Loopback

July 29, 1999 - July 29, 2004.
That's how long it takes to loop though this place.

Visa power!

So you thought 'Go get it' is just about everything you need to do to get an American visa?

The first thing to do is, of course, to get an appointment online. I barely managed a date on July 19. This was after I'd waited for my I-20 for more than a month. Apparently you can't apply for a F1 more than 90 days before your intended departure, so *technically* I wouldn't have use for an I-20 before June. I'm technical too, so I preferred to get a date after I had the I-20 on my desk.

Next step, get your dues cleared from the insti. This, I'd heard, would take the better half of a month to complete. Luckily, a friend and me went around and did all but the department dues in two days. This done, one would have thought, apna department hai, kya tension hai yaar. When you're as sure as that, and assuming you're human, you'd go into hibernation till around a week before your appointment date. I, being sure, and human, did that.

Finally when the blistering alarm went off, I looked at the 5 blanks at the department no-dues form and... whistled. Through the next working week, I was running after lab asses, ill Kuars, grislyhaired HODs and the other mortals in town to burn the signature forest spawned by them innocent-looking 5 blanks. I threw myself a Domino's party the day I finally laid lands on my provisional degree and transcript.

Next, I'd to get a photograph of my face, and lured by the promise of a car-ride, I went to a polaroid place to get that done. In minutes, I got four smiling copies, hair parted on the wrong side (the mirror is *always* right!). Till I noticed that they were far smaller than the 50mm x 50 mm demanded in the application. They wouldn't care, I told myself.

In the meantime, I got a couple of drafts made out for American Embassy, New Delhi and TTS Services, New Delhi. I got back some shady looking handwritten rectangular pieces of thin paper they called banker-cheques. Are they the same as demand-drafts, I asked. Same, I heard. But of course, they wouldn't care, I told myself.

As Monday approached, I got increasingly paranoid about the two things I'd told myself they wouldn't care about. On top of that, I'd chosen not to shave my goatee. Would they care about that too?

I reached the embassy a quarter of an hour before my appointment time, and found a line of 100 odd hopefuls before me. Half an hour into the queue, I found an irritating public video pointing out for the sixth time that probably my photograph was invalid material. I calculated that 1.4 inch squared is less than half of 2 inch squared, so the argument "I almost listened to you Sir" that I'd thought of throwing in the loo that morning fizzed up my ***. I decided to break out of line.

Somebody told me there's a place nearby that takes out instant digitals. I never got to know if he was right. On the way, an autowala promised me to take to a place he knew for 10/-, and I chose him over uncertainty. We rode for some minutes, during which I was told it would be 30/- for the return trip, and I agreed, pleasing the autowala immensely. I was given three large (I mean, 50 x 50) photos, then one stuck back on the application, and then told it would be 200/-. I reached into my wallet and found I had two notes of 100 each. Hah, fate. I asked for a 20/- rebate, and they agreed. The autowala gave a further 10/- rebate, and I rejoined the line half an hour after I had broken it, now confident all would be well.

After that, it was easy. I got to a window, passed my pre-screening in two tries (I had to overwrite N/A with some contact number there, which I dug out from the right side of my brain), went through a line of twenty to submit the courier draft, another line of fifty through a lunch break of half an hour and, an hour each either side of lunch, and... finally faced the windows showing the faces of people who would decide if I was good enough for the power of an American visa. I will spare you the shitpot cravings of my companions in the line who'd heavied my lids for one sixth of a day.

The guy who took my interview looked a killer, with unkempt straight hair, penetrating eyes and no idea where his smiling muscles could be. I chose not to wish him, because I didn't want to sound the bullshiting type. He looked at my application, then my scores, asked me about any other offers I'd received, complemented my choice of school, took fingerprints of both my index fingers, asked me to do something with them when I put them on the red sensor, I did that something, he said *this time audibly* that he wanted me to press the length of the digit on the sensor instead of the tip, I did that now, and then he said, your visa will be ready in a couple of days.

I let out the fart I'd kept inside for a good part of the day. I gave the address of a hostelmate (I've vacated my room) to the courierwalas, and today, after a couple of "Sorry I missed you - BLUEDART"s, I looked at an American visa for the first time in my life.

My American visa.