India's Reluctance to Act on Visa Violations Amid Global Crackdowns
By Gajanan Khergamker
In India, tales of foreigners overstaying visas — be it spiritual seekers in Uttarakhand’s caves or digital nomads basking in Goa’s beaches — are common. The recent case of a Russian woman living as a Sadhvi in a cave near Gokarna, Karnataka, accompanied by her children and allegedly on an expired visa, only underscores how India’s generous hospitality, rooted in the civilisational ethos of Atithi Devo Bhava, often blurs the lines between kindness and chaos.
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| Why were local police unaware of a foreign national living with children in potentially hazardous conditions? |
Reportedly, the woman had adopted an "ascetic" life, claiming to be guided by "divine intuition," and apparently raising her children in near-hermetic conditions. Locals, perplexed yet sympathetic, eventually notified authorities. Instead of swift deportation or legal action, what ensued was a sluggish administrative response involving a 'rescue' operation and handover to the Child Welfare Committee. The woman was treated with patience — if not outright reverence — in sharp contrast to what would transpire if the roles were reversed.
Contrast this with how nations like the United States, Canada, or the United Kingdom treat visa overstays — particularly those involving Indian nationals. Take for instance the widely reported case of Simratpal Kaur, an Indian national who overstayed her student visa in California in 2023. Upon detection during a routine traffic stop, she was placed in Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) detention and deported within 45 days. There was no public outcry, no spiritual defence, and certainly no leniency from immigration officials.
Similarly, in 2021, a group of Indian workers in Leicester, UK, were apprehended by the Home Office for violating visa norms while working in textile units. Most were forcibly deported after spending weeks in detention — with no regard for their economic circumstances or family ties in the UK. British immigration rules dictate a near-zero tolerance approach to overstays, with re-entry bans extending up to 10 years.
In Italy, a 2022 case saw 43 Indians caught overstaying tourist visas in Sicily while working in agriculture. The Italian government swiftly conducted hearings, denied appeals, and ensured repatriation. There were no petitions from human rights groups, and certainly no indulgent sermons about cultural integration.
Back home in India, however, the narrative often changes. Foreigners violating visa norms are too frequently enveloped in a cloak of spiritual mysticism or cultural romanticism. The image of a white-skinned foreigner seeking “moksha” in Himalayan caves or a long-haired “Sufi” participating in festivals often disarms local law enforcement, who are either unwilling or unequipped to handle the legal violation objectively.
In 2022, a Brazilian man was caught overstaying his tourist visa by over two years in Rishikesh, living off donations under the guise of yoga teaching. Instead of deportation, he was slapped with a nominal fine and allowed to reapply for a visa. Local authorities argued that he was not causing "any disturbance" and was "deeply integrated into the spiritual community." This selective tolerance amounts to a systemic disregard for immigration law.
The 'Atithi Devo Bhava' campaign, originally launched by India's Tourism Ministry to welcome international visitors, has now mutated into a bureaucratic and cultural blind spot. What began as a gesture of warmth has enabled widespread manipulation by foreigners who exploit the country’s lax oversight mechanisms. Unlike the West, where border enforcement forms a key pillar of sovereignty and national security, in India, the issue barely garners public debate — unless an overstaying foreigner is involved in crime or garners media attention.
In the age of clickbait and content virality, the Indian media has mastered the art of alchemy — turning administrative apathy into tales of valour, bureaucratic negligence into spiritual triumph, and glaring security failures into tear-jerking 'human-interest' stories.
In the recent case from Gokarna, where a Russian woman — allegedly living in India on an expired visa — and found residing with her two children in a cave, rather than probing how a foreign national managed to overstay, raise a family off-grid, dodge immigration enforcement, flout child welfare norms, and slip under the radar for so long, mainstream media outlets fell over themselves to paint a portrait of spiritual resilience and maternal sacrifice.
The real headline — "Security lapse: Foreign woman overstays visa, raises children in unsanitary cave near temple town" — was buried under syrupy titles like “Russian Sadhvi Lives in Cave for Years with Children Guided by Divine Light.”
