“First Hand” writings

I finally received the official invitation letter from my friend in Germany for the Schengen visa. Not that I needed an invitation to visit Germany, but the consulate surely did, and that too a letter in original. No scanned or emailed letters would do. Ordinarily, I would frown upon anyone reading letters personally addressed to me. But in this case, I let it go. Friends told me I should focus on more important things like dreaming about the Eiffel Tower and fantasizing about Italian men. So that’s precisely what I am doing as a part of the pre-trip warm up.

Anyway the envelope seemed a few grams heavier, and as I emptied the contents of the envelope, I found a nice picture postcard of Germany with a few lines scribbled for me.

I smiled to myself, because I wasn’t really used to people, especially men, doing such nice things. A simple, yet a wonderful gesture. I held the postcard for a while, feeling great that it had travelled all the way from Germany to reach me. I was tempted to do a DDLJ style Amrish Puri stunt, smelling the letter and all, “Dekh, Germany se chitthi aayi hai” !!! But Bollywood has overdone this stunt, with Amrish Puri in DDLJ smelling the cow dung-infested mitti (soil) of vatan (motherland), Pankaj Udhas bellowing the harmonium to “chithhi aayi hai aayi hai” and Bhagyasree in Maine Pyar Kiya smelling the white pigeon-poop letter from the “Kabootar ja ja ja”.

I was reminded of those nice moments when I opened an envelope to see something nicely scribbled. My friend sent me a copy of my TOEFL scores last month with a nicely written “All the best for the visa” note. Sometime back, a friend from New Mexico had invited me to the balloon festival with a small note scribbled at the back of a New Mexico picture postcard. Things have mellowed down a lot ever since emails happened, else back in school and college, we wrote dozens of pages to our best friends, pouring our hearts and writing about everything- crazy physics teachers, flames and crushes, gossip, breakup woes, just about anything. There was a time I could easily recognize the handwriting of each of my friend. The same happened when I taught and graded papers and copies in school. But now that I write this, I realize with a sadness that I will not be able to recognize the handwritings of most of my close friends, thanks to the age of emails.

The most nightmarish of times were when I was expected to scribble something in Bengali, usually while writing to my grand mother. Mother would write letters and leave me a small space for me to say a hi. It would eventually be the “tumi kemon aacho, ami bhalo aachi, amar pronam niyo” drill (how are you, I am fine, regards). You should see my Bengali writing. The alphabets are as huge as rocks. I would start in Bengali and eventually shift to English after a few lines. This happens till date. My occasional letters in Bengali go like, “Kemon aacho? Ami bhalo. Achcha now I will shift to English….”

Anyway, every once in a while, it’s nice to come across a nice handwriting, a nicely scribbled thought or even a few words. Emails don’t really have the flavor that hand written notes do. And as I write this, I realize it’s been years since I’ve held a pen to write on something that was not a visa/immigration form or a check book, thought of a few lines instantly and put it down on paper. We are not writers anymore, we have become typists. I try writing a few lines using the pen and my fingernails hurt. I need to use that key board and that printer less. The next time opportunity comes, I think I’d like to go back to doing things the old way- scribble a note, write the address, make a smiley, or if time and the strength of friendship permits, go back to writing those long letters ranting, bitching nagging, and pouring my heart out. And if nothing works out, I’ll just pick up a pen and write a few lines in the diary, or reciprocate with a reply picture postcard.

sunshine

I need a change

A few weeks ago, I went to the optician to get a pair of new glasses. Not that I needed one but you know you must do certain things when you are visiting home. Don’t even ask about the exorbitant costs of medical care in the US, I was strictly instructed to get a thorough dental and eye check up done while I was visiting home. So that fell in my priority list other than eating mangoes and paani puri, going shopping with mom, and watching Indian Idol religiously every week.

