister turned
to me in horror as she was filling out her disembarkation
card and said, "My visa is expired." It took me
a few moments to comprehend the impact of her statement and
even then, I didn't see it as a major crisis. Perhaps because
it was India, a country whose bribable, corrupt officials
I have a hard time taking seriously or perhaps it was the
hours of being in transit, but I quickly hatched a plan that
seemed foolproof. I would hand the official my passport first,
and if he noticed the expiration date, we would slip him some
US dollars. My sister, more worried about getting caught and
prosecuted, thought honesty was the best policy.
At the Immigration desk, as typical for any government operation
in India, stood three middle-aged men shuffling papers and
avoiding eye contact with those who stood before the counter.
We approached with trepidation, trying to look as meek and
helpless as possible. Appealing to the hero in any of these
men proved futile. Confused by our striking resemblance to
one another, they looked from my sister to me and repeatedly
asked who was Rupa. Ignoring our tears and pleas for help,
one picked up a phone and asked, "Will you both be returning
or just one of you?" Desperate, realizing that our mission
of shopping for her wedding trousseau had been thwarted by
something as inconsequential as an Indian visa, my sister
quietly whispered to me, "Let's switch passports".
I, panicked at the thought of spending any time alone in India
and intrigued by the idea of having an adventurous tale to
tell upon my return, agreed.
When Vinod, the airline official, came to escort me to the
plane, he didn't even check my face with my sister's passport.
I began to cry and mutter incoherently about my sister's stupidity
as my fellow passengers stared at me with curiosity. Who was
this seemingly innocent young woman who was being referred
to simply as "deported lady"? In these times of
increased security and growing fears during flight travel,
I'm sure the passengers were feeling very uneasy.
Then, just as the doors closed, and I thought to myself that
I was only 20 hours from my bed where I could awake and pretend
this journey from hell had been a nightmare, the pilot stepped
out of the cockpit and ordered the doors re-opened. Vinod
came rushing onto the plane and demanded my name. I stuck
to my story and said it was Rupa. He looked baffled as he
said, "There's a girl at the immigration desk claiming
that she is Rupa." This was the moment that politics
class finally came in handy. I thought to myself "classic
prisoner's dilemma". Did he think he was dealing with
an amateur? I wasn't going to be caught so easily; I stuck
to my story. Frustrated, he finally looked at the passport
and slowly realized he had been duped. He shouted, "This
is your sister. Let's go!"
Back at the immigration desk, a greasy-haired man, compared
my face to my sister's photograph and laughed at Vinod. "Why
did you take this girl off the plane? She is obviously Rupa.
Take a look at the photo. This girl's sister is gone, she
has cleared customs." A wave of panic spread over me.
I was going to prison! Just then, my sister appeared with
a very cross-looking official. She began to loudly say my
name, and as I neared, instructed me to fess up because she
had realized the gravity of what we had done.
The immigration officials were heated. How had two girls
succeeded at deceiving them? My sister left, and I found myself
surrounded by 10 dark, angry men with tobacco-stained teeth
shouting over each other in an effort to intimidate me. One
said menacingly, "Be thankful we aren't going to throw
you in prison. An Indian prison isn't a place for a girl like
you." I had lost all sanity at this point and instead
of cooperating was shouting back "Don't try to threaten
me!" Most shared similar sentiments-that I would not
have attempted such trickery in the United States and that
I was working under the assumption that the Indians were incompetent.
After choking on my sobs and begging for forgiveness, I was
escorted out of the airport and into the "safety"
of the streets of Mumbai.
Pilot Advice - Make sure you get a valid visa before
you enter any country, where possible. Don't make the same
mistake as Amisha, and don't take any risks!
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Travel Writers: Sister Switch: A Passport to India
by Amisha Patel
Globe Trekker :
