The Passport Chronicles

5 Steps to easy application for an Indian passport:

The quest for passport acquisition. It promises such dreams, realization of plans of travel to exotic lands, and the much needed identity proof in this cosmopolitan global age. For me though, it was just a frustrating realization that the visa sheets are indeed all stamped up and no future travel can be embarked upon without an additional booklet. So with all the documents in order (or so I thought) I decided to accomplish this task and thus began the most enlightening three hours of my life

1. The Complete Addle-ment

On arrival (forty five minutes before the counters are to open) I am confronted with multiple winding queues that seem to have no start or an end. I look around everywhere standing in the middle of the road for a board or assistance personnel but all I can see are more confused people. But atleast they have water bottles. I convince myself to break the inertia and start moving around the general area, I remember some instructions which were uttered to me, they seem hazy and grey, but the words “queues at the back” seem to emerge victorious and I can literally imagine a light bulb popping somewhere in my vicinity as I rush to the rear of the building. To my horror, I see more serpentine queues, the giant grey building seems to have grown tentacles that seem to be encroaching on to edge of the compound, then on meeting the wall, they turn and start growing in the emptiness, multiplying by the second. Every time I look away and then look back, the tentacly-queue seems to have grown. There is no time to think or wait. I must do something now. But the profound questions is, What exactly?

2. Enter the Tout

I think the likes of touts have come to thrive because of little girls who are totally lost in environment described above. No wonder Shri Gopal, sensing my discomfort rose to the occasion assuring me of getting the mandatory Affidavit which I’d conveniently ignored from my documentation to bypassing the meandering course of the queues. For a meager fee of Rupees eight hundred of course. The notary fee is separate, might I add.

We walked, we braved the stray dogs, we got the affidavit, and the notary obviously doesn’t have much work to do apart from signing affidavits for complete randoms.

Shri Gopal had a lovely gentleman waiting in queue for us while we were trying to accomplish the unthinkable (the affidavit bit), on return to the compound bursting to seams with human queues, I was made to stand in place of Shri Gopals lovely gentlemanly friend. He tells me to stand in front of an ‘ uncle’- a man I’d never seen before, and wait for my turn at the window. I start counting the number of people behind me, in order to calculate the price of skipping each position in the queue. There are a good 50 people behind me. Had I just handed out sixteen rupees to each individual ( or offered them a coke) , in exchange for their position in the queue, I would have been here, same place, having performed a great deal of social service in the process. Ah well, if only all entrepreneurial initiatives could come to life.

3. In the midst of the serpentine melee

So what do you do when ‘uncle’ behind you fails to come to terms with his decibel level and the existence of ears of others? In a mere five minutes, I know his entire familys’ first name. His daughter isn’t exactly soft spoken either who intermittently comes in to check on the progress of the queue. I wish someone would tell her that it hasn’t managed to move an inch since the attendant who is supposed to be at the window is on a prolonged tea break or is absconding. Whatever takes your fancy.

A fight breaks out in one of the other queues, I hear a scuffle, some agitated voices. The security guard next to our queue is urged to go and settle the issue, but he seems to be either suffering from some form of ear dysfunction or information assimilation disorder for in reply he assures us that the window would open soon. People give up. I shut my gaping mouth. The tout is MIA.

4. Directions through ESP

I have a new identity. I am token number 15. I look at it with sheer happiness inside my heart. But then reality dawns, I don’t know where to go next. I try to look as confounded and confused as I can, so some person feeling super helpful would stop by and ask me If I need help. This doesn’t work. So I take a round of the building, asking around guards and looking for some kind of board that would guide me to the realms of clarity. My respite comes in the form of a gentleman, who on being asked tells me that I am to go inside the building, into hall number one. Of course, hall number one! It all seems to be a breeze now, I confidently walk in and settle down on the chairs in front of the huge electronic board which seems to be belching out numbers in red. I make small talk with the kind lady on my right.I look at the board intermittently as I ask the lady about her work and her family. She volunteers information willingly. She is married. I am taken aback for I had passed her off as a college student. She has children. She has TWO children. And she is a housewife. I volunteer my meager details in return. I have nothing to offer really. Stale job. No family by virtue of marriage. The ‘ uncle’ from the queue joins us, oddly enough he seems to be happy to see the gang from the queue outside the building and gleefully points us out to his wife. We exchange token numbers, and settle down in the endless wait.

5. The counter relay

So I am indeed called to a counter. But that’s not it! I am harshly reminded that I need to fill in some details. When I look at the form, the blank space asking for husbands name stares up at me. I look at it more blankly. Then the kind sir, tells me that the identity proof is also absconding.
Oh well.I walk, I brave the stray dogs, and get a photocopy of my drivers license. Then a gory wait begins. A baby cries. A lady jostles me to the side. An over enthusiastic girl points out that a particular is incomplete. I mumble a thank you. It’s my turn and I’m parceled off to counter number eight. Counter number eight then shuns me to counter number seven and half. Some signatures and nods occur, I’m thinking perhaps now, I'm done. But then the file is shoved in my hands and another counter is fated for me. I’m asked to produce money. I do it quickly lest he ask me to move to another counter for delaying the same. The nods of head look more promising this time around; maybe it is actually the end of the counter mania. The cashier hands me a green coloured receipt. I look at him. I look at it. It says collect on 4/8. I ask the words hesitantly “ Ho gaya?” - Is it done?. He nods without looking up. I’m stunned. I walk out in a daze.