Today I went to get my ordered glasses. I removed my old ones, tried on the new one, and went, “What !!! Did I order these??? How could I !!! They look hideous”

Now I am usually not fussy about things, not out of goodness of heart, but because I am confused and would rather let someone do my homework for me rather than get into the depth of things. I am usually okay with your suggestions about clothes I should wear because it will save me a good 6 hours of going through clothes aisles wondering if the yellow frilly dress looks better on me or the green one with those geometric patterns. Most of the time if I am confused, I will buy both. You will not find me fussing over the menu in a restaurant because letting someone order for you makes life easier. Who cares whether you order a hariyali kabab or a boti kabab, both would taste awesome I am sure. I did the same while choosing schools a few months ago. I discarded the lower ranked schools and then sent the remaining list to a set of trusted friends. I am going to the school that was voted the most. That doesn’t mean I do what others choose for me. That means if others choose for me and I like the choice too, I will do it.

But I digress here. The moment I put on my glasses, I was thoroughly disappointed, and even a little repulsed by the looks of the glasses. I don’t know how I even opted for them in the first place. I must have been high on something. In fact if I remember, I was looking forward to my new glasses and my new looks. But now that I saw it, it just didn’t suit me right. I somewhat resembled a toad wearing those. I even suspected if the guy had changed them or replaced them by mistake (or by design, to make me resemble an amphibian). And I had just spent quite a bit on a pair of something I didn’t even like.

So I negotiated with myself and decided that the extra set of glasses would now become the main glasses, and I would discard these hideous looking expensive froggy glasses, or use them as the spare glasses. I felt guilty, since I usually never fuss over food, clothes, or even places to travel, with strong opinions like I HAVE TO do it or I ABSOLUTELY cannot do it. But that was the way it happened here. Which brought me to yet another useless, disconcerting realization. What if I look at the groom during my wedding and realize I probably don’t want to marry him? What if I am not sure about the guy anymore? Like I said, a very improbable thought, but a thought nevertheless. Glasses are better that way. At least I can temporarily discard them and use the spare ones instead.

sunshine

Of unexpected meetings and unforgettable friendships

I met this friend for lunch today after a long time. How long has it been, umm …. roughly 7 years, 2 months, and 1 week. It was a little unnerving frankly, meeting someone after so long. Thanks to emails and the social networking sites, we were in touch on and off. But a meeting after 7 long years was something. I subconsciously kept tidying my hair and fiddling with my finger ring while waiting, wondering if the first expression after meeting would be that of shock or something more shocking.

So I waited at the bookstore nervously, the bookstore being a prominent location. I finally met him, and what a great meeting it was. Great food, good conversation flowing, but every now and then, I found myself drifting off to the past, wondering what a great amount of time had passed. Last I had seen him, he (and I) were students. He wore faded jeans, carried a guitar on his back, and had this easy going demeanor of a college going kid. I don’t know how he remembers me though, but I hope it’s not significantly different. Now he looked older and more mature. The guitar was gone, and so were the pair of jeans. Instead, there were formal office going clothes of a person who has been working for more than 5 years.

Over lunch, my friend asked me how life has been ever since we saw each other last. As I started to summarize and highlight the main events, I realized how much time has elapsed. I had finished college, spent 2 more years doing a masters, taught in a school for a year, moved to the US, got another degree, worked for another year, learnt to drive, learnt to live, got laid off, got into graduate school again, and come back to visit Kolkata. The world was round indeed. Everything had come back full circle. He too had finished school, taken flying lessons, flown planes, worked for 5 odd years, and had undergone some major changes.

It was a funny conversation, when he asked me what all I had done and seen in life. He asked me of a few remarkable experiences ever since I left Kolkata, and I could think of two. The first was my first flying experience when I spent an hour or so in the cockpit, the world flowing beneath my feet as we flew over Turkey. It was an unforgettable experience, more so because I did not see it coming. The second was my convocation day. I told him how I always envied the engineering or management graduates in India because they had convocations and I didn’t. So I was happiest during the convocation, not because I was done and was getting a degree, but because I could wear a gown and cap, saunter in a stadium full of people applauding, and pose for dozens of pictures.