This is not an isolated phenomenon. In fact, it’s fast becoming the norm. When foreigners overstay in India — particularly those with white skin or spiritual branding — media houses fall into a trance of cultural romanticism. Instead of demanding answers from the Foreigner Regional Registration Office (FRRO), police departments, or local administration, reporters dive into producing lush profiles filled with saffron-tinted filters, invoking Shiva consciousness, vegan diets, and divine dreams.
The result? A systemic failure of immigration enforcement is spun as a triumph of the human spirit.
It is storytelling, yes — but storytelling at the cost of sovereignty.
Where are the tough questions for officials who failed to conduct routine visa verification? Where is the accountability from the Ministry of Home Affairs, whose immigration department is tasked with monitoring foreign nationals?
Why were local police unaware of a foreign national living with children in potentially hazardous conditions? And, more crucially — what if the person hadn’t been a spiritual seeker but a trafficker, a covert operator, or an extremist with links across borders? Would India still rush to write a 'survival against odds' piece?
Unfortunately, such questions rarely make it to prime time.
This media tendency is also racially tinted. An undocumented Brazilian yoga teacher in Rishikesh becomes a “global soul on a journey of love and learning,” while a Bangladeshi overstaying for survival is immediately labelled a threat to national security. Media treatment oscillates dramatically depending on the perceived marketability of the violator.
In many cases, foreign overstayers are given glowing profiles, complete with high-res photographs of them performing yoga, playing with locals, or blending into temple town life. What could — and should — be a hard-hitting expose into the state’s failure to enforce immigration law is watered down into a Netflix-style origin story.
A functioning media must act as a watchdog of democracy, holding power accountable. In India, however, the fourth estate often behaves like a festival photographer — beautifying whatever is placed in front of it. There’s no dearth of talented reporters, but editorial priorities are increasingly skewed towards virality, not veracity.
Human-interest is important, no doubt. But when it masks government ineptitude or security loopholes, it becomes dangerous propaganda. It allows the state to escape scrutiny. It sedates the public. It replaces outrage with awe — and in doing so, lets the rot deepen.
Visa overstays are not mere paperwork errors — they are legal breaches with implications for national security, public health, child welfare, and taxation. When the media prioritises emotional storytelling over investigative rigour, it does disservice not just to journalism but to the republic.
It’s time Indian newsrooms re-evaluate their role. Human-interest stories have their place — but not when they hijack the space where accountability should live.
Until that shift occurs, visa violators will continue to be immortalised as mystics, and state lapses will be swept away under the soft lighting of spiritual redemption.
This dichotomy also creates a diplomatic imbalance. When Indians are treated harshly abroad for similar offences, the Indian diaspora and civil society cry foul — sometimes justifiably. Yet when the same nation is wilfully lenient towards foreigners, the resulting contradiction undermines India’s negotiating power in global forums on immigration and border policy.
Moreover, many of these foreign overstayers in India function outside the ambit of taxation, child protection laws, public health scrutiny, and employment regulation — all while Indian citizens are subject to an increasingly complex maze of Aadhaar authentication, KYC verification, and surveillance. The legal asymmetry is both glaring and unjust.
India need not mimic the draconian rigidity of Western immigration policy, but it must certainly abandon its nonchalant exceptionalism. The law must apply equally — to the devotee in saffron robes from a European capital and to the undocumented worker from a neighbouring state.
There is nothing spiritual or noble in allowing children to live in caves, denying them education, healthcare, and hygiene under the illusion of ascetic parenting. Nor is there virtue in disregarding sovereign immigration norms to preserve a curated image of spiritual India for foreign consumption.
India must shed its outdated Atithi Devo Bhava exceptionalism when it comes to visa enforcement and adopt a measured but firm immigration framework that prioritises national interest, legal parity, and common sense — lest it be exploited further by those hiding illegality behind incense and chants.
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