Back in Bangalore

I arrived in Bangalore a week ago, and today I had my annual "Favorite Experience" - registering myself at the Foreigner Regional Registration Office.

Now, normally I cringe anytime I have to deal with ANY government agency. The DMV, for example, frustrates me enough that I delay renewing my license until the last minute - like everybody else.

In reality, though, not all government offices are inefficient and painful. Like lawyers, it's the 95% of them that give the rest a bad name. OK, maybe that is an exaggeration. My mom has dealt with the Social Security Administration, and the office near us is decent. The BMV I go to north of us is fine. But, with many things in India, dread surrounds my annual encounter with the FRRO.

The FRRO itself has relocated, which is good. The last location was on a major one-way street in the heart of the city (Infantry Road). The building looked like it had stepped out of "Gunga Din". The desks behind the counter were piled high (taller than me) with multiple stacks of files which looked like they had been there since the British left in 1947. The entire office staff looked like someone had gone down to central casting and requested "a bunch of generic Government employees". Everyone, the employees and the customers, looked miserable.

Now, though, the place is a little off the beaten path. The seats are more comfortable (think doctor's office rather than stack-able vinyl). The whole area is lighter, and feels less - depressing. The office staff is the same as before, but it seems that since the customers are not so tense, they have lightened up a bit also. I counted not one, not two, but three smiles during my two visits.

Yes, two visits.

See, you have to go with this stack of paperwork, which is looked at by a bunch of people, before you are sent upstairs - so it can be looked at by more people. Eventually you get to a pair of women who tell you what to pay. But wait, even paying is complicated. It must be a Demand Draft - like a cashier's check. So you need to text the amount to the company guiding you through this process, they get a DD, and they scoot over to you, so you can take the bill and your passport to the cashier and leave...

For about 3 hours, when you must return to pick it up, verify everything is right, and FINALLY be free until the next year.

Or, in my case, be free until my family arrives in the beginning of March.

Which brings me to my problem with Bangalore now. See, I was enjoying being home, playing with the kids, seeing the family, basically being normal - or at least as normal as I get. Work is busy, but not engaging enough yet to fully distract me from the fact that I am alone in a country of a billion and a third people.

Mostly, I miss my wife. We reconnected this time in a way we had not for quite a while, and it was awesome, and it was horrible to leave.

My sole comfort is that they will be here in a few weeks, and then I will have someone to show around, to experience India all over again through fresh eyes, to see the craziness and the absurdity, to taste and smell the exotic delights all around us, in this very foreign land.

And, of course, the possibility that I might be somewhat normal again.