Another interesting conversation ensued when he claimed he has used this time trying to figure out things in life, the philosophical questions people seek answers to but seldom get. He said he has looked for answers about life, happiness, and his purpose in life. When he asked me the same question, I wondered what I could say. Philosophical questions make me nervous. So I confidently claimed I have had it all figured out in life. He looked amused, wondering if I was serious. I reiterated that I have all the answers I needed from life, about life, happiness, and purpose. Now for a person who is usually confused choosing between a Lufthansa flight or an Air India flight, anyone who knows me would know it was a white lie. But honestly, I have never looked for answers that are not there in text books, Wikipedia, or Google. I’d rather figure out how much salt to put to make that omelet taste just right than wonder what’s the purpose of my creation and what I am doing stuck in planet Earth.

Trivial conversation about this and that ensued and time flew before I realized. It was time to say goodbye, since the lunch break was already extended. My parting thoughts were a little disconcerting. When you meet someone after every few months, or even a few years, you don’t realize how much time has elapsed in between. But when you meet someone after 7 years, you realize with alarming intensity how much you’ve grown old since the last time. The great thing is I didn’t think I’ll get to meet my friend after the last time, since we went our separate cities and ways in life. So a meeting even after 7 years felt good. The bad thing is I now don’t know when I will meet him again.

This trip to Kolkata has been remarkable in a way because I got to meet so many friends after years. Most of them, I wasn’t sure if I’ll ever meet (again).

sunshine

FAQs and a survivor’s guide to those visiting India the first time

Are you single?

Are you a woman?

Do your pestilential neighbors think you aren’t marrying due to suspicious reasons?

READ ON …

The maiden visit to the home country is always the most interesting. Most people would pay a handsome entry fee to merely come check you out and your ways of talking, eating, and walking, just like those visits you made to the zoo as a kid during the vacations, intently watching a gibbon eat a banana. Most listen intently to the way you speak, and are amazed at how you still haven’t forgotten Bengali or haven’t at least developed an accent while speaking Bengali. I tried faking an accent to not disappoint them, but it didn’t work. My Bengali-ness took over.

Anyway, I found that after meeting a few people, it became increasingly easy to answer their questions. It’s not because they asked easier questions, or stopped asking questions. It’s because all of them asked questions from the same question pool, just like our great University of Calcutta that has been reusing and recycling questions from the time Chengiz Khan had last invaded Russia or your grandfather had last watched Krishi Darshan on Doordarshan.

Q 1: Baaabaaa you look so different ..

Which euphemistically means you have put on weight and look ugly. The claim to the prolonged “baaabbaaaa” is not from ba ba black sheep. You aren’t a Bengali if you cannot drone a prolonged nagging baaabaaaa at the beginning of a conversation to show amazement. What it actually means, or if it was coined by someone great like Tagore, I don’t know.

You: Nod and smile

What you ought to do: Nod and smile. Don’t ask for explanations. You are not going to like being told on your face that you are fat.

Q 2: So what have you got from the US?

Don’t: Start giving an account.

Do: Keep them guessing. Say this and that. Don’t even bring them close to the room where you kept your suitcases. If possible, say NOTHING. Stuff some Hershey's kisses chocolates in their hands instead.

Q 3: So don’t you miss home?

Now this is a tricky one. If you say yes, you will be asked why you didn’t visit earlier. If you say no, you are finished. You will be portrayed as that insensitive monster of a child who never cared about old and ailing parents, and while the poor father was toiling hard and the poor mother was cooking for the family in the heat and humidity and missing you, you were gambling and having fun in Las Vegas.

Don’t: Try thinking of an apt answer.

Do: Smile and nod at an angle which could mean both a yes and a no. Say you’ve never been to Las Vegas or gambled.

Q 4: So when are you getting married?

A trickier one, with the question having many sub-derivatives. Some ask if you’ve decided to marry a foreigner [foreigner by the way is anyone non-Indian. So hopefully even Sri Lankans should qualify]. Some specify certain religions and races whose people you should never marry even if he is the last man with who you can repopulate the earth. Some demand that no matter who you marry, the ceremony should be in India. Some even ask you if you have come home to (secretly) get married.

