Visa Power- the Road to 'Go Get It'
A rainy day was a bad omen. I didn’t want to be standing wet and vulnerable in front of the Visa Officer at the US Consulate. In retrospect, the whole saga is funny and how. Arriving half an hour before my scheduled time, I thought I might be laughed at. Instead, what greeted me was a sombre looking line that threatened to make me back pedal at least half a kilometer. Parents and wards, husbands and wives and all genetic combinations possible had arrived with rain gear and mortal fear, hours in advance. Nobody spoke, just tentative glances, shuffling of feet and then tentative glances again, this time in the direction of the gates to the Consulate. Mumbaikars are an optimistic lot; else why would one of the gentlemen preceding me in queue not carry an umbrella, in spite of it having poured that morning. His feeble attempts at accommodating himself in the rear part of his neighbour’s umbrella ended with a feeble smile from him and a condescending stare from his counterpart. Interestingl...