There is a certain dignity that comes with holding a Diplomatic or Service passport. It is a small book that whispers, "Doors shall open. Fees shall be waived. Pleasantries shall be exchanged."
Then you apply for a Schengen visa at an embassy in Delhi, and the passport whispers nothing at all, because nobody is listening. Let me begin with the injustice. Diplomatic and Service passport holders are exempt from visa fees. It is written down and agreed upon, and it is the one perk of the job that does not involve a seat in a very long meeting.
So imagine my surprise when I was asked to pay. Not a polite "donation," but an actual fee, collected with the quiet confidence of someone who has never read the rulebook (I assumed). I paid, because the alternative was an argument, and arguments with visa counters are the only thing slower than the visa itself.
But I kept the receipt. Oh yes, I kept the receipt. It sits in my file like a small paper trophy, ready to be waved at the first official who asks, "Are you sure you were charged?"
Every Schengen country, especially the less-travelled ones, seems to have invented its own system for levying fees. One collects at the embassy, another through an outsourced centre with a "service charge" that appears out of nowhere, and a third apparently decides on the spot. Navigating them is less like a bureaucratic process and more like a treasure hunt where the treasure is a stamp, and the map is in a language none of us speak.
Then comes the waiting, and with it the phone calls.
I have called. I have called in the morning, at lunchtime, and at that hopeful hour just before closing when everyone is supposedly in a good mood. The phone rings, and rings, and rings, with the patience of a monk and the results of a rock.
Somewhere in the line of Chanakyapuri[1] Offices, telephones must be ringing, and I like to imagine it has been doing so since this part of Delhi became the hub for all embassies around the world.
So I turn to email. I write carefully and politely, with the word "URGENT" in the subject line, in case urgency had somehow slipped past everyone before. I attach documents, I attach the receipt, and I press send with the hope of a man launching a message in a bottle. All these emails just for some reminder, otherwise you have submmitted the documents and biometrics in person days ago.
Within seconds, a reply arrives. Seconds! Finally, a sign of life!
"This is an automated return receipt. Please do not reply to this message or resend further e-mails. You will receive a response as soon as possible. Thank you for your patience."
Let us pause to admire this sentence. You will receive a response as soon as possible.
I have studied the English language for many years, and I can say with confidence that these people have molested the literal meaning of "as soon as possible." In the dictionary I grew up with, "as soon as possible" implies some relationship with time. Here, it appears to be a decorative phrase, like "Live, Laugh, Love" on a kitchen wall. It is there to make you feel better, not to be true.
And note the instruction: Please do not resend further e-mails. So I cannot call, because no one answers. I cannot email again, because I have been told not to. What remains? Smoke signals?
And the "thank you for your patience" at the end is the cherry on top. It is presumptuous, because it thanks me for something I have not yet agreed to give. It is like a restaurant thanking you for enjoying a meal you haven't been served.
In India, getting things done runs at a snail's pace. I say this with affection, and a little exhaustion. But I think we owe the snail an apology. A snail, at least, is moving. A snail has a destination, and a snail leaves a trail so you know where it has been. My visa application leaves no trail. It simply exists, somewhere, in a state of philosophical uncertainty, neither approved nor rejected.
When your flight is about to depart in the next 4 hours, a state of panic in me makes me call all the officials (both national and international) who are supposed to help us get a VISA. With uncertainty, you pack everything you cmae to Delhi with and in the midst of paying the Uber guy his due, TrueCaller on my phone sings, Embassy of …………calling. Got my VISA at last.
So here is my wish, offered with the full seriousness of a man who has been a frequent traveller and for this time, refreshing his inbox for eleven days.
When the Gelephu Mindfulness City (GMC) comes of age, let every embassy relocate there. Every one of them. Imagine it: a city built on mindfulness, where the embassies finally learn to be present. Where "as soon as possible" means soon, and "as possible" means possible.
Think of the savings. No more flights to Delhi for official travellers, business people, and ordinary citizens. No more hotel bills, taxi fares, and the existential dread of a visa-centre queue. Diplomatic, Service, Official, Business, and personal Bhutanese passports would all benefit. Time saved, money saved, and blood pressure saved too.
An embassy in Gelephu would also have the advantage of being surrounded by people who know the true value of a good cup of suja and a calm disposition. I suspect the phone would be answered by the second ring.
And if you must go to Delhi in the meantime, a small piece of friendly advice from one weary traveller to another: next time, choose to travel from Bagdogra. You will reach Delhi at a quarter of the cost you pay for our own airlines. Your wallet will thank you, and so will your sense of humour, which you will need to preserve for the embassy.
Until then, I shall keep my receipt close, my inbox open, and my patience carefully rationed. Perhaps one day the response will arrive.
As soon as possible, of course.
Kadrinchey.
Note: The frsutration then and the delight now by writing this gave me a faint smile. I wrote this piece during my layover for three hours at Frankfurt Airport, Germany. Written with heart and experiences so that some of you may benefit just by reading it…and again…Thank you for your patience la. As Bhutanese, we have plenty!
[1] Almost all embassies of the countries around the world is located in this district with a few exceptions in the opposite lane called Anand Niketan.