Don’t: Let them believe you are as clueless as they are about your wedding. Never let them know you don’t have a plan or that useless software engineer bugger from the Bay Area fucked up the relationship and after 4 years of hanky panky, saying he needs more time to “figure things out” and you are too old, stigmatized and tired to find someone new.

Do: Smile suspiciously and coyly. Let them know there is something you are hiding. They will be dying to know the truth.

Q 5: So do you plan to become a citizen? Are you settling there?

The most unsettling of all the questions. For one, with the screwed up economy and your singlehood, you are light years away from a green card, let alone a citizenship. Your boss is making your life at work miserable and the last thing on your mind after 12 hours of coding or mixing chemicals in the lab everyday is to think if you are going to “settle” in the US.

Don’t: Try explaining things. Before you know, the neighbors would have found out how much you earn, spend, and save.

Do: Smile and nod making an angle which could mean a yes maybe or a no maybe.

And then there are some other questions you would have no answer to. Even the smile and the nod will not help.

Q 6: I’m not asking you your salary, but how much do you earn compared to India n standards? (You can almost see the currency converter in their heads ticking).

Q 7: So I’ve heard many Indian girls and boys in the US live together. Is that true?

Try saying: Yes, it’s called an orgy.

Q 8: So do you cook Indian food at all? No, you must be eating burger and fries, and beef and pork, no?

Try saying: Yes, and bull balls and bison meat too, transported all the way from Yellowstone National Park.

Q 9: Aren’t white people smelly and refuse to take a bath everyday?

Try saying: Yes, and it is sometimes required by the law in certain states that immigrants soap them.

Also try saying, yes, and we act that way too for days sometimes.

Q 10: Is there some good news we should know about?

Try saying: Absolutely. And look indicatively at those flab tires on your tummy.

While most questions are innocuous, bordering mainly on curiosity and lack of knowledge, answering them might get awkward after all that privacy and space you’ve had in the western society. No one really cares why you are not married or how much your earn away from home, unless of course it is the same desi aunty who is visiting her sonny boy back in California this time.

In summary, you can get away with most questions with an innocent smile and a nodding of the head which could mean a yes, no, maybe, probably, most likely, anything.

sunshine

Gone with the wind ??

I’m not depressed or suffering. I haven’t gained weight in the last few months (in fact I have lost some). The Europe trip is still on. Overall, everything is going great (well, kinda). Yet I had an unusually morbid thought today.

What would happen to my blog if I died?

Now the little bit of money and belongings I have can go to my family. I’d be sad to part with my car, but remember, I am dead, so theoretically I couldn’t be feeling sad. Anyone wanting to claim my wardrobe, books, and other stuff is welcome. But what happens to my blog?

Does it vanish after a while? Does it become a ghost blog? Does it stay for people to read in future? Does it become a nationally preserved historic site? Since most of my blog readers wouldn’t know I am dead, would Google make an official announcement on my blog that I am dead, and people shouldn’t expect posts in future? Now my blog has comment moderation, meaning any comment posted has to get approved by me first. So even if someone makes an announcement of my death, or posts a “May your soul RIP sunshine. We are glad there will not be any meaningless posts in future” comment, who is going to publish the comment? What exactly will happen to my blog when I am dead?

Now the future of my blog shouldn’t really matter to me once I am dead. But while I am alive, I think it does matter. Like I can decide the fate of my materialistic belongings, I would like to decide the fate of my blog, something I started and have nurtured for years. What I do about it or how I do it, I don’t really know.

Your thoughts?

sunshine

Germane Conversations

sunshine: Deals. Where do I look for deals?

Friend: Kolkata to Frankfurt to Berlin? Or Dresden? Prague? Train from Frankfurt? Frankfurt to Seattle? Too many permutations and combinations.

Friend: Yes, finding out a good deal is a math game of permutation, combinations, and probability. We need to make a workable model.

