A patch of India...

Friday, I visited the Indian consulate in the city for the first time. (I will soon have had 3 passports issued, each in a different country outside India.) In a last minute decision, I decided to Caltrain it there and was pleasantly surprised by how seamless the transfers were. With a rare collection of Chekhov's short satires to give me company, the 1.5 hour commute each way was made quite pleasurable.

At any rate, I had found it rather strange to read on the CGI website that the consulate provided no storage/ lockers for leaving back packs, mobile phones, umbrellas etc. in, while prohibiting taking them inside. Thankfully, a dry and moderately sunny day had been predicted, so locker or no locker, I was quite happy to make the trip sans phone or umbrella, carrying just a folder and the delightful Chekhov. I arrived at Arguello and Geary at 8.39 to find the Tricolor peeping out from around the corner of a pet store. A modest building, the most striking object outside it was a flower pot turned into a cement slab-holder for the following sign.

'FOR ENSURING YOUR SECURITY AND SAFETY, THE FOLLOWING ITEMS ARE PROHIBITED INSIDE THE CONSULATE PREMISES AND SHOULD BE LEFT OUTSIDE AT OWNERS RISK:
MOBILE PHONES
BACKPACKS, BRIEFCASES AND OTHER SUCH ITEMS

LADIES HANDBAGS
BABY STROLLERS
PLASTIC CARRY BAGS
FOOD OR DRINK '

In fact, there were two signs proclaiming the same. Satyameva Jayate was almost in fine print above the door by comparison...
As it turned out, there were a dozen lockers just outside the side service door! I could feel a smile begin to form at the familiarity of this blatant contradiction and the promise of more to come. Having arrived 20 minutes before the consulate opened, I was only the 3rd person waiting outside. And at that point the 3 of us were fairly impressed by the methodical fashion in which the security guard cum all-purpose handyman checked our belongings, assigned each of us a token number, read through a checklist of supporting documents for each type of application, and through it all treated us in a most agreeable manner. He even offered to check if he could arrange for us to be seated inside before the counters opened.

Just as soon as he went inside, however, a group arrived; two of them barged straight inside, nearly bumping into him as he turned around. The remainder formed a second 'single' file to our left and amongst themselves agreed that, clearly, they couldn't be expected to leave their phones outside- they would just turn it off and stick it deep in their pockets... The guard decided we were best left waiting outside.

--

8.45 am:

A stream of cars bringing consular personnel arrived, the last of which was a mini-van for the deputy consul general. His chauffer banged the van door shut nonchalantly, and whistling to himself, twirling the car keys on one hand and swinging the DCG's lunch bag on the other, cast us a sidelong glance as he strode in, as if to say he also had a share in the authority vested in his boss. The gentleman behind me muttered to his wife as soon as the chauffer was out of earshot, 'Thank God we only have to do this once in 10 years...'

--

8.50 am:

There were about 10 of us waiting outside by now. We'd turned around to watch the street, standing in a semi-circle. A lady walked past rapidly and overshot the consulate. Then, perhaps realizing there were an unsually large number of Indians congregated in one place, walked back and heaved a sigh of relief . She then rummaged through her bag frantically and said out loud, 'I need glue'. When nobody responded, she asked the man in front of her pointedly, 'Glue?' He replied, 'Yes, this is the queue.' She frowned, and tried again, 'Okay. But do you have glue?'

'Oh gum!'

'Yes.'

'No.'

--

8.55 am:

A white Honda civic arrived and the driver audaciously attempted parking behind the DCG's minivan. A curt glance from the chauffer who was pacing outside told him this was not such a great idea and he quickly backed out and reluctantly moved into the paid parking spot on the street. An old couple, a younger lady with a little boy and a baby girl sleeping inside a stroller, got out, speaking loudly in Punjabi. As the guard proceeded to tear out 5 tokens for them, explaining meanwhile security regulations and document requirements, they nodded distractedly. When asked to see their paperwork, it emerged that they were still waiting for R, who had all the documents for Ma, the sole applicant.

