Vague, Interesting, Slightly Anti-climatic (V.I.S.A.) Interview

This visa interview thing, tends to come with a massive build-up. This build-up is usually from random sources, but the more you try to avoid the topic, the more this multitude of fear-vocalization comes and keeps smashing you in the face. The way people talk about it as being a major hurdle, and the biggest area for concern.

Honestly, I was a bit disappointed; hoping, perhaps, for a more intellectually stimulating process. Here's what happened, anyway.

By the time I got to the Consulate compound, just past 7am, there was already a queue of about a score people, standing in line, on the pavement. Sluggishly, the queue moved, hardly anyone jostled or pushed - when my turn came, the lady took my appointment confirmation, and handed me a token with a number on it. Then this pencil of a security guard (who I could take out in a jiffy) frisked me, and disarmed the main entrance. Once inside, there's a second level of security. The chap checked my file, asked me if I had portable memory, closed envelopes, or bio-weapons (like I'd have told him), and then I was walked through a scanner and frisked again (and my mum always said to not let strangers touch me, but here I was, forced by circumstance). Another armed door lead into a somewhat large room, with no airconditioning (WARM), thanks to the fact that it opened into the main courtyard. I had to wait here for about fifteen minutes, so it was time for people-watching. The first thing that struck me was that people were behaving like they were already inside the United States; desperate to make an impression on the Firangs. What with talking in English, and actually following instructions and STANDING IN QUEUE, and being generally courteous. While we waited, they were showing some useless videos about how to use the fingerprint scanner; I was just ogling at the 50inch HD Plasma TVs that were going to SUCH WASTE.

Eventually these counters opened for business; this gentleman took my paperwork, photograph etc., rearranged some of the more important documents, stapled them, put them in a folder, and handed the folder back to me. I overheard a conversation about how someone was rather disappointed that all the consular staff that they had interacted with, were not white or black, but brown (note they still listened to the brown people with the kind of subservience that they normally show only to foreigners).

Another queue to be finger-printed; took about five minutes of waiting and about ten seconds of actual fingerprinting. The armed doors and the fingerprints made me feel like a criminal;
"Alien Con", I thought to myself. They had hand-sanitizer dispensers too, to clean up after having been printed. The sanitizer was blue, and very  Yankey-Doodley, so I gave it a skip.

I was directed to the next building, for the interview. Everyone ran. I lazed around, drank a cup of water, went to the Mens' Room, looked around at the perfectly manicured lawns, the minimalist decor, and the ambassador's car (which was not an Ambassador), before heading to the next building - still reaching ten minutes before the counters so much as opened for business. It's a little intimidating, how much people get intimidated by the process. The only thing I found intimidating were the armed doors - I'm certain they weighed as much as me, each of them.

While I waited here they were showing more random videos - about community colleges in the US, about UMD's Solar Decathlon house, about the State of Wyoming (No, seriously). More people watching - wailing children, bejewelled brides, snobbish teenagers, the whole shebang.

When my number finally showed up on screen, I went and stood in the queue. I was walking around so nonchalantly that people started. It was hilarious; I'm usually stared at for being hyperactive. The interview itself was some two minute thing. This redhead, mid-thirties; he saw my passport, and my GRE score, gave me one big smile and asked me some really perfunctory questions, and made small-talk about whether there was a chance I'd fail my final exams. He then said something about how my visa had been approved and I could go home.

The sense of relief that everyone I spoke to expressed, when their visa was approved, is not something I felt. The whole thing felt so routine and pointless, I was slightly disappointed. Oh, well, it's over now. Registrations, done. Tickets, done. Visa, done.

Okay, this rant must end now. I need breakfast. More soon.

The "dis and e1 dat" phenomenon

Isn’t the whole purpose of writing making the process of reading a pleasurable experience? Isn’t the whole point of writing anything, COMMUNICATION? (Dictionary definition: the art and technique of using words effectively to impart information or ideas)

Apparently, not for everybody. Especially for the many people who text message more often than they exhale carbon dioxide. And these same people are soon going to be in my immediate environment. EVERYDAY.

