It started somewhere in the end of May . I had received an acceptance letter from a university in the States and had to make plans to travel there. Plans which included applying for a visa. This was when I realized that the photograph in my passport was at least 13 years old and according to just about everyone I look nothing like that picture now. Ok, so I have grown out of my 2-ponytail hairstyle.. but really I'm still the same person, less cute maybe, but still me. However the airport authorities couldn't be expected to take that view and so it was decided that I should apply for a photo change. After all, how long could it take? Even a fresh passport can be obtained in 45 days, and I had a valid one already.
And that was how the madness began. Apparently, it is quite a simple exercise to get a passport. My experience however tells an entirely different story. I obtained the application form without much of a problem, just 15 minutes in a queue was all it took. After filling up the form, I realized I needed a token to get inside to submit the application, and that tokens were available only till 12 noon. That sounded fair enough and I decided to return the next morning.
Dad and I drove up the next morning at around 10, to see people standing in queue all the way along the side of the building and beyond, well into the road. After confirming that this was the right queue, we stood in line for almost an hour. Then, just to amuse myself, I asked the person ahead of me to keep my place and I went to see how many people were ahead of me. I counted 140. By some miracle I got inside the building much later, and while submitting the form was informed that there were some documents missing. We made an emergency phone call to my brother, who rushed to the passport office with the required documents. That task completed, we returned home at 4pm after a very tiring day, during the course of which my sandals were all but destroyed from standing in the mud for so long.
Then began the next phase, the police verification. That happened quickly enough. But three weeks later, there was no news about the verification report reaching the office. I knew this because it had become my routine to check the passport website almost daily. By the beginning of July I was starting to get worried, so Dad and I made another trip to the passport office to see what was happening. Here, after standing in queue at the information counter for about an hour, I was informed that if I were in such a hurry I could go to the police station to ask whether the report had been sent and if so, get the bundle number, so that it would help them locate my file.
The police station informed us that the report has not been sent and asked us to return in two days. And when we did, they told us to return in 2 days. That was interesting. They had the perfect reply. They could just use it over and over again, and it would still mean something. Sheer brilliance.
I interrupt my own narration at this point to prevent this post from being too long. On the plus side, you don't really have to hold your breath for the next installment (sequel if you please). It follows directly after this. Of course, this story being as intriguing as it is, I am surprised that you are still awake and reading. Congratulations readers, for making it this far. You are much more resilient than I seem to have given you credit for.
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