A "NICE" visa

10 A.M. The French Consulate, Nariman Point Mumbai. I am waiting in the queue for getting my French visa. Token 17 is flashed on a screen and I walk towards counter no. 3. Seated inside the counter, protected by thick sound-proof (may be even bullet proof) glass, is an Indian guy in his late twenties. He has a microphone and an ear-piece attached to his head. He asks me to pick up a telephone receiver placed outside the counter. He starts asking me questions, as he reads through the visa application form and the other documents. After the usual questions like where are you headed, how long will you be there, who is paying for your stay etc. he asks me the flight I am going to take. I reply, “I am flying by Emirates, from Mumbai, we reach Dubai, then take a connecting flight to Nice (France) with a stopover in Rome.” “What are you talking sir?” he asks me with a frown. “What?” I question back. He continues,”Here I have a ticket copy which says you are going by Air France”.

I now start getting the heebie-jeebies. Let me tell you; the visa can be declined on this ground. “Wait, I can explain that.” I protest. “The ticket copy that you have is an older one. The flight has been changed and now I will be going by the Emirates flight. I have a print-out of the new ticket with me; I will show it to you.” He looks at me for a second and then says, “Alright, show it to me!” I immediately start searching my bag, kept on the floor. Front pocket - nothing found, middle portion - nope not there. Where the hell is the print-out? I start getting all sorts of negative thoughts now. About a minute has passed now and I am still searching.

I then hear a knock at the glass window above. The guy looks as if he is going into conniptions. “Pick up the receiver!” He motions me from inside. I do as he says. “Listen! You move away from the counter and keep searching. You cannot waste our time like this.” He yells on the microphone. I feel embarrassed to the hilt, but keep a straight face. I move back and take a seat. Now I can hear my own breath. Yes. I am worried. Well, I wait for the next applicant to settle her interview. She comes out clean. The interviewer was at his smiling best when the opposite gender was there. But to be honest, she did have all her documents intact. She leaves the counter and then the interviewer looks again at me. I look up at him. His smile instantly disappears. He nods his head and I walk back to the counter.

“Can you get the ticket copy now?” he asks. “I can get a print-out. I have it in my email. I’ll need to find a cyber café somewhere. Till what time, is this office open?” I can’t believe I am asking such a question in a Visa consulate. “You take your own time sir.” There is a lot of sarcasm in his tone, but I don’t care. I tell him that I need about an hour. By now, the interviewer seems to have cooled down. He tells me to give my finger prints and takes my picture. He then tells me to hurry up and get the new ticket copy. Somewhat relieved, the next moment, I am scampering out of that building, looking for a cyber café.

I am down at the gate of the consulate building. I walk for some distance. Nothing, even remotely similar to a cyber café, is in sight. All I see are towering commercial buildings looking down at me, as if to say, “Hee hee lil fella, what are you gonna do now?” I ask a passerby if he knows about any cyber café. He says I’d have to go as far as Churchgate to find one. Heck! That place is a good half an hour walk from here. I turn back towards the consulate building and think of calling my cab, when I see something. Right across the street, adjacent to the consulate building is a shop with a board saying XEROX. I just walk towards it with a glimmer of hope. I ask the shopkeeper, if he knows of any cyber café close by. He points his hand towards the interior of shop. Whoa! There is a little board inside with the word INTERNET under an arrow sign. I rush inside and find just 2 computers. Lady luck is with me as only one of them is occupied. I immediately log into one, and open my email inbox. I get the email I want. I take a print; make a couple of photocopies and with a very distinctive smile on my face, run back to the consulate.

Within half an hour, my passport is in my hands, with the first ever visa stamp. In a week’s time I’ll be boarding my first ever international flight. I am elated to say the least. As I walk back out from the office, one of the peons congratulates me. She is kinda kind. I remember, her telling me not to worry and things will be fine, when I was running to get the ticket printout. Well, it sure is fine and I snuggle into my cab to get back to Pune.