I began typing this blog post in my head while I waited inside the US Consulate for the Visa interview on Jun 17. Of course, the actual typing happened much later.
THE VISA GAMES: PASSPORT, PLEASE…
A year ago, on a Saturday, Sujith announced that we would apply for a US and UK visa today. I raised an eyebrow and continued to surf channels. He carried the laptop to the table, plugged it in, and retrieved his spectacles from beneath a book, “The Psychology of Money.” Yes, he juggles between this book and a massive tome, How Prime Ministers Decide – he has been at it for many months. After some 20 minutes on the laptop, I heard his frustration.
“This bloody thing is asking more questions than you!”
Aha, Sujith hated questions. He usually gave me a single yes or no to a string of questions I texted him. The next thing I heard was the sound of his chair scratching against the floor. Off he went to the balcony, dissipating smoke rings in the muggy air.
“Would you come and help me fill these forms? I am not going to travel alone, am I?”
I switched off the TV, swapped my reading glasses, and pulled up a chair beside him. After 2 hours, we submitted the UK visa application. We took the rest of the day off and opened the US visa application on Sunday.
***
The UK visa interview happened within three months, and we received the visa in 21 days. We even took a holiday trip to London and Scotland. A year has passed since we submitted the US visa application, and today was the D-day. We could have checked the availability of an earlier date by logging in regularly, but since we weren’t in any hurry, we left it untouched. 9.15 was our appointment time. 45 km away was the Consulate, a 40-minute drive. I proposed to go by 7:30 am, but at 7:10, I chewed my nails while Sujith clipped his. Sujith invariably clipped his nails, especially on the days he had something important and an appointment to be at. I think it’s his kind of coping mechanism, a relaxation technique that worked for him but frayed my nerves. I mumbled in a very low voice, lest he delay a few minutes in arguments. 7.59, we started our vehicle. By 8.30, when we hit traffic, I began to squirm in my seat, partly due to my overactive bladder. (I seriously should get it checked, absolutely annoying. Oh, how I encountered wild animals in Kenya, due to this, erm, check out my ‘passport pages’ on my website.) The US website clearly stated that parking wasn’t allowed at the Consulate. We argued about where to park and take a cab. I pointed at spots, but he drove on. Then he finally parked on a street near the Consulate. The Etisalat telephone network played truant, and he couldn’t pay the parking fees. I found a payment meter and hailed a taxi while he battled the meter. Taxis didn’t heed me.
“Aren’t you keeping the mobile in the car? You said we couldn’t carry them inside.” I mumbled in exasperation.
He sauntered to our car to stow the mobile, while I shouted ‘Taxi, taxi’ and ran around like a headless chicken. Sujith ambled casually toward me, a cigarette in his hand, and my face revealed my inner thoughts. He asked a Juice shop guy for directions. The Consulate was just around the corner. 500 metres away. We rushed, or rather I rushed, Sujith puffing on his cigarette, sauntering at a steady pace behind me. I saw the signage, United States of America. I felt as if I had landed in the US of A. Already. A security guard asked us to turn right a little ahead. There we met an African American who smiled and said, “Hello, Good morning.”
I panted. He said, “Are you walking from far?”
“Yes, in the hot sun.” It was 47 degrees. He guided us to the walkway to the right, where we spotted a queue of 10 people. We joined them. No separate line for the locals, men garbed in white and women in black, stood with us. Another family from Kerala was ahead of us in the line. I asked Sujith the time- he said 9.10. I said, Nonsense. Show me the watch. It was 9.11. I expelled a whoosh of relief. By 9:25, we were ushered inside for a walk-through of a scanner, and we deposited our car keys. Sujith had to remove his wallet and belt and hoped he would not be asked to remove his shoes. The security asked me, “Your belt, watch?” I said, “Nope. I don’t have a belt, a watch, or a mobile.” He smiled and waved us inside. We sat in an enclosure with others. As the people seated in the front rows were taken inside, we moved forward to the front rows and waited.
“Where was the Komando resort?” I wondered why Sujith asked me this now.
“Maldives.” We had travelled there a few years ago for my birthday.
“What is the capital?”
I was perplexed. “Male. Do you think they are going to ask me GK?”
“I don’t know. What if they ask? What if they reject our visa if you can’t answer such a question?”
This increased my unease. I quizzed Sujith on some countries and their capitals, as well as some international news.
A Lebanese couple (we saw their passport held in their hands), both beautiful with cute little children aged 8 and 6 approximately, were seated in a row ahead. The daughter, 8, was pulling her father’s cheeks, talking, and playing. The boy was clinging to his mom, and they played a game of rock, paper, scissors.
The girl was bored and asked her father, “Papa, where was I before I was born?”
Papa said, “In your mama’s tummy.”
The wife blushed as she chuckled at her husband.
“Mama, was I inside your tummy?”
“Yes, baby.”
“So where was I after I was born?”
“In the hospital.”
“Then?”
The little brother pealed, “At home!”
The sister wasn’t done yet. “Then?”
“In the nursery, then school, now at the US consulate….” Mama continued until the security guard, who had a torch, a walkie-talkie, and a stick clipped to his trousers, guided us inside.
By 9.45, we entered the central area.