Friend: Lufthansa. Check out the Lufthansa website.

sunshine:$2300? Too expensive. Naah, need to get something within $1000.

Bollywood crazy friend: Traveling alone? Akeli ladki khuli tijori ki tarah hoti hai (A young woman on her own is like an open safe).

sunshine: Two days. For two days I have been looking for a good deal now. I’ve been sleeping at 3 am every night. You think I will ever find one within my budget?

sunshine: Wasn’t the movie “Before Sunrise” shot in Vienna? And it’s sequel “Before Sunset” shot in Paris?

Ma: Germany? Why not make a trip to Gangtok?

sunshine in DDLJ style: Please baoji. Aap mujhe meri khushi ke liye meri zindagi se do haften nahi de sakte? (Father, are you mean enough not to let me take two weeks off my own life and enjoy?)

Friend: You should do Amsterdam. And Scandinavia. Italy is a must. Don’t forget Paris. Spain?

sunshine: What? Croatia is not a Schengen country? Bummer !!!

Ma: Ei je, go to sleep. It’s 3 am again. Don’t tell me you are trip planning.

sunshine: What???? You finally found a deal for less than $1000? Yipeeeee !!!

Nosy neighbor who joined us for shopping: Eh, Pantaloons dada, show us western dresses and tee shirts. Something short and nice to wear in Germany ($%%^%%&)

(I wonder if clothes are country specific. What show off !!)

Ma: What? You are leaving us 2 weeks before now? Are you heartless? Don’t you love your mother?

sunshine: Google maps. Google images. Google search engine. I eat, drink, sleep, and swear by them these days.

Friend: I have a feeling you will meet your husband while touring the streets of Europe.

sunshine: Need to read up European history and geography. By the way, where exactly is Prague located?

Friend: Lonely planet. Go for the lonely planet to guide you.

sunshine: Salzburg or Innsbruck? Salzburg or Innsbruck? Salzburg or Innsbruck? Confusion !!!!

Ma: Go to sleep !! It’s 3 am !!!!

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It seems the long awaited 2 week Europe trip is finally happening. And frankly, it’s giving me sleepless nights out of sheer excitement !!!

sunshine

Nosy Neighbor

Nosy neighbor: Where are you headed?
sunshine: Uhh... some shopping. In a hurry.
Nosy neighbor: Okay. Where?
sunshine: Umm.... here and there ... In a hurry aunty.
Nosy neighbor (looking suspicious): Here and there? What will you buy?
sunshine: err..... this and that ... In a hurry aunty.
Nosy neighbor: What time will you be back?
sunshine: Well, are you planning to invite me for dinner?

Nosy neighbor (LOL): You have an amazing sense of humor !!

sunshine: (Sigh !!!): (To self, while running down the stairs): What do I do with people who don't understand sarcasm?

Nosy neighbor: Show me what you get, okay?

SIGH !!!

-----------------------------------

Nosy neighbor: Well well, where did mom and daughter go this evening?

sunshine: How did you know we were away?

Nosy neighbor: Aunty knows it all beta. The front door was locked.

sunshine: Oh, we just went here and there.

Nosy neighbor: What did you eat?

sunshine: Oh, we just had some momos for dinner.

Nosy neighbor (looking at mom): So who paid for dinner? Mom or daughter?

SHEESSHHH !!!

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Nosy neighbor: So how come you are home for 2 months now?

sunshine: It’ll be 4 months of vacation in all.

Nosy neighbor: So are you still paying rent in Seattle?

sunshine: Yes, of course.

Nosy neighbor: Your office gave you leave for 4 months?

sunshine: I’m working from home.

Nosy neighbor (looking confused): What does working from home mean?

sunshine: It means I stay at home and work.

Nosy neighbor: But I don’t see you working.

sunshine: Oh, I work when everyone is asleep.

Nosy neighbor: Call center type job?

sunshine: Yeah you can say that.

Nosy neighbor: So are you still getting paid while you are here?

sunshine: Of course. And aunty, please please don’t ask me how much I get paid !!!

