I had to go to the US consulate on January 4, 2006 for a B1 visa. I caught the 8:00 PM flight from Bangalore to Chennai with Anil (my colleague) and had a fairly uneventful 45 minutes journey in the air. I am always scared of flying and once I am inside an airplane, I feel I do not have any control left over my life and everything now is in the hands of the pilot or the almighty God or the fierce nature or the machines which humans have built. At the precise moment when the plane made its final speedy run on the runway before taking off, Anil reminds me of the plane-crash series that they show on National Geographic. Anyways, after landing at Chennai airport we were escorted in a huge ass Mercedez Benz (the Merc version of a limo) with a driver in all whites and the complete works. We checked into Radisson and undoubtedly the place is one amongst the top of the line hotels. After a bowl of Arabiatta with a glass of red wine, I went back to my room and had a nice relaxing 45 minutes of bubble bath in the huge bath tub. At 11ish the night, Anil showed up and we chit-chatted till around 1:00 AM.
At 7:00 AM, I was woken up with the shrill telephone ring to annouce my wake-up call. I was in the hotel lobby by 8:00 AM and after having a sumptous breakfast, we started for the embassy in hotel provided Tata Indica cab. Chennai traffic looked much more stream lined even in the peak traffic hours. The roads were wider, limited number of potholes, traffic signals that work at almost all junctions and no random criss crossing of pedestrians or vehicles. However, the place was filled with people and it suddenly looked very swollen and bursting. Anyway, we reach the consulte around 10ish and left the car at the car park on street around the consulate. My first visit to the consulate back in 2000 was not as intimidating as this one. This time, it looked more like a fortress with armed guards and security and all that stuff. The minute we entered the consulate, we were subjected to a metal detector search and at that time, I realized that I stil l have my electronic secure ID with me. So I had to go out, deposited it at a random police booth around the corner and came back in 2-3 minutes. Next, came a line for the draft deposits, followed by another line for pre-screens. It was at that time that the entire green folder idea came tumbling down. We were under the impression that people carrying green folders are priveleged in some ways but unfortunately that is not the case. All men are born equal, then they become unequal and once they are inside the US consulate they again become equal. After the prescreen we were asked to go and stand in the "snake line" for the actual interview process.
I stood in the snake line for almost 30-40 minutes before I was called in and asked to wait. Inside the main interview building there was a sea of people waiting on different lines for different purposes. The men and women behind the bullet proof glass had a cold, glazed, superior expression on their faces and the men and women on the other side of the glass had the sweaty, tired, expectant, inferior third world looks on their faces. Some looked desperate, some looked desperate to prove a point, some looked desperate as if they were still under the colonial hangover, and some looked defiant. But at the end, it was the desperate expectant who over powered everyone else. I was asked to stand in a line for finger printing and at the precise moment when my turn came, the guy behind the glass stepped away from his desk. After standing in line for around 10 minutes, somebody whisked me away to stand in another line and tell the person behind the glass that I haven't been finger printed and I need to do so during the interview. Finally I was called for the interview and after a super short interview process, the 50-something year old moron told me that I need to get additional verification done in terms of my immigration check during my F1-tenure in the US. At that moment, I felt like telling me - "Fuck you! who wants to go to your stupid country anyways".
After hunting around for a bank, I got the draft made and re-entered the consulate. Thankfully, this time the wait wasn't too long and I was finally finger printed the hard way - black ink, all 10 fingers printed thrice on paper. It was an insulting and humiliating experience but the woman who finger printed me told me in 95% of the cases the visa is issued but in 5% cases I might have to reappear.
I think I have already written a lot and it just gets more and more bitter by the hour.
