Consular Rhapsody
I woke up at 6 in the morning. Had kept the alarm for 5 30, but perhaps my subconscious mind is still unaware of a visa interview today. Showered, prayed, ate. Left home at 6 45. Dad still asked why, the interview is only at 7 45! But dad, the queues won't disappear. And right I was. At the consulate, there were more than 60 people waiting ahead of me! This was the story at 7 in the morning. So, I had said my prayers so many times now, I needed to find another way to kill time. To find the longest song, sing it. There was a 22 minute song by Jethro Tull, but all i know is the one line 'Thick as a brick' and a little flute tune after that. Wouldn't help. Bohemian Rhapsody... hmmm... i know that one! What was funnier was inside my head, it all looked like a grand stage with a musical going on.
I stood in the queue near the Oxford Univ Press, vehicles passed by, joggers passed by, each with a look 'Hmmm, in a few more years, i will be there too' or 'Ah, these darn kids...They don't know what they're doing' or 'Hope they make India a better place'. Well, it is not like students were the only people there, but still we got the looks.
I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy
Because i'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low
Any way the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me, to me
7 15 on the clock, and the queue started shaping up. Those with the interviews alone moved to the other side of the security gate. The others walked back to the OUP gate. One of the security guards was extremely rude at getting people to stand in line. I had to look down at my feet and check if I had toes or hoofs.
Was wondering if this guy was permanently like this. There were business people, students, old folks, kids in the queue. Everyone was 'rounded up' and brought into formation along the railing outside the consulate wall. Do people really send us all these documents saying 'sure, come on over, we need you here so much!' only to be guided by the shepherd?
So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye.
So you think you can love me and leave me to die.
Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby,
Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here.
So, thanx to an old lady, me and the guys behind me realised that people with interviews at 7 45 can go right ahead without standing in the queue, and we weaved our way through the queue. I must have said 'excuse me' at least about 50 times. Also needed to make sure these people didn't think we were cutting in. An argument early in the morning and that too before an important interview is distasteful, and we didn't want any trouble.
I'm there. I rehearse my answers. I look around. Am I meant to be here? Am I meant to do this? What if all this is only a disappointment?
Too late, my time has come,
Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time.
Goodbye, ev'rybody, I've got to go,
Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth.
After the security check, we were taken to counters and made to sit there. It was not a room, not a building, just open with greenery on opposite sides, security check behind us and the counters in front of us. This is where they give us the visa? Nah, can't be. I waited, and slowly people are called, asked for initial documents, given a folder and directed to the main building. Ah, ok!
The building has heavy doors. And i mean really heavy. It wasn't even push to open! (Maybe we aint welcome there) I had to stand firm and heave the door open with both hands. Not my first time, I had been to the consulate before to register for a visa counselling session. Same kinda door, same trouble. And while standing in the queue to get fingerprinted, there was a yellow line I saw but didn't realise (Happens if you sing too much inside your head, and you get lost in your own world).The couple ahead of me walked upto the counter, and I followed them.
'Psssttt... The yellow line...' comes a voice from behind me.
'Huh?'
Oh ye, the yellow line. The one you aint supposed to cross unless it is your turn. When they say don't cross the line, they really mean, don't cross the line! I hopped back to my position, gave an embarassed 'yikes' grin to the fellow behind me who had told me.
Ok, fingerprinted and sent to the queue to face the Visa Officer. There were two couples ahead of me. One wants to visit an old friend in the US, the other wants to visit their son.
He's just a poor boy from a poor family,
Spare him his life from this monstruosity.
Easy come, easy go, will you let me go.
And the VO says to the former...
Bismillah! No, we will not let you go.
(Let him go!) Bismillah! We will not let you go.
(Let him go!) Bismillah! We will not let you go.
(Let me go.) Will not let you go.
(Let me go.) Will not let you go. (Let me go.) Ah.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
The second couple make it through. Then me.
I 20.
Marksheets.
GRE, TOEFL scores.
Financial Document.
Oh mama mia, mama mia! Mama mia, let me go!
Documents were checked, questions were asked, answers were given.
'You qualify for a visa, but since you do not have a PC, we'll give you the visa only after you submit it. You can do it by the dropbox, you needn't come here again.'
Magnifico!
'Thank you.'
Ah, the PC. My college did it again!
Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me
I collect the documents and leave. Then I realise... he had asked me to submit my DS Application forms along with the PC. But he had kept them. I don't have a copy!!! Gotta figure something out. Come on, I didn't come all this way to lose out at the end, and that too like this! There must be a way. Have to call VFS, maybe even check with the office in person. But there must be a way.
Not quite in a mood for celebration, I can't rest until I get my results and my PC and finally see the seal in my passport. Long way to go...
My father is happy, but isn't smiling. He expected the actual visa. Was worried that my backlogs were interfering so much. My mother was fine, but she also had her concerns. I will do what needs to be done, life will take the course it is meant to.
