Mobile Phones

Shall we talk about phone service in India? Yes, lets! Some of this was in earlier posts, but I pulled it out to put all the related stuff together. And the end veers off into rugs, but trust me, it all hangs together.

To begin with, a mobile is absolutely essential to functioning in India. Everyone has one, and everyone expects you to have one. Ajay, our first hotelkeeper, knows that, and keeps a mobile on hand for his foreign guests who arrive without one. That made it possible for us to survive Delhi.

Deb, knowing the importance of mobiles, loaned me the India program mobile. "Have Mr. Singh help you get a SIM card when you arrive, and you'll be fine." (Mr. Singh is a driver in Delhi who works with CHSFS families, I had his number in my travel notes.) The day that Mr. Singh took us around Delhi, I was woozy from jet lag. I explained that we needed a SIM card. He took me to a little roadside stand, and I stood to one side while he chatted with the dealer. Then he told me to give the dealer my phone, my passport and a photo. I gave him the phone and passport. "He needs a photograph of you." I just looked at him blankly, wondering why, if this guy needed a photo, Mr. Singh hadn't taken us to a photo stand first. He could probably read my thoughts, because he handed me back my phone and passport, and said, "Never mind. You are most of the time in Hyderabad, you should get a SIM card there so that it is all local calls." Then we got back into his car and continued the tour.

Once we arrived in Hyderabad and got checked into our hotel, I explained to the front desk that I needed to get a SIM card. "No problem, madam. Walk this way" he indicated downhill on the street outside, "and at the corner you will see the mobile shop." So LiJun and I, naively, set out walking down the hill. During this walk we learned two things. 1) Being a pedestrian in India is taking your life into your own hands. There are no sidewalks, there are no lane markings, there are no traffic laws. It was total chaos, hot, dirty (actually filthy) and frightening. 2)An Indian person's idea of walking distance and an American person's idea of walking distance are very different.

The mobile shop was a small kiosk by the side of the road, jammed in among other kiosks, stores, cars and motorcycles parked on the shoulder and piles of garbage. I explained to the owner, who spoke some English, that I needed a SIM card. I showed him the phone, and he said that I needed a passport and a photo. I still didn't have a photo. He told me to take the other road, "just there, madam" to the photo shop, which was next to Pizza Hut, at the signal. So, LiJun (not a happy camper and I do NOT blame her) and I set out down that road as well. We had a very hard time finding the Pizza Hut, even after we maanaged to get to the signal. I finally asked a policeman, who directed me down a sidestreeet into a strip mall, and lo, there it was.

Once in the photo shop, they asked us to be seated. The advantage here was that it was cool, and the noise and dirt from the street were cut off. We happily sat until it was our turn. We and a lady who came in after us, also needing passport pictures went up a set of steep steps off to the side. The boy leading us lifted up a trap door, and when we were up, put it down again. The photographers studio was here, above the waiting area. They were both about 5x10 feet, and the trapdoor was a big chunk of the floor space. Nevertheless, he took my picture (LiJun providing necessary fashion assistance) and after waiting downstairs for another 10 minutes, we got four photos for 100 rupees.

LiJun flatly refused to walk back up that hill, and suggested that we try one of the three wheeled auto things. I was also hot and, getting a good look at the traffic, didn't want to risk death either, so we did. The driver had nothing like my fear of death, but had us back at the mobile stand in a couple of minutes, for only 20 rupees. Bargain!

Back at the mobile stand, the owner asked what kind of SIM card we wanted. I told him I didn't know and didn't care. He picked one for me, and installed it. I asked how much, and he said 300 rupees. OK. His assistant made a copy of my passport (they had a photocopy machine in one corner, and while we were there, a steady stream of people came to get copies made) and then they installed the SIM card. He went back and forth a bit with my phone and another one, and got my phone to ring. He handed it to me. The screen said "Enter PUK" and I asked what that meant. "I don't know, I know nothing about that brand of mobile." I gave him 500 rupees and he kept it. I asked for change and he said it was for the time on the card. LiJun was really upset that people were staring at her (as in "Mom! I'm scared! Mom! Get me out of here!) and 500 rupees is something like $12, so I said fine. We grabbed another three wheeled thing back to our hotel. (I wasn't going to do this, I thought we should walk, but LiJun refused, and when we got to the hotel, I told her she was right. I had forgotten how long and scary that walk was.) The auto (which is what the little mini cabs are called) was driven by two boys who looked about 12, and didn't have a clue where we were going. Luckily, it was a straight shot, and they were happy to take 10 rupees.

Back at the hotel, I could not make the mobile work. I tried reading the instructions (which Deb helpfully included), but still couldn't get it to work. Finally, all else having failed, I took it down to the front desk. It went from hand to hand until it ended up where it probably should have started, with a boy in his late teens or early twenties. He tapped at it, opened it up, looked at the mobile instruction booklet and the packet that came with the SIM card, and cheerfully informed me that the SIM card was 3G and the mobile was not, and they were incompatible. There is no doubt in my mind that the shop owner was well aware of this, and that he cheated me, and that there is not a thing I can do about it, so I'm trying to set it aside without bitterness. Live and learn.

The next morning, I was hoping that our driver could have a few words with the merchant on our way to meet Vindya, but the shop was closed. Probably just as well, as that particular driver had a somewhat limited understanding of English. (Enough to get us from one place to the next, but not enough to understand nuance.) I explained to him that we needed to get a SIM card. He took me to a large shop, lots of glass, modern display cases, and Apple iPhone G4s advertised for sale. (I was tempted to pull mine out and ask how to avoid roaming charges, but decided not to get distracted.)