I ran to the washroom while Sujith waited in a queue for biometrics. I am like the animals that mark their territory – wherever I go, I have to use the washroom. At counter 9, the lady took our passports and photos, scanned everything, and directed us to counter 13. There, another lady picked up the passports, typed something on her system, and asked us to record our fingerprints. Left four fingers, right four fingers, and both thumbs. While waiting my turn, I watched the large TVs outside the counters, which played a video on a loop. If your fingers aren’t dry, we cannot take your fingerprints. Use the tissues near the counter to dry them. I kept rubbing my hands vigorously on my jeans. We were then asked to sit in the waiting area for the interview. After 10 minutes, we were directed to counter 4.
All the while, at regular intervals since we left home, Sujith has been harping, “I don’t care if they reject the application. We are just trying. It’s ok, not that I am dying for a US visa.” I caught on early that all these were for me, to prepare me for an adverse outcome, because when our Australia visa was rejected in 2016, it cleaved me. I had planned the trip, watched travel videos, booked flights and hotels, and everything was ruined with the rejection letter. So, I nodded to Sujith and said, “You need not be so pessimistic, and I can handle a rejection.” The US was not on top of my travel bucket list, unlike Australia. I had diligently watched every episode of MasterChef Australia and was also more intrigued by the book “Down Under” by Bill Bryson.
The Lebanese family was at counter four before us, and we overheard the kids answering questions. I noticed now that they were in school uniform; perhaps the parents were dropping them off at school after this. The children responded to the questions asked, including their school’s name and the capital of the UAE. The lady inside collected their passports and bid them farewell. Mama said, “Say thank you to her.” The girl said, Thank you. The boy said, Thank you for coming home. The otherwise tense atmosphere in the waiting room lessened a bit as a few of us let out nervous laughter, hearing his remark. All around, every face reflected stress, so many hopes and dreams stiffened their visage. I watched as the faces lit up and people jaunted out joyfully when their passports were collected. Those who had their passports returned trudged, fighting tears.
Then it was our turn.
Sujith dropped the passports into the counter groove. The lady keyed in something and asked, “What’s your purpose of travel?”
The microphone speakers were next to me. Sujith leaned forward, “Come again.”
“Tourism.” I chipped in. Sujith turned towards me, and I touched his arm. I had told him earlier that he should answer all the questions; I would stay mum, because I tend to give a one-page answer to a 2-mark question.
“Do you have friends or relatives in the US?”
“Friends.” Again, I answered.
Sujith guessed the question, “Friends, my schoolmates are there.”
“Where?”
“They are all over the US.”
“Are you going to New Jersey?”
Both of us were puzzled. We answered in unison, “New York.” Sujith had wanted to land at Heathrow in the UK on his first trip, which we did, and JFK, New York, in the US at first.
Sujith continued, “We haven’t planned anything as such. Want to spend New Year’s in New York and maybe visit Florida.” (We overheard a lady answering earlier, Las Vegas.)
I realised I was sucking my cheeks, Florida?! Where did this come from? Oh yeah, his friend had just been to Florida for his son’s graduation, that must have prompted this answer.
Sujith answered where he worked and about his position/compensation. Then, to the question, since when have you been in the UAE? We provided a detailed explanation of our initial entry into this country and our subsequent multiple stays for employment purposes.
“Do you work?” She looked at me.
“No, I am a homemaker. I worked in the Railways in India. Took VRS. I am also an author; my debut book was published a couple of months ago.” We were warming up, and all that I had heard about answering only to the questions asked, not giving extra unasked information, was forgotten. I stopped short of selling her my book, Platform Ticket. In fact, a friend had suggested that I carry a copy and give it to the interviewer.
“That’s nice. Congratulations.”
I flashed a smile.
“Do you have children?”
“No.”
“You will be travelling with friends or just the 2 of you?”
“Just us.”
“Which other countries have you travelled to?”
Ah, we had this under control.
Sujith started, “Srilanka…”
I clenched my jaw. Really? We are starting with the small stuff. How about the bigger countries we have visited? Then it hit me: Sujith was trying to name the places we had visited year by year….Srilanka was our first international holiday destination, but the UAE was our first international trip.
I jutted in, “UK, Kenya…”
“Tanzania.”
“Maldives.”
“Georgia.”
“Thailand.”
She smiled; she liked our united front!
She pushed a green paper and said, “Collect your passports when you receive the email.
Sujith looked at me quizzically. I gushed Thank you, thank you and pulled him away.
“What?”
“Arrey, if they collect the passports, it means the visa is approved.”
“How do you know?”
“I know. I observed the people. I read in a book, too. Chuckle Merry Spin by Khyrunnisa, in the book, she mentions her getting the US visa and her maiden travel to the States.”
“Good, the book proved a lucky read. I will also read it.”
“Yes, it’s a fun read. Perhaps we will reread Bryson before we travel.”
“Anyways, let’s see the passport with the visa to confirm it.”
I exuberantly thanked the security folks and skipped out, collecting our car keys.
“Wait, I will call a taxi. It’s too hot.”
“Nah! Let’s walk. We are happy. We are going to the US of A!!”
“Hahaha, but why did she mention New Jersey?”
We shrieked together, “Because we had filled in your New Jersey friends’ address while applying.”
Holding hands, in the scorching desert sun, we hopped towards our car.
We collected the passports after a day, and yes, we have a 10-year US visa.
Yayy. Uncle Sam, hope to meet you soon.
Photo Courtesy Unsplash Greg Rosenke