--

9.00 am:

After carefully negotiating the space behind a nearly double-parked Corolla, a grey Mercedes claimed the last parking spot outside the consulate. A tall dusky lad with an overgrown stubble, clad in baggy jeans, a flabby grey sweater, and a cap worn backwards stepped out of it. For a few minutes he just stood and stared, eyes narrowed, hands stuffed in his pocket, nose wrinkeld as if in disgust. Quite unnerved, the two men to my right, who hadn't spoken a word to each other until then, turned to one another in shared apprehension. One of them whispered, 'You know the crowd in San Francisco is pretty weird.' The other nodded his agreement. As we waited for the dude to break into gangsta rap at any moment, he swaggered toward us. Feet shuffled hastily, the semi-circle tightening just a tad, everyone clutched their folders instinctively. Mista gangsta then stopped abruptly, turned back and went to his car. He then retrieved a large worn yellow envelope and his phone. He walked toward us again, paused to call somebody and said, 'Where are you guys?' From the far end we could hear indisticnt Punjabi. R had arrived.

--

9.05 am:

We were finally asked to go inside. There were 3 counters facing us and 3 more to the far right. There were all of two people manning the counters, one of whom was the cashier. To our left around a narrow wall, was the waiting area, with only about 7 seats, an enormous TV, and beyond it was a smaller room with rest rooms at the back and a few scattered chairs and a couple tables in front. A door ahead of us led into a hallway with offices for embassy employees. As everyone scampered in to find seating, the flustered guard explained that we should seat ourselves in the order of the assigned token numbers. Some prized seats were reluctantly vacated and new occupants sat down smugly and smiled up at the guard, as if their obedience would win some favor.

At the cashier's counter, 'Sir, the website clearly states we only accept money orders or demand drafts'.

Token # 1, 'Oh, I see. Okay.'

Silence.

'We do accept debit cards now.'

'Oh! Thank you Ma'm!'

--

9.10 am:

More people started walking in, quite optimistic that a last-in first-served policy was in place and queued up outside the closed hallway, only to told off by the guard.

One couple observed,

'Apparently, there is a single line.'

'No, look there is another line to stick your photographs on the application.'

'And I guess that is the family line', pointing to the area in front the rest rooms where there were now at least 3 baby strollers and the accompanying spouses and parents of applicants huddled together.

The security guard, after multiple feeble attempts to interrupt the rapid Punjabi exchange, asked R, 'So, Sir, do you have copies of your mother's passoport?'.

'Umm...No.'

'You can make copies at the store around the corner of the street. Okay, does she have an ID, proof of residence?'

'Umm...Ma?'... 'I guess.'...'So, how long will this take? I only paid for half an hour's parking.'

'That depends, Sir. So, next, copy of proof of status? Visa?'

'Umm...where should I look for that?'

--

9.15:

Token # 4 next to me got up and huffed, 'Oh God! Why are they taking half an hour for each applicant?!'

Token #1: 'Ma'm, my receipt shows you have charged $25 instead of the $3 debit card fee.'

'Sir, please look carefully.'

'No, Ma'm, really!'

'Okay let me see.....Oh! I am very sorry, let me see what I can do...hmm...Were you going to come and collect your passport?'

'Yes, definitely Ma'm.'

'Okay, good. Now what I have done is to charge your payment for a stamped express mail envelope to have your passport mailed to you and that will be $17. So, that way there is only a $5 excess. We cannot refund the fees, unfortunately. Okay?'

--

9.20 am:

Consul officer, 'Everyone please listen. Only one person per family should come up to the counter, the rest of you please remain in the waiting area. And please, keep all your documents ready for scrutiny. Do not start opening your folders in front of me and have things flying around.'

At #3, I had already moved on to make the payment at the cashier's and was quite impressed by how quick the whole thing had turned out to be, and inwardly glad I had made the effort to get a cashier's check the previous evening.

'Sir, I just made an announcement to keep your papers ready! Did you not hear that?'

'Ma'm'.

'Please step aside. Next!'.

(Flashback: 5th grade, English class, Chennai.

Mrs. Rodrigues, 'Everyone. Silence now. Please listen. Draw your margins and write the date on the left. Start this new lesson on a new page and underline the headings. Bring your homework book and classwork book when you come to my desk. I shall start calling you, one by one, in 10 minutes.

...

Mrs. Rodrigues, 'Where is the heading? And why is your homework book not covered? Stand outside!')

--

As I was leaving the consulate, R was just returning with some photocopies freshly made.

'Okay, now I have the copies of her passoport. So, umm, this proof of status thing. I looked in her passport. What are we talking about? I mean, she has a US passport, we all do.'

'What was your appointment for again, Sir?'

--

Jai Hind!