PRIYA IYER
Form C, then form D, then we talk. Mumbai is strict, the paperwork is in triplicate, and fossils in the bag mean a form E.
"Form C, then form D, then we talk." Priya Iyer means the order. Mumbai's line is strict, and Iyer is the reason it feels stricter: nothing moves until the paperwork is complete, in triplicate, in her hand, stamped. She is not slow. She is thorough, and she has a small patient smile for people who confuse the two.
Her subject is fossils. India takes its natural heritage seriously, and so does she, and a crate of ammonites from Mexico City or a fish slab from the market by the docks is, to her, less a scandal than an error in the forms, one she will correct at length. No officer on the map minds their subject more, except Macallister and his fireworks.
She does not care for the rest of the Nothing to Declare bundle nearly as much, though haggis puzzles her. Sneakers, graphics cards, and watches, the things Mumbai pays for, get a glance and a stamp.
An offer is heard. Mumbai's odds on that are poor, and Iyer will tell you so, then hand you form E.