GOING TO AMERICA
Going to America is some kind of an obsessive death wish for the Indian junta, especially for the young student community. Then applying for the Visa and going to the American consulate for the INTERVIEW is akin to standing before a firing squad. Bang bang bang. Reject!!!!!!
I personally had nothing to do with the USA visa for most of my adult life. But year 2002, for reasons not yet clear to me, my otherwise very intelligent daughter decided to go to USA for higher studies.
Which was fine with me. Her I-20 came quite clean without any preconditions. She had obtained full funding at the University so my money was safe and not an issue.
What was not fine with me was the endless torturous circus that she put me through prior to appearing for the VISA interview. Rumor mills doing the rounds among the young student community all waiting to appear for the Interview complicated this circus and turned it into a hungama.
They considered the Visa Officer mightier than God almighty himself. To them, the most feared and hated man on earth was the unknown VISA Officer who had the LIFE and DEATH powers to grant or reject the Visa.
9/11 followed by the war on Afghanistan made the Visa thing look like an impossibility for the aspiring students. All her friends started to say things like:
“The American Govt. has but the brakes on student visas, because all the terrorists who brought down the Twin Towers were students on F1 visa.”
“Do not apply to Grad school with anything to do with Aviation, Rocket sciences”
“The immigration laws are under review because of the war. The hardest hit will be the Indian student community.”
Then the routine number crunching and gut tearing rumors from her friends caused depression of the most severe kind:
“Do not tell the Visa Officer you have a brother in USA. You will get rejected.”
“Even if you have full funding the Visa Officer will need see equivalent of US $ 24, 000/- in your father’s savings bank account.”
“Yaar make sure your Dad’s fund are not with Vijaya Co-operative bank. That bank and many others have been blacklisted.”
“It all depends on the Visa officers mood that day. Even with all these documents they can reject. Women Visa officers are vindictive for women applicants.”
“I just got an e-mail from an Indian Grad student in USA………” This e-mail supposedly came loaded with horrific stories of Visa rejections of his friends and reasons there to. No one actually saw this e-mail.
“When you go to the Consulate, carry your Dad’s Income Tax returns for the last 5 years, his property papers, his driving and marriage license, his salary statement, his PAN card, his ration card, his FD’s, his Bank Pass book, power of attorney, stamp papers, affidavit……” This list was endless.
When I studied the guidelines for application of F1 visa, it was quite simple and straightforward.
I reminded my daughter that it was she and not me who was applying for the Visa, and therefore she need not put me through this torture and pain.
She reacted strongly and created a big hulla gulla! I also created big hulla gulla. I said, “You tell the Visa Officer that your Dad has nothing to do with the Visa! Therefore no documents, no bank, no Income, no affidavits, no power of attorney, nothing!”
She said “ I wish that was true. So blah blah bawling………….”
Eventually I had to do what she wanted me to do.
She, my very own daughter made life hell for me. I had to hire a lawyer to get some affidavits made on Telgi stamp papers, sign some meaningless Power of Attorney papers. I had to quite unnecessarily take a loan and put that money in my bank just to show to the Visa Officer that I am a rich man, I had to get some useless certificates from my builder, employer, tax consultant. I had to disown my son living and making honest bread in USA. I forget what else I did. I was driven close to insanity.
THE DROP BOX
The DROP BOX facility for pre Visa scrutiny required only the I-20, the F-1 application form and Passport to be sent to the US consulate along with a DD for Rs 6, 000./- Nothing more.
THE D-DAY
She carried a briefcase full of all my documents, all in original and proceeded to Mumbai.
She stood before the Visa Officer waiting to be shot dead. Regretfully, instead of shooting her, he smiled and offered a chair.
She steadied her nerves, wished the God “Good morning sir.”
The God looked at her face, compared it with the photo on her passport. Then he said.
“Ohio University? Wonderful. I was there. Have a nice time at the Grad School. That will be all.”
He handed over her passport with the F1 stamped.
She walked out shell-shocked, alive.
The briefcase full of documents were quite useless.