It is said that in modern times, computer technology has made everything simple to access and acquire. As far as Pakistan goes, this does not appear to be the case
I AM one of those unfortunate Pakistanis who need to get a new passport. The last time I got the green book made, I was reluctant, and must confess, did what usually is the best way in my country to make your life easier. I looked through my phone book to find someone who knew an influential person at the passport office. After all, we are Muslims and it is precisely for that reason why we help each other in such times of need. As for me, I was hoping the Muslim brother whose number I would dig out from my book was a Pathan. Not because they are better “Muslims”, but because I am a Pathan myself, and we the Pushto speaking folks share a bond that’s stronger than any tie.
“You are mistaken,” someone said to me. “Gone are the days when someone you knew could get things done for you, now it is all digital and computerized.”
I thought, “Oh my Lord, is getting in a queue and waiting for hours for my turn is now what I’m going to experience?” At that moment God sent his angel, and along came the good news. “Worry not,” said someone. “Don’t you know that new passports that are being issued are all computerized; they will take a minute to process your application.” I felt relieved, and declared proudly that we in Pakistan are entering the technology era just like the people elsewhere in the developed world.
I decided to look for some information on the website. A few days earlier my driver had said that Nadra was in fact named after someone he knew named Colonel Nadir, and that getting a computerized ID card for him was a matter of just one phone call. I was impressed. I thought my driver was a resourceful man. Needless to say all that came crashing down very soon when someone told me that Nadra meant the National Database Registration Authority, and no one named Colonel Nadir had ever been anywhere near anything related to Nadra.
The website had all the technical information on the servers they were using and how they were second to none in the whole world. Nothing, however, regarding the procedure to obtain the passport was mentioned, and as far as the phone numbers given under the contact link are concerned, no one responded. But I didn’t lose hope.
The optimism was short-lived. The first day I went to the office I saw a huge number of people waiting for their turn. Someone sensed my desperation instantly and offered a helping hand. “Sir, don’t worry,” said the man in his early twenties. “I have my man in there, and I can get you through the lines. All you have to do is give me the money and your documents and you will be called when you have to appear before the director.” I remembered that I had been told by many people not to trust a stranger in Karachi. So I decided the best way was to come the next day in the morning, and be the first one in the queue.
The next day I woke up at 7am (yes, that’s early for me, and for everyone one in Karachi — I love this city), got dressed and managed to get to the passport office at five past nine.
Things worked fast, I must say, within just five minutes of looking at the guard at the gate and pleading for help, I got the precious information from a fellow countryman who had also gone through this ordeal. He told me I should first go to the bank on the second floor, submit the passport fee, and obtain the challan, then come back and get in the line (because there weren’t many people, and there was a line just near the window, but behind the queue there was a crowd assembling).
“How long does it take?” I asked. “Well, if you want an urgent one, you have to pay double the normal fee and get it after five days, otherwise you’ll get it after 12 days.” “What? five days ... I cannot afford that; I have to travel abroad soon ... but wait, I got the old passport made within a day with extra fee for urgent processing.” That was another case, I was told, “You see, these are computerized, so they take long to be made.” Ironic, isn’t it?
Nevertheless, I rushed upstairs, because the elevator was out of order. Once in the bank I waited for my turn, and thankfully managed to get hold of an official who was from my native town. But he had a shocking information for me in store. Since my Nadra-issued computerized ID card has an Islamabad address, they could not issue a bank challan to me. Not believing what I had just heard, I went downstairs to speak to someone at the Nadra office. It took me half an hour to talk to someone who confirmed what the man from my native town had told me. The bank would not accept my fee. But how could that be? “I am a citizen of this country, that’s my fundamental right, isn’t it? That can’t be true, this man does not know what he is talking about,” I said to myself.
I insisted on seeing the director myself. It’s amazing how a few loudly uttered words of English can earn you access to high raking officials. The director was a courteous man, who very politely told me the whole story. “If you want a passport you must travel to Islamabad.” But I could not afford that. “I am sorry I can’t help you, the computerized card takes that much time,” was his reply.
Disappointed, shocked, and fuming I walked out of the office and scampered towards my house. It seemed that I would not be able to travel abroad, since I could never get the passport made in time.
“We are connected to more than 60 airports through this database, and have synchronized the passport data with that of the NIC,” the website had claimed. That’s great, but wouldn’t it be better if they also connected the data link with Karachi? I wondered, so much for technology and our entry into the modern world. What ‘technology era’ people talk about? I say we are living in a strange Nadra era ... and we are not quite proud of it.
It is said that in modern times, computer technology has made everything simple to access and acquire. As far as Pakistan goes, this does not appear to be the case 