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sunshine

Raj- The Savior

It was a perfect recipe for the biggest goof up. Well, come a certain Monday, I received my I-20 form (the document that allows you to get a visa interview date in the first place). I read it and re-read it for the umpteenth time, happy that things were working out finally. By Tuesday, I had paid the money to the bank, got myself a professional set of photos for the visa interview, compared it with my last set of visa photos taken 4 years ago, and thunked my head multiple times on the wall after seeing the massive havoc adipose tissue has caused to my face ever since. By Wednesday, I was looking at the set of dates available for the interview.

Available days: Monday. Tuesday. Thursday. Friday.

Monday was 5 days away. Tuesday 6. Thursday 8. Putting it off until Friday would surely cause me a nervous breakdown.

And then I remembered. My friend was visiting Kolkata from Bangalore for a couple of days, arriving on Sunday. I really wanted to meet and maximize my time with him. Guiltily, I weighed my options. Ideally I should have scheduled my interview on Monday. But that would mean being sufficiently engaged with the preparations for visa interview that I wouldn’t have enough time to spend with him. Although my foremothers would advice against doing anything crazy for a guy you are not going to marry (which includes postponing a visa interview by 4 days), I pressed the “confirm” button for the Thursday 8:15 am slot. Foremothers’ voices were put on mute for a while.

By Sunday, the Raj Mistry had sufficiently jinxed my plans of meeting my friend for the next 3 days. He decided to work under supervision starting Sunday and hence now I was not meeting my friend at all. The Raj Mistry by the way isn’t your next door Shah Rukh Khan look-alike guy from Karan Johar movies (though the name would suggest so). Amongst all the hilarious names prominently used by Bengalis like Pocha, Nadu Gopal, Joga (Jaw-ga), Keshto, and Poltu, Raj Mistry is what you call the craftsman who makes basic repairs in the house. Some home repairs had to be made at my friend’s place and he called to say he would not be able to meet me during this trip.

So now, I had just postponed my visa interview by 4 days for a reason that was not to be. Did I just hear the sarcasm-coated voices from my foremothers?

Sunday evening, I was bored to death. I tried making 4 different plans with friends but none of them worked out. Without sufficient preamble, getting hold of someone free enough on a Sunday evening turned out to be an impossible task. I wondered if the Raj Mistry was having fun with his chisel and hammer.

Bored, I resorted to my ever available friend- the internet. I logged on to Gmail and barely found anyone online. Need I be reminded it was Sunday evening and everyone was having fun outside? A friend from Florida logged in and I was glad to chit chat. His sister was just done with her visa interview and I asked how it went.

Sunshine: Visa is expensive. I just shelled out some INR 6.5k.

Florida Friend: Are you sure? My sister just shelled out INR 17k.

Sunshine: What !!!!

It turned out that there was a visa fee, and there was a SEVIS fee. They were separate. I don’t really goof up visa related things (or important things for that matter), but it seems senility is hitting me and I had this time. I don’t know how I missed the part where I had to pay the $200 SEVIS fee. I jogged my memory and remembered a friend of mine had done the same mistake and realized it on the day of the interview. The trouble was, it took 3 business day to get the SEVIS fee processed. I had Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Thursday was the visa interview. And here I was nicely sitting at home, happy that visa related things were taken care of, and cursing my friend and the Raj Mistry.

It’s been a while since I had felt such shock, and felt relieved at the same time that I had realized and hence checked the possibility of a goof up right on time. Things could have gone wrong at multiple stages. I could have decided to listen to my foremothers and got the visa interview scheduled on Monday. The Raj Mistry could have not shown up and then I’d be meeting my friend and not be online to talk to my Florida friend. Fate had conspired in a way to get all my plans of going out on a Sunday evening jinxed so that I’d be online and talking to my friend. It turned out, like always, that I had done the right thing but for all the wrong reasons.

sunshine

Another visa interview- 4 years later

The morning of the visa interview didn’t really start on a good note. Things screwed up, albeit in a harmless, comical way. I always prided myself for being a sound sleeper but sleep eluded me the night before. It must have been a combination of the thoughts of my visa being rejected, me having to hunt for a job and a local groom in Kolkata, and the elephantine mosquitoes feasting on my blood that put me through a state of trance, of half wakefulness and half sleep. I woke up long before the shrill, annoying cry of my alarm went off.