Let me explain: I do not, for the life of me, understand this text message- language business. Y wld u write a sntnce lyk dis whn it tks ur brain twice as lng 2 process wat d hell ur reading when you could do the sane thing and write like this? Why would you use the “.” or the “?” symbol ten thousand times when once would suffice? (Ever seen this: Hi…………. or Hw r u?????????). If this were a phenomenon that existed only in the SMS context, it would be explainable, but it really starts to get annoying when you see people writing this way everwhere else.

How many letters does the word cool have? Four, right? How long does it take to type the word cool? Oh let me check, c-o-o-l. About one second. Why then do people have the obsessive need to type “kewl”? It’s still four letters and you didn’t save any time, dude!

I don’t know about you, but this is my internal experience when I read smething dats bin typd lyk dis: a kichkichikichikichikichi sound in my ears (you know that horrid one when someone takes their long nails and vigorously scratches a blackboard?) and the image of a VERY distorted brain wave. My poor brain is protesting so hard against having to read and comprehend this new and alien language that I unconsciously already feel disconnected from the person I’m communicating with. It’s like a virtual antenna has now been installed: it easily picks up sane-people signals and has a very loud “crack-typer” alarm. So much so that I already seem to like and trust people who write normally, even though I do not know them at all! Slightly scary, honestly.

And then I feel bad that I am making all these judgments and in general being Nazi and a bit of a b*^&%. I guess the general complaint is that things are changing and I need to cope. Where is that compassionate, sweet, patient me hiding? The one who looks for the good in others and appreciates the backgrounds people come from?

2 pt up wid dis nonsense, e1 if it tks a while 2 find her, I must. I must.

P.S: If you are someone who types lyk dis and if you are reading this post, no offense!

It’s just that some of us in the world like our English the way it’s meant to be: regular words, regular sentences. Smooth brain waves. Calming sounds.

Also, I just read a new one: “aftrol” for after all.
I don't even know what to say about that one.

Constant Changes

Everything seems to be changing; slowly, steadily. It seems only fitting that we chose to call ourselves the Sankey Tank Turtles. The lake is turning into a metaphorical representation of the inside of my head. For those of you that don't know, here's the Newspaper Article on what's going on. The old is making way for the new. There's a lot of protest from people that have lived in North Bangalore their whole life; but the (corrupt?) officials seem not to care about anything as much as they do about the Urban Renewal Mission (and their kickbacks from it). The question that's being asked is whether at all it's worth it. I'm still trying to figure out whether it's worth it to give up so many beautiful things that we have so far taken for granted, and go through a noisy, long-drawn process, for the possibly overrated gain of smoother traffic flow. Whether it's worth it to give up everything I associate with the concept of home, and go through a noisy, long-drawn process, for the possibly overrated gain of good graduate education? Oh, well, if Darwin taught us anything, it is that we must adapt, that when the tank becomes inhospitable, the turtles must move to land. And from what I can see, the UMCP campus is quite a nice piece of land to move to. Nandana's mother was there yesterday, and here's a picture she took. Seems pretty.

Amongst the other changes that are happening in life, it has become acceptable for Baba Ramdev to be in public in a white salwar kameez, while constantly bad-mouthing the Government. It has also become acceptable for me to call myself a graduate, since I'm finally done with college. Now that we're done with that, I can focus on getting my visa, and moving to a University where meritocracy apparently rules (ask anyone that went to MSRIT. A meritocratic university system is all but a distant dream). Every change, I guess, has the good, the bad and the ugly. Oh, coming back to focusing on getting my visa – it's a fairly complex process, with online forms, and biometrics and questions on the form about whether I'm a terrorist. My dossier with all the documentation weighs about as much as a bowling-ball, and the thought of having to report at the consulate at 6.45am, with that behemoth accordion file, isn't all that pleasant. Oh, well, I have nothing to do for the next two months, so I can dedicate it to getting all set to leave, and pretty much pack my life into two 50lb cases. I'm also learning to cook, now (because I'm a self-confessed foodie, and I NEED a hot Indian breakfast in the morning – toast and cereal is NOT breakfast), so I'll probably post some recipes too. My laptop is coming with me to Madras; I'm going to try to live-blog the visa interview day. Let's see how that goes. Things rarely go as planned. One of the constants ends up changing because change, it seems, is the only constant.


Whether it's the Sankey Tank road widening operation, or the Sankey Tank Turtles' graduate school ambitions, I'm just hoping that at the end of the day, it's all worth it.