Sexy Man and Registration

Andrew and I got into a ricksaw to go to the Foreign Register’s Office (FRO) and the driver asked us where we were from. Once replying, “America” he responded with a grin on his face, “OBAMA!” Then he proceeded with an even bigger grin, “Sexy man. Obama sexy man no?” Andrew and I laughed at his statement and continued to laugh until the end of the ride. He was one of the better drivers yet, welcoming us into his country.
The Foreign Register’s Office was a little less welcoming. If John and his paid helper didn’t show Mike and I once where it was, we’d have no idea how it works. Essentially you go into this gate, sign your name and then walk pass lots of police with big guns. Then we follow this road that leads to a building. We were to go in, through a metal detector, and find this tiny, unlabeled hallway. There was a line that lasted for over an hour to get to this tiny, cluttered room full of papers. Mind you, there was no title or directions on the door. We were magically supposed to find the place. It was fun to see the inner workings of Indian bureaucracy and we all chuckled about the weirdness of where we were finding ourselves. Finally we got to the room, and watched as two women and one man chattered in Hindi and passed papers back and forth. They only asked us one or two questions and then told us to come back the next week to pick up our registration. It was quite the process and needed to be done to get a flat. A story to tell for sure. I really wanted to take pictures but was afraid of being arrested or the camera confiscated (which probably would not have happened).