Week 18: Ab main Rashan Ki Kataaron mein Nazar ata hun…..

Few days back when I came home I saw that my passport had arrived. It could have been a Hurray moment for me and I should be dancing all over the place but nothing of that sort happened. Long story short – My toddler’s passport could not be processed because her father resided in a place which was his own but the documents didn’t confirm that. No I have not attempted any fraud to dismiss him off the property, actually the registration papers are mortgaged with the bank.

Now the short story long –

I had thought that getting a passport would be a cake walk. It could have been if I had been more cautious and had read the word by word instructions on ‘documents required ‘section while filling the application. Instead I was busy dreaming through travel blogs and checking Instagram. I became well versed with the ‘travelling with toddler’ tips which was secondary but fell short to primary requirement of getting a passport.

I expected passport office to be full of exciting people, the ones with smell of fresh breeze, camera hanging down their neck, at least a good camera phone with Instagram a touch away,  people wearing coloured goggles, hiking shoes, beach slippers, floral scarves, huge backpack, solo travelers, pack travelers and all sort of people.

I  reported before time in my brightest dress along with my toddler. Though my husband who doesn’t live in a fancy world, chose to wear his regular off white shirt.

When I entered the office there was no fresh breeze, no bag packers, no Instagram swiping solo roamers. Instead the place was full with people staring in astonishment as if my bright dress had made them blind. The air was suffocating with the smell of sweat all around. It was more like a municipality office where people had come to get the death certificate of their distant relative. My husband enlightened me that they are mostly labors going to gulf for jobs. Apparently they don’t write blogs or Instagram.

I was highly disappointed and wanted to leave the space at earliest. But the officer checking my documents was in different mood. He had forgotten his lunch box at home i suppose. His grumpy looks became grumpier document after document. Finally, he spoke showing his “Gutkha” filled teeth that my permanent address proof doesn’t match with my photo Id address.

I tried convincing him, pleaded, and even suggested he should read the instruction once again. But he shooed me away. My husband pacified me and when I was calm he reminded me that he had told me to get the address proof declaration from my office but I was damn confident that our documents are sufficient. I hate sometimes when he remembers everything and hits me back with it.

Highly irritated, I went back to the office and got the required document. After waiting for almost an hour in the sweaty queue, my turn came and my documents got an ‘ok’ from the same man. But this wasn’t the end of my chagrin. Now my toddler’s application was rejected because apparently the father did not have the proof that he is my husband and he resides with me. Now it was my time to let him taste his medicine. I collected all the frustration, irritation, anger, converted them into high pitched taunts and delivered them on my husband in short crisp five-minute blow and reminded him how irresponsible he is, and how much I suffer every time because of him. I know that “every time” I mentioned is actually never, but it gives weightage to my accusation spree while fighting. Soon I realized that people had started gaining interest in our family drama. Embarrassed I gave it a pause but swear to resume it later in the car after regaining energy.

My remaining formalities were completed in no time and within fifteen minute I was out of that freaking place with a lesson that how a simple document can cause so much hassle.

Sometimes hastiness makes you not able to think clearly and everything jumbles up in your tiny brain. After the fiasco, I thought of seeking peace by talking to my inner self under the banyan tree. But it did not work. Soon I realized that due the monsoon its branches had outgrown like antennas and were catching unnecessary signals from the surrounding and feeding my brain. It needed fixing. So I pruned them, now I can see clearly, hear my inner voice, and I feel more wiser.

PS: I have applied for address correction in all possible documents. Now the next mission awaits. Re-applying for my toddler’s passport.


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