This time, I was prepared. I had a phone, I had a passport, I had a photo. All I needed was a SIM card. Alas, this is not the case. As the clerk explained to me in excellent English, I also needed a letter from my hotel, saying that I was checked in as a guest. "So sorry, madam, but the law is quite strict. It is fighting terrorism, you are aware?" I went back to the car, and said it didn't work. The driver pulled up a couple of blocks away, at a little shop (this one was at least part of a building) between a shoe stand and a motorcycle repair place, and suggested I try again.

I went in, and the owner looked at my phone. "You have a SIM card, madam." "Yes, it's expired." (This was why Deb told me it wouldn't work, and seems to have been true.) The phone actually has a "dual SIM system." I don't know why anyone needs this, but there is room for two different SIM cards. After some discussion with the young lady also working there, he decided that if I already had a SIM card, they could sell me another one. He gave the young lady my passport and a handful of coins, and she headed off somewhere to make copies. (Yes, I worried. Yes, I let her go anyway.) She came back in about 10 minutes with copies of the picture pages and my visa, and the owner managed to get my phone up and running. This involved two additional phones calling my phone, my phone calling those phones and I don't know what-all else, but I walked out with a working mobile!

Within about 15 minutes I got a text message - "Hope the legally required documents are delivered as required!" I ignored this, but a day or so later I got another one. "The legally required documents have not been filed. Please visit your nearest !dea store to file them properly." (!dea is the brand of SIM card I ended up with.) After a couple more of these, I decided that the seller had not turned them in, probably because he knew that they weren't filled out legally, and that I had better go to the nearest !dea store and file some kind of paperwork.

Suspecting that I would pretty much be doing this over again from scratch, I went to the front desk of my hotel and asked for a letter. This caused no end of consternation. "For what purpose, madam, do you need such a letter?" I explained about the mobile shop, and finally wrote out what I wanted them to say - my name, that I was registered as a guest from June 13. On their letterhead and signed. After a lot of conversation, they provided this, with the added note that I was registered through June 23. (This is because we have no way of knowing how long I have to stay here - thank you Family Court - and I'm extending my stay bit by bit.)

So, armed with all this, I set off. I explained to the driver that I needed an !dea shop. He took me to a little hole-in-the-wall that mostly sold all kinds of snacks and other sundries (batteries seemed to be big, as well as a fair number of household-y looking things I couldn't identify), as well as !dea mobile credits. The owner spoke very little English, and informed me that my phone could not be updated (there was a text message to this effect). I showed him the earlier text message about the legal documents, and he told me that he could not read it, I needed to go somewhere else. I had suspected it since I first saw the place, but the drivers seem to not like to deal with large modern places when they can deal with small, locally owned places, so I hadn't wanted to argue without trying. (This is true on every subject, from restaurants to places to buy bottled water.)

The driver took me to an actual !dea shop, and I went in and talked to them. They immediately understood the situation. There was some consternation about exactly when and where I bought the SIM card (a couple of days ago? some guy?) and how long I would stay (end of the month was a perfectly good answer), and then I needed a copy of my passport. They did not have a copy machine. "Just here madam, just down here you can copy." This all but gave me hives, but I stepped bravely out, into the street around a large pile of construction debris, and off in search of a copy machine.

Instantly, I got waylaid by a guy. "Madam, where are you going? What do you need?" A copy machine. "Madam, the copy shop is over there, across trafffic, this is my shop, my brother will take your passport to this shop, they will copy it because I ask, this is my shop, you will look, yes?" I would NOT let his brother wander off with my passport, so his brother took me into a ground floor store selling, um, I'm not sure what, but they copied my passport while we waited. (Brother to me, "Is your husband here, or only your driver? You are very beautiful." Me to brother, "My husband is at the hotel. You are very charming." Accompanied by the Must-Control-Fist-Of-Death Look. He shut up.)

When we left the store, I discovered that my driver, unencumbered by any concern for his own safety, had backed his car against traffic in order to park on the sidewalk in front of this shop. I asked him to wait. Guy on Sidewalk "See! Passport copy, madam, just as you needed. Now you trust me, yes? You will visit my shop!" I promised to visit his shop after the mobile shop, asked the driver to wait for me there, and made my way back to !dea.

Once there, everything proceeded fairly smoothly. They were concerned that there was nowhere with my address in the US, but I pointed out that I had a letter from my hotel, stamped! This was indeed impressive, and they did various things on the computer and with the phone to make it stop telling me that I am in violation on the telecoms law.

Incidentally, one of the clerks was a young lady. While I was there, her shift came to an end. She went into the back, and came out wearing a burka and face veil. She had not been wearing them while working, this was clearly "street clothes" for her. Made me wonder about some of the other covered women we saw.

So, I went into the shop. He is from Kashmir, and had three rooms of Kashmiri goods. I looked at everything, and picked up a couple of carved animals for the kids. (And a pashmina, but who doesn't need another pashmina? Plus, he showed me a cool "very special, Kashmiri" way of tying it.)

What he really wanted to sell me were rugs. He swears that they are all hand knotted, made of wool or silk. He showed me how you can go from one side to the other and the colors shift, because of the way they are made. Admittedly, this is cool. Also, a small silk rug, beautifully colored and absolutely gorgeous, could be shipped direct to my home for only $330! Honestly, I had to keep repeating "Evil Lilly! Evil Lilly!" to not be tempted.

So, now I have a working mobile, and a much deeper appreciation of the amount of red tape and hassle it takes to get through the day here.