“Lotus Love” Chapter 11- Majnukatilla: The Paper Chase Begins

Chapter 11- Majnukatilla: The Paper Chase Begins

The taxi pulled off the main road and into a side alley.  A rusted iron gate marked the entrance to the Tibetan settlement called Majnukatilla.  Jennifer paid the driver as Tsering unloaded their baggage.  She reminded Tsering the name of the guesthouse that Mrs. Tashi recommended.

“It’s called ‘Tashi Delegs Guesthouse.’  Should we ask someone where it is?” she asked.  Tsering started down the alley with the bags and asked a passerby for directions to the guesthouse who indicated that it was down the main alley on the side of the river.  The young couple turned down the main alley which was so narrow that it accommodated pedestrian traffic only.  The alley was lined with shops, retaurants, hotels, travel agencies, merchants and vendors, almost all of whom were Tibetans.  A petite Tibetan lady passed by carrying a bucket and shouting, “Shabalep! Shabalep!” as she hawked her homemade Tibetan meat pies to the public.  All of the businesses had bilingual signage- in both Tibetan and English.  Tsering spotted the guesthouse they were looking for and told Jennifer to wait out on the street while he would inquire about room availability and price.  A few minutes later he came out and said that the price was steep at 100 rupees per night and that they had better go look around to find something cheaper.  They made their way down the length of the settlement, stopping at every guesthouse and inquiring about their prices.  As it turned out all rooms were booked at the other guesthouses so they made their way back to the Tashi Delegs house and booked the last room they had.  When the desk clerk saw Jennifer come in with Tsering she looked surprised and told Tsering that she had originally misquoted the price of the room.  She now tried to demand 150 rupees from them, saying that it was the last room available and that is why the price had gone up since they were last there.  Tsering knew that the clerk was trying to take advantage of the fact that Jennifer was “Inji”– a westerner.  He refused to pay the extra 50 rupees and demanded to speak with the owner of the guesthouse.  The clerk grew nervous and decided it was best to allow them to stay for the original price of 100 rupees.  They were taken to their room and given a key.

Jennifer told Tsering that they should go find a travel agent who might give them some advice on acquiring Tsering’s passport and visa.  Once again, Jennifer allowed Tsering to take the initiative as he asked around on the street for input.  As they walked along the alley Jennifer noticed that both the young and the old alike seemed to make hanging out on the sidewalk a full-time hobby.  Card and dice games were in full effect and lively conversations were shared while Tibetan folk/pop music played in front of the music stores.  Some just sat peacefully, spinning their prayer wheels, counting mantras on their malas and watching the passerbys.

They came to a store front that housed a travel agency and they entered.  The small store front had just enough room for two desks, one occupied by an Indian man and the other by a young Tibetan man.  They were both busy talking on the phone while assisting customers.  Jennifer and Tsering waited patiently until they were asked to sit by the young Tibetan after the previous clients had left.

“Tashi Delegs.  Mar De.  Please take a seat,” he said to them, indicating the two light blue empty plastic stools standing in front of his desk.  Jennifer took a seat but Tsering remained standing.  He was not yet accustomed to the etiquette of modern western life and did not want to appear disrespectful.  Out of habit, he bowed slightly and stuck his tongue out as a sign of respect to the agent.  The young agent sensed that Tsering was “Sanjur” or “a new arrival” and kindly assured him that it was appropriate for him to take a seat.

Once Tsering was seated, the agent asked, “How can I be of service?”

Jennifer decided to take the reins and said, “My friend Tsering is in need of a passport and visa.  He wants to come to America with me.  We are wondering if you have any experience or advice in this line of work.”

The agent asked, “Does he have all the necessary refugee documentation, yet?”

“Not really.  All he has is his original arrival certificate and a student ID card,” Jennifer replied, as she handed the agent Tsering’s documents.

“No birth certificate?  No Green Book? No RC?”  Jennifer shook her head “no” and wondered what the “green book” and “RC” might be.  The agent turned to Tsering and asked him to share his story.  Tsering explained that he had arrived in India just two years ago as a monk and that he neglected to finish processing his refugee papers.  He hadn’t seen a need or reason.

“Well, you will not be able to apply for the IC unless you have a Tibetan government-in-exile birth certificate, a paid in full Green Book and an RC,” the agent explained.

“Excuse me, but what is an IC?” Jennifer inquired.

“An IC stands for ‘International Certificate.’  It’s basically a Tibetan government-in-exile issued passport.  It’s the only document with which a Tibetan refugee in India can travel internationally.  But the Tibetan government-in-exile has a policy that only Indian-born Tibetans can apply for an IC.  Tsering, as you are a new arrival and born in Tibet, it is going to be extremely difficult for you to obtain an IC.”