“I am going to look my smartest self”, I sang to myself as I poured a fistful of shampoo in the shower. 5 minutes of vigorous head massaging later, there was no lather. I wondered was this a new shampoo that promised healthy hair without lather. A very un-bespectacled me squinted at the sachet. Darn, it wasn’t the shampoo, it was the conditioner. The shampoo sachets were all missing. I had just poured a sachet full of conditioner on my oily hair sans any shampoo. First goof up of the day.

A number of other minor goof ups followed. One actually happened 4 days before the interview, but that will make another sensational blog post soon, I promise. While waiting at the traffic signal, I saw the name of the e-stalker painted colorfully behind a truck. Not a good sign. I was reminded of the person who during a frustrated moment of male chauvinism had told me that he wished I never get my visa approved and stay back. I didn’t know whether to be alarmed, it’s not nice to be cursed at or being ill-wished upon. So even though I asked the person to “Kat le”, I got a little superstitious about it. This of course saved my Facebook friends from the boring visa updates like, “5 days to go, biting my nails in anticipation”, and “2 days to go for the visa. Counting hours”.

I was about 90 minutes early for my 8:15 am interview and decided to kill time by talking to G and hear baby Kalyani babble on the phone. Strolling on the road since the consulate wouldn’t let me in, I was deeply engaged in conversation about the most trivial stuff like Seattle weather on a visa day when the crow decided to bless my freshly laundered clothes. 3^rd goof up of the day. I didn’t really know if it was a blessing sent from Heaven or a bad omen.

Anyway, before any more goof ups could happen, I was quickly summoned to the consulate where the lady on duty checked me at various ticklish places, wanting to ascertain if I would giggle and say, “Okay okay, I am here for my visa, mother promise”, or would giggle and say, “Okay okay, I am a wannabe terrorist. There are arms hidden up my armpits”. Soon I was summoned to the same open waiting area I had been to 4 years ago. I particularly noticed 2 people, one who looked exactly like my school senior who I had last seen 14 years ago, and another girl with excess facial hair, probably a first timer, who kept folding her hands, closing her eyes, moving back and forth and praying. I was half-tempted to hug her and assure her everything would be fine, but checked myself lest my sisterly intentions are misunderstood. I wondered what she was so nervous about.

Next I was called to the main lobby, which is nothing like what I remembered from the last time. The seating area had changed, the counters were all this way and that way, or maybe my brain had garbled up and was seeing mirror images. The plasma TV showed Aaj Tak on mute. Things had definitely changed in 4 years. Not to mention the fact that I was older, fatter, balder, but ironically still in the same boat, waiting for the same PhD visa interview that I had been to 4 years ago.

So I decided to wait for my turn and observe the world around me lest I fall asleep. There were students, working professionals, families, and parents visiting their children. Everyone had a story, a purpose of being there in the same room at the same time, and I wondered what each one’s story was. I saw a particular guy wearing an IIT Kanpur Techkriti tee shirt (showing off?) and arched my eyebrows when I quickly checked my sarcastic self remembering an anonymous commentator on my blog who had remarked, “But why do you hate IITians? I am from an IIT too”.

