Three rows of anxiety ridden faces
lined one side of the wall at the American Embassy Interview Lobby. Will they,
won’t they, get their US Visa approval today?
The ping of the token meters made
rhythmic music. The usher staff nudged along, snaky files of nervous looking
applicants. Despite the professional courtesy on display, Anne Frank’s diary stole
into my head intermittently. We were the Jews and the Visa officers were the
Aryans. They were the precipice that lay between us and our Everest.
There was every shade of humanity
present; students, entrepreneurs, business men, artists, mendicants, professionals.
And their stories were on display. The interview format being what it is, the
applicant’s replies to questions posed by the Visa Officer bounced back into quivering
ears of the waiting mass. When one of the officers broke into accented Hindi, there was
a wave of community mirth. It was not difficult to predict the outcome of the
interview in progress from the waiting gallery. The tone of the explanations,
the tilt of the interviewer’s head and in one case, the two lethal words, “Take
care!” were a dead giveaway.
We sat clutching our document and
passport folders, knowing that if the curtain came down on this act, there was
no parting the folds, no appealing, no one on the other side to listen. The
power of a nation’s state machinery was there for anyone to see. There may have
been a hundred myths about the said recovery of the US economy; a whole lot of
people, nearly 800 or so, still wanted to go there in that instant and quite badly
at that.
In those few hours inside the
Chanakyapuri Embassy of the United States of America, with the bravado gone,
the need all too clearly on display, the cracks showed. Under the dressed up
exterior, there was the same concern, the same anxiety, the same insecurity and
self-doubt. Will I get that strict looking officer to interview me? What if
they reject my application? Have I covered everything so far as the documents
are concerned? Where do I say I shall be staying? Might they ask to see the
itinerary? I think I have it all but everyone says, you can never be sure. Why
is this particular applicant walking away in dejection? Ought not they to be
fingerprinting only the approved passport holders? Will they shut down for
lunch?
When I was “young, merry and very
very wise”, I used to feel unique, alone in my internal world. It was as though
no one had experienced what I was going through , ever before. There was a sense of
exclusivity that was not always and not entirely comfortable. A big part of
growing up was the realization that
we are all more similar than we give
ourselves credit for!
Sitting today with the compatriots,
it showed. Same to same! We are same to same......
Note: Pics by Aqseer
No comments:
Post a Comment