Jennifer suddenly felt a knot in her stomach as the realization of the work ahead became a crashing reality.  The agent read the anxiety on Jennifer’s face and felt compassion for her.  “It is not impossible, however.  I know of some young Tibetans like Tsering, here, who were able to produce all the necessary documentation and have been issued an IC.  It all depends on his karma, right?” the agent offered as he kindly smiled and handed back Tsering’s documents.  “I suggest that you go to Dharmasala.  That is where Tsering’s original point of entrance was and where he was issued his refugee certificate.  You should pick up from there and see what the government-in-exile can do for him.  While you are there perhaps you can receive blessings from His Holiness the Dalai Lama.  I hear that His Holiness the Karmapa is starting to give public audience since his arrival in India just a few months ago.”

“How do we get to Dharmasala?” Jennifer inquired.

“No problem.   I can book you two tickets on the next bus if you like,” the agent replied.

“What time does it leave?” she asked.

“In the afternoon.  It arrives early the next morning,” he answered.

“Can we leave on the next bus?” Jennifer was anxious to get started.  She didn’t want to waste any time.

“I don’t have any tickets available until three days time.”

“Three days?  Is there a waiting list?  I just don’t want to waste any time.”

“Sorry.  Yes, I understand.  I would try to get you something sooner, but all the tickets have already been sold and we don’t usually keep a waiting list.  So do you want to go ahead and book tickets?”

“Yes, please.”

“As soon as you have all the documentation needed, please come back and see me.  I would very much like to assist you in processing the IC and visa applications if you so wish.  My name is Ngawang Tsering,” the agent said as he handed Jennifer his business card that read “Sunshine Travel Agency.”

“Tug Je Che.  Thank you, you have been so kind and helpful.  We really appreciate it!”

“Good Luck!  Tashi Delegs!” Ngawang said to them as they left.

The next few days the two enjoyed their freedom and anonymity as they ate meals of momos (Tibetan dumplings), thukpa (pulled noodle soup), or phingsha (bean thread noodle stew) in the Tibetan restaurants (their favorite being Ama-lak Dza Khang– Mom’s Restaurant), browsed the bazaar filled with Tibetan shops selling traditional religious and cultural wares, and strolled in the nearby park and along the riverbank.  For breakfast Tsering would go down to the street and get fresh balep (Tibetan pan-fried bread) and a thermos of Boja (Tibetan butter tea) and bring it up to their room in the guesthouse.  Jennifer had bought two Tibetan style tea cups decorated with a pretty orange brocade pattern.

Jennifer decided it would be a good idea for them to visit the Tibetan Office where IC applications were accepted and processed so she had a definite understanding of the requirements before they left Delhi for Dharamsala.  She thought it best to leave early in the morning before the heat would be too oppressive.  They took a taxi to New Delhi, the modern part of the city where all government offices were located.  The contrast of the old and new in this huge ancient capital was striking.  Their new friend Ngawang, the travel agent, had given Jennifer the address of the Tibetan Office.  They entered the building and climbed the stairs to the second floor where many Tibetans were queuing up.  There were probably fifty or so Tibetans there, all trying to get ICs like Tsering.  Elders who wanted to be reunited with their children who had moved to Europe or North America, young adults who had dreams of living and working abroad in the Western world, and students who wanted to study in Western universities.  Everyone was dreaming of a better life.  There was little opportunity in India for them all.  The only problem was that the Tibetan government-in-exile did not want the entire refugee community leaving India.  It kept tight control on the number of passports issued per year.  They did not want the entire population scattering around the world.  They needed the majority of Tibetan refugees to stay in India and perpetuate the Tibetan culture and language.  Everyone in line seemed to understand this obstacle and there was a sense of urgency and competition amongst them all.  Everyone in the queue was another potential addition to the year’s quota and therefore another obstacle to their dream’s fulfillment.  When Tsering and Jennifer joined the queue, Jennifer felt all eyes fix on her.  She noticed she was the only “Inji” or foreigner in the entire Office.  She felt out of place.

After an hour or so of queuing, they finally arrived to the front of the line and were called to the counter by a young woman wearing a Lhasa Chuba– the official dress of Tibetan government employees.  Jennifer asked for an IC application and the young woman looked confused.

“Why do you need this form?” the clerk asked.

“For my friend here,” Jennifer said looking at Tsering.