The counters where the actual interview happened were all covered, unlike the last time, so that whether you were granted or denied a visa, the world did not witness your own private moments with the visa officer where you struggled through the paperwork trying to find the document the officer asked for, or tried to convince him why you wanted to study in the US despite patriotism coursing through your veins and how you vowed to take the first flight back home the moment you were done with your course. I once again looked at the people around me, in various degrees of nervousness and expectations, all destined to fly to different parts of the US if everything went well for them today, and imagined them all scattered taking Patel shots at different places in a few months’ time, some grinning in front of the Statue of Liberty, some making a V in front of the Golden Gate Bridge in SF, some in skiing attires and snow shoes on their way to Mr. Rainier, and a group of desi men, all heavily ignored by the white girls despite their desperate attempts, rolling on their own in the beaches of Miami. Friends had strictly asked me to wear a salwar kameez to convince the officer of my patriotism, a desperate measure to tell him I was definitely getting back to India once I was done (if I hadn’t acquired a green card husband by then). I wondered if the visa officer was that stupid to not see through it. The usher droned mechanically to everyone every 5 minutes, “Please keep your documents ON your hands”. I was half tempted to correct him, but checked myself. Like he cares if the documents were on my hands or in my hands.

The room felt like a jail, where prisoners were ushered this way and that way, and spoken strictly to if they went up to the wrong counter or produced the wrong document out of nervousness. No, not a jail, maybe a school, and everyone was supposed to obey these people, follow a strict protocol, and conduct themselves well, because their dreams of visiting the US depended on these men who had the authority. The mangoes I had for breakfast irritated my throat, but I stifled a cough lest I am suspected of carrying cough germs and asked to come back later with another appointment on another day. Needless to say, I was nervous. The school senior look-alike girl had her name called in a while. She was indeed my senior from school. The name and the face was unmistakable. Another insignificant co-incidence and probabilistic game of meeting people you knew in the larger scheme of things.

The visa officers, who I could not see, called people one by one. One had a garbled voice with a thick American accent and I could barely understand the names he mumbled. The other one of course had a very clear and distinct voice, and there was something endearing about the voice. I secretly prayed the second person would call my name. Sometimes, little prayers are answered without God making much fuss. The guy soon called my name clearly and I trotted on my way. One look into his face and I received another tiny shock worth a few millivolts. For there was no white skinned American guy waiting for me. Our visa officer looked our very own Indian, in fact South Indian self. He must have been an American born of South Indian descent. I had barely entered the room when he said, “Promise me every information you have is true and you are not hiding anything”.

I looked confused.

“Just kidding”, he said after a meaningful pause.

So our visa officer had a filmy sense of humor too?, I thought.

The next 10 minutes passed with me answering a multitude of questions, thanks to my visa status changing from F1 to H1B and now back to F1. What program did I join back in 2006? Where was I working after that? What were my GRE scores? Why did I choose to come back to India for a few months and not join school directly? Was I ever out of status in the US? And so on…

Finally, “I will cancel your…… (as he said this, he scratched my last F1 visa. Did I just hear the word “cancel”? My heart sank) …….. last F1 visa and will approve your new visa. Congratulations”.

I has almost stopped breathing. I had made it. Yaay !! I was tempted to kiss his bald head, instead I jived and dived out of the interview room without so much as a thank you before he could change his mind. My day was made. I was especially skeptical about my visa this time for 2 reasons. First, I’ve had this status change from a student visa to a work visa, and am getting back to school again. Second, I am joining the PhD program in a totally different field, something I have never studied before, and it might have been difficult for me to justify my field transition.

I took the metro back home. While taking the auto in the final leg, I saw a picture of Sri Sri Ravi Shankar smiling back at me (his usual expression), as if telling me “All Iz Well”. All is well indeed.

I thought I will sleep peacefully tonight. It’s almost 4 am, and I am still too excited to sleep.

P.S. 1: If you have a visa interview scheduled, good luck. Feel free to ask me questions. And salwar kameez or no salwar kameez, wear your confidence with you. When the officer asked me for my official appointment letter, I realized to my dismay that I had forgotten to get it. One of the many goof ups of the day. Instead of apologizing, I confidently gave him my financial assistantship letter (which is different from the appointment letter). He didn’t even realize it.

P.S. 2: No, I was not asked for documents showing liquid financial assets, bank papers, or asked questions about funding. I wasn’t asked to convince them that I have ties in India and I will be back before they know.

sunshine