Mama, ooh, didn't mean to make you cry,
If I'm not back again this time tomorrow,
Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters.
A tribute to Queen, for keeping me alive and undisturbed till the very end. I lost track of how many times I sand the song. I jus know I was standing in one place, swaying sideways, oblivious to the real life around me, lost inside my own theatre.
I stood in the queue near the Oxford Univ Press, vehicles passed by, joggers passed by, each with a look 'Hmmm, in a few more years, i will be there too' or 'Ah, these darn kids...They don't know what they're doing' or 'Hope they make India a better place'. Well, it is not like students were the only people there, but still we got the looks.
I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy
Because i'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low
Any way the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me, to me
7 15 on the clock, and the queue started shaping up. Those with the interviews alone moved to the other side of the security gate. The others walked back to the OUP gate. One of the security guards was extremely rude at getting people to stand in line. I had to look down at my feet and check if I had toes or hoofs.
Was wondering if this guy was permanently like this. There were business people, students, old folks, kids in the queue. Everyone was 'rounded up' and brought into formation along the railing outside the consulate wall. Do people really send us all these documents saying 'sure, come on over, we need you here so much!' only to be guided by the shepherd?
So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye.
So you think you can love me and leave me to die.
Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby,
Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here.
So, thanx to an old lady, me and the guys behind me realised that people with interviews at 7 45 can go right ahead without standing in the queue, and we weaved our way through the queue. I must have said 'excuse me' at least about 50 times. Also needed to make sure these people didn't think we were cutting in. An argument early in the morning and that too before an important interview is distasteful, and we didn't want any trouble.
I'm there. I rehearse my answers. I look around. Am I meant to be here? Am I meant to do this? What if all this is only a disappointment?
Too late, my time has come,
Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time.
Goodbye, ev'rybody, I've got to go,
Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth.
After the security check, we were taken to counters and made to sit there. It was not a room, not a building, just open with greenery on opposite sides, security check behind us and the counters in front of us. This is where they give us the visa? Nah, can't be. I waited, and slowly people are called, asked for initial documents, given a folder and directed to the main building. Ah, ok!
The building has heavy doors. And i mean really heavy. It wasn't even push to open! (Maybe we aint welcome there) I had to stand firm and heave the door open with both hands. Not my first time, I had been to the consulate before to register for a visa counselling session. Same kinda door, same trouble. And while standing in the queue to get fingerprinted, there was a yellow line I saw but didn't realise (Happens if you sing too much inside your head, and you get lost in your own world).The couple ahead of me walked upto the counter, and I followed them.
'Psssttt... The yellow line...' comes a voice from behind me.
'Huh?'
Oh ye, the yellow line. The one you aint supposed to cross unless it is your turn. When they say don't cross the line, they really mean, don't cross the line! I hopped back to my position, gave an embarassed 'yikes' grin to the fellow behind me who had told me.
Ok, fingerprinted and sent to the queue to face the Visa Officer. There were two couples ahead of me. One wants to visit an old friend in the US, the other wants to visit their son.
He's just a poor boy from a poor family,
Spare him his life from this monstruosity.
Easy come, easy go, will you let me go.
And the VO says to the former...
Bismillah! No, we will not let you go.
(Let him go!) Bismillah! We will not let you go.
(Let him go!) Bismillah! We will not let you go.
(Let me go.) Will not let you go.
(Let me go.) Will not let you go. (Let me go.) Ah.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
The second couple make it through. Then me.
I 20.
Marksheets.
GRE, TOEFL scores.
Financial Document.
Oh mama mia, mama mia! Mama mia, let me go!
Documents were checked, questions were asked, answers were given.
'You qualify for a visa, but since you do not have a PC, we'll give you the visa only after you submit it. You can do it by the dropbox, you needn't come here again.'
Magnifico!
'Thank you.'
Ah, the PC. My college did it again!
Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me
I collect the documents and leave. Then I realise... he had asked me to submit my DS Application forms along with the PC. But he had kept them. I don't have a copy!!! Gotta figure something out. Come on, I didn't come all this way to lose out at the end, and that too like this! There must be a way. Have to call VFS, maybe even check with the office in person. But there must be a way.
Not quite in a mood for celebration, I can't rest until I get my results and my PC and finally see the seal in my passport. Long way to go...
My father is happy, but isn't smiling. He expected the actual visa. Was worried that my backlogs were interfering so much. My mother was fine, but she also had her concerns. I will do what needs to be done, life will take the course it is meant to.
Mama, ooh, didn't mean to make you cry,
If I'm not back again this time tomorrow,
Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters.
A tribute to Queen, for keeping me alive and undisturbed till the very end. I lost track of how many times I sand the song. I jus know I was standing in one place, swaying sideways, oblivious to the real life around me, lost inside my own theatre.
posted by Livewire at
11:48 AM
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1 comments