The clerk, immediately started speaking Tibetan to Tsering who answered her questions in a quiet and humble manner.  She gave Tsering the IC application and instructions and then called the next person from the queue to the counter.  Jennifer had wanted to ask more questions but she realized the clerk did not have time for her.  They exited to the street and Jennifer suggested that they find another taxi to take them to the American Embassy where they could ask about immigration visas.

Tsering saw an auto-rickshaw across the street and suggested they take it as this ride would be shorter and they would save money.  They asked the driver to take them to the US Embassy.  By the time they arrived it was mid-morning and the queue wrapped all the way around the building.  The line was comprised of both Indians and Tibetans and a rare African.  Once again they took their place on line.  Jennifer hadn’t noticed that she was the only white person in the queue.  She and grown so accustomed to being the only white person the past month.  Jennifer asked the people in front of her how long they had been waiting.

“Oh, we’ve been here since 9:00 when the Embassy opened.  Everyday it’s like this.  Maybe we’ll get in before lunch, when they close for 2 hours.  Maybe not,” the Indian man replied, shaking his head back and forth.  Jennifer noticed many people had brought a picnic lunch from home, stored in their tin tiffin containers.  The heat was starting to rise and Jennifer felt her body starting to coat in a layer of sweat.  She took out a bottle of water from her backpack and took a long gulp.  A security guard noticed Jennifer in line and approached her.

“Excuse me, Miss, but are you American?” he asked her.

“Yes, I am,” she replied.

“You do not need to wait in this line.  This queue is for non-Americans only.  You may proceed directly to the front entrance.  Do you have your passport with you?”

“Yes.  Here it is,” she answered, showing it to the guard.

“Very good.  Follow me, then.  I’ll escort you.”  Jennifer was relieved they would not need to stand on line for the rest of the day in the Delhi heat but she felt embarrassed to be singled out and treated so favorably just because she was an American.  It was the first time in her life when she felt the privilege of her American citizenship.  She felt awkward and a sense of unfairness as they were led past the line and into the air-conditioned lobby of the Embassy.  They passed through security and were given a number.  Tsering looked around with curiosity at the foreign environment he found himself in.  It was his first time in an air-conditioned building.  Everything looked so clean, new and white.  So many white faces in one place.  He noticed the American flag hanging on a pole and a photograph of a white haired man with a big red nose.

“Who is this?  The American Gyalpo?” he asked.

“The American King?  Well, kind of.  He’s called the President.  We don’t have a king in America.  His name is President Clinton.”

“Clinton,” Tsering repeated.  “Clinton, let Jenni take me to America with her,” he said playfully, pretending to speak directly to the photo portrait.

Jennifer laughed and then saw their number appear up on the electronic queue board.

“Let’s go, our number’s being called,” she said, getting up and gathering her things.

“Let me do all the talking.  Better yet, why don’t you just stay sitting here.  I’ll just go up to the window alone,” she told Tsering who looked more than happy to sit peacefully on the bench, observing all the newness around him.

It was a relief to be able to communicate with another American after all this time.  Jennifer hadn’t spoken with any Americans in over a month.  The clerk was very helpful as she inquired about the immigration visa process.  He explained the process, gave her all the required forms, applications, and instructions and helpful advice.  He told her that probably the most important aspect to processing an immigration visa was a qualified sponsor.  Sponsorship was based completely on financial standing.  Jennifer explained that she had some money invested in the stock market that she had inherited from her grandparents.  But it was not going to be enough.  She was going to have to show steady income.  Her circus gigs were not full-time, regular employment and she did not make enough income from her small inheritance.  The clerk told her she would need a co-sponsor.  Did she have any family members that would be qualified and willing to sign the application and submit financial documents?  Jennifer realized that she was going to need the support of her family if she had any chance of bringing Tsering home with her.

Jennifer suddenly realized that she had not called or e-mailed home since they left Sarnath five days earlier.  The last time she had communicated with someone back home was over two weeks ago.  Since the whirlwind of emotion and life-changing decisions had swept through their lives, she had neglected to contact her parents on a weekly basis as promised.  “They must be worrying about me,” she thought to herself.  “I need to call them when we get back to Majnukatilla.  It’s time to let them know our news.  And I need their help.”  Jennifer thanked the clerk for all his help and took the stack of papers he slid under the window.

Tsering and Jennifer left the Embassy and took an auto-rickshaw back to the Tibetan settlement.  They were both exhausted from the heat and travel and collapsed on their simple twin beds back at the guesthouse.  Their bus for Dharamsala would be leaving in just a few hours.  They took a short nap and then packed up their things.  They were ready to leave the heat of the city and venture north into the foothills of the Himalayas to Dharamsala, the official residence of His Holiness the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan government-in-exile.