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.


 

New Beginnings

So, The United States. This should be interesting. If you were brought up in a middle class Kannadiga family in Bangalore, going to the States to study is an idea that is kind of naturally ingrained in your system (soon, they may even find some gene in our DNA that does that automatically). Especially, if you are in the engineering discipline. I mean you have to do it eventually and since you always knew that the Post Graduate degree had to come SOME time (how could it not?) and that you have SO many cousins and relatives who've done this before, you think you would make a smooth transition into leaving, right?

WRONG. Here I am, a girl of 24, who relishes home food and has never known what it is like to not have it, going a little crazy, to put it mildly. You must understand that we Kannadigas love our food. And we love it just the way WE love it. We are very quick to notice when something about our favourite thindi (snack) is amiss and we bond instantly with complete strangers when we realize they know OUR food (right, Prithvi?). Here's the interesting thing: although I said "we" Kannadigas, I'm not that much of a foodie and I only eat to survive. But, ever since I realized that I am going to be in a different country soon, food has suddenly become more than just something I put in my mouth to get rid of that nagging feeling in my stomach. It seems to have taken on a deeper emotional meaning! Something that will keep me close to home.

So anyway, my plan is to learn to cook the things that I love eating most, so as to turn down the volume on the very loud alien-ness of being away from home already blasting through my ears. And so today for breakfast, along with my grandmother's supervision, I made Uppittu, a quintessential south Indian breakfast and snack-time item. I must tell you that this is the first time I have attempted cooking something "regular": the kind of thing whose preparation I'd never EVER thought about at breakfast earlier. I haven't followed the recipe to the tee, but it turned out pretty well, for my first time!

Uppittu Recipe:

What you need:

1 cup Rave
Some vegetables (based on what you like): I used 2 onions, 1 Capsicum, 1 Carrot and 1/2 a cup of peas
Two tablespoons of oil/ghee (you could put some more based on how indulgent you are feeling)
1 tsp mustard seeds
1 tsp Channa dal and urad dal ( in Kannada, thogri bele & udin bele)
1/2 an inch piece of ginger
A pinch of Ingu (Asafoetida)
2-3 green chillies
A few curry leaves
1/4 cup grated fresh coconut
Salt and sugar
Two cups of HOT water
1 lemon

How you do it:

1. Roast the 1 cup of Rave in a pan with about 2 tsps of oil. (Keep tossing the Rave back and forth to prevent it from getting burned). Keep aside.



2. Heat about 3 tbsps oil in a pan. Add mustard seeds, the dals and the green chillies. When the mustard seeds stop splattering, add chopped onions and capsicum. Also add the grated ginger, curry leaves, Ingu and salt (maybe 2 tsps). A suggestion is to also add a pinch of sugar. Allow this mixture to cook till the veggies are half done.
*I cooked the peas and carrot separately in the microwave (for 3 mins) and then added it to this mixture, but you could also just add it directly and sprinkle a little water*







3. Now, add 2 cups of hot boiling water to the pan and also add the roasted Rava from earlier. Stir. Add the freshly grated coconut. Close the pan and allow it to cook.
Open after a few minutes and stir.
Check for salt. Add some more if you'd like. Squeeze a lemon into the Uppittu. If you like things tangy that is.





And then if you're a bit mad like me, stuff some of this in a small bowl and using the bowl as a mould, make a nice round mound of Uppittu, eat and feel happy :) That's how it's served at hotels here.


Man, I'm going to miss home.

Shock Value

Moving to a country where people drive on parkways, and park on driveways is undoubtedly going to mean some time to acclimatize, and get familiar; a massive culture-shock is imminent. The UMCP campus is FILLED with the usual suspects - TamBrahms, Gults, and 'digas (more MSRIT people than I can count on my two hands, in fact), but that doesn't in any way take away from the fact that change is coming, and how!

Foreign citizens are actually called "Alien" for all immigration and paperwork purposes - but I stopped feeling insulted when I realized why that monicker probably came to be. The complexity of the paper work, the slew of randomly arranged numbers and alphabets (DS-160, I-20, F-1) looks like it was designed to be understood only by some significantly higher life-form - from Mars, perhaps.

I've never been a fan of cold weather, and from the moment I read on some website that people in College Park thought 75'F was "blistering heat", I have been a little concerned. This idea of not randomly being able to make an impulsive run to the store (I get sudden cravings for fruit sometimes) in my shorts, even if it's only for the few months of winter, is preposterous. And to make it worse, everything is so far apart! The darned University is spread over 1200 ACRES (that's two hundred times the area of the Lords cricket boundary), and I have classes in three different buildings, in three different ends of the campus. In MSRIT, the five buildings are connected by elevated walkways. In UMD, buildings are connected by shuttle bus!

US history, geography and culture are things I know nothing about, and I've currently embarked on a journey through literature, in order to get the basics right. My readings have led me to the conclusion that the US is no exception to my rule – my rule that if I am travelling to a foreign country, I need to learn at least a little bit of its language. But they speak English too, you say? Well, yes, except they don't speak it like we do. I'm not going to go into the grey (gray?) area of which is right; I'm just pointing out that a new language will have to be learnt – and the worst part about this new language, is that it sounds deceptively similar to another one I learnt in school. I'm telling you, it's a little scary. In India, teachers take classes – in the US, students take them. Here, liquid is liquid and gas is gas – there, gas is a liquid.

On some thought I realized, that the fundamental difference between the US & India, is none of that – it's just the idea, that in India, you have to fight even for what you deserve, but there, most appear used to far better than they need, and even want. (See, that stems from the fact that we had to fight like rabid dogs to send the British out, and they got sent out by the British, to what is clearly a much better place than some snobbish little island in the middle of the Atlantic).

I am yet to figure out things like housing, and furniture, and transport, and books and whatnot. Undoubtedly, there will be shocks and surprises – pleasant or otherwise, at each step. For now, I shall humour myself by explaining a simple calculation to all those blokes that try to tell me that the airfares are expensive. The distance between Washington DC and Bangalore, is 13,700kms, straight line. The actual flying distance is about 14500kms. At 45000INR, that ticket costs 3Rs. 10P per kilometer – which is just 3% more than what you would pay in an Auto Rickshaw, and about 10% LESS than the BMTC Volvo. So it's not expensive. When I point this out to people is when they are usually wonderstruck by how far they are actually going. Imagine how far you'd have to go, if the auto driver had to reset his meter 450 times! And yes, autos CAN fly across the ocean. They have secret portals. I am lucky to once have seen an auto taking off – they don't usually do it in public.