Five Moments in Time - Part II
Putting down the remaining three moments posed a bit of a challenge. Why not expand it to six or seven, I asked myself, if it's so difficult to choose. But five will be five, no more, no less. As I've been spending late nights on germany 2006 over the last week or so, it seems appropriate to resume with one of my earlier football memories.
3. Stoichkov breaking the German Wall - USA 94
Now this is an odd one. Since USA '94 was my first taste of football on TV, I guess I'll always recall it with more fondness than usual. Again for reasons possibly similar to new Zealand 92, Bulgaria was the team which captured my imagination. Allied to this was an inexplicable desire to see the Germans (then the defending champions) knocked out. And so it happened. After the Germans took the lead early in the second half through a Matthaus penalty, the Bulgarians earn a vital free kick. That entire legion of German stars, Bremhe Moller Kohler Hassler Voller et al, make up a pretty formidable wall. In a few haunting seconds, that lethal left foot of Hristo Stoichkov sends the ball curling above the great wall, and beats Bodo Illgner for the equaliser. The balding Letchkov heads Bulgaria home later in the match. However at the time, the free kick equaliser to me seemed about as earth shattering as the breaking down of the Berlin Wall would have been.
Bulgaria's dream ended in the semis when Roberto Baggio and a French referee snuffed them out. Since then, it's been pretty hard being a Bulgarian fan. Whom do i support now? Not the Germans certainly, but the Italians perhaps? My loyalties for Germany 2006 were with the Dutch, who were eliminated last night in a bar-room brawl of a game against Portugal. Sometimes I think it would be a lot simpler supporting a heavyweight. Not being one myself, that would actually take some effort.
4. Ayrton Senna's death - San Marino 1994
Clarifications: a) I'm not an F1 freak. Of late, I've been watching about one race per season.
b) I did not see this race.
I saw the highlights (or lowlights, rather) much later, when Senna's death was all over the news. Around that time, I knew only five drivers existed. Senna, Prost, Damon Hill, Nigel Mansell (with the David Boon moustache; legends, them both), and a pretender I knew as Michael 'Shoemaker'. Beyond driving several many miles in a loop at lightning speed, i couldn't care less what the sport was about. But hearing about the death this guy sure as hell shocked me. Seeing the Brazillian football team dedicate their title to him later in the year just added to this chapter. There's not much else I can say about it; no major details to recall. It just hit me hard at the time, that's all.
5. A tie between a) Tendulkar's Perth century in 1992
b) Hearing West Indies' one run victory over Aus, Adelaide 1993 , on radio
These two occasions really fuelled my interest in test cricket. Obviously I began following cricket with the notion that ODIs were the more attractive form of the game. Along the way, I found out I was wrong quite often. I would still maintain the best ever Sachin century, even better than the losing cause against Pakistan at calcutta '99, was his Perth effort in '92. He had already scored a century earlier in the series at Sydney; that one paled in comparison to this effort on a bouncy WACA strip, putting the likes of Craig McDermott, Merv Hughes, Mike whitney and Paul Reiffel to the sword. Like Calcutta, and several other times, it was a losing cause. Attacking sport at its best; a short eighteen year old with the blue-and-red power labelled bat belting the quicks all around the wicket. At the end of it, i can vividly recall, big Merv comes up to Sachin, the newbie about half his size and half his age, and congratulates him. He says something along the lines of, 'I tried all I could to get you out, but I just couldn't.' Let's just say Australia would, in the years to come, see a lot more ofSachin than they'd bargain for.
The Adelaide test mentioned above was the first of the few matches I've heard on radio. Archaic as it may seem, there was of course no TV coverage of the games down under, so dad and I tuned in to ABC radio for the final day which saw Australia needing 186 to win. A totally different world, listening to the voices of McGilvray, Jim Maxwell and others on the radio, giving us the ball by ball description. Of course, it was thrilling test cricket all the way: Australia, up against Ambrose and Walsh, collapse to 7-75. Then a debutant called Justin Langer leads a brave fightback, making 54 and in the process being felled by an Ian bishop bouncer. Langer is the ninth out at 144 and things look wrapped up. McDermott and May then defy the Windies, inching their way closer to the target. As the runs required is reduced to ten, we sit in the balcony, holding our breaths, chewing our nails and all that blah which is otherwise associated with the artificial excitement of a one day game. Two runs to win. Have the Aussies engineered a great escape? 184 for 9. Walsh to McDermott.... he finds the edge....Murray holds the catch...it's all over...west Indies have won by a whisker....
A thrilling experience, hearing this one live on radio. Whoever likened oneday cricket to junkfood and test cricket to a full-on, four course genuine meal (I think it was Tony Greig) was dead right.
There are several others which could've made my list. Greg Louganis claiming the diving gold at the 1988 Olympics after hitting the springboard was, well, inspirational (In spite of which, I never learnt to swim). Jana Novotna weeping after her loss to Graf at Wimbledon '93, and even Hakeem Olajuwon taking the Houston Rockets to the NBA championship in 1995 (that was the start of my brief tryst with the NBA, which I stopped following after the Spurs won in 1999). And, if only I had been around to see Muhammad Ali reclaim the world heavyweight title in the Rumble in the Jungle clash....
That was another time. That was another moment.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Five Moments In Time - Part I
"Now I'm not a fanatic about sports, but I'm no casual observer either....lemme tell ya I'm enough of a sports fan....." - George Carlin
This post is really a tribute to an RV senior of mine, Shomodipta Biswas aka Shom. Yesterday at Casa's, the topic somehow turned to 'earliest sporting memories' and he was telling us (Gowda, Ashanka and me) about his five earliest defining sporting memories, and how they..well...converted him. I've decided to put down my own reminiscences, but first a reflection of sorts on what it's all about.
It's about childhood recollections, particularly of those pre-STAR TV days. It's not really a 'those were the days' sort of thing. It's about loyalty from a young age. I mean, why do we support the teams we do, and why do we always remember the players we do? Shom gave us the gist of the answer yesterday, something like "Back then, you know nothing about the sport. But someone comes along and provides that special moment of magic, which wins you over." That moment becomes a part of you, an indelible stamp in your head. After all, it's an impressionable age, and it sticks with you forever. A bit like seeing your first Elizabeth Shue or Katy Mirza picture and being able to recognize them years down the line. I've been a supporter of the New Zealand Cricket team for fourteen years now (yes, even when they play India), and having seen umpteen lows and a few highs in that period, it sets me thinking about the whole loyalty from a young age thing. For example, thanks to the suitably aggresive marketing of ESPN STAR's telecast of the Premier League, English Football is suddenly 'in'. Enter Roman Abromovich, and Chelsea FC effectively buys rather than creates a star team (OK, they are a good side with a great manager, but..). And in the process many a football watcher suddenly discovers he's a die-hard Chelsea fan. He now can't stop defending Mourinho's comments in the press, or talking about the 4-5-1 formation. For me, however, it's never been about either the best team or the underdog. It's always been about who or what captured my imagination at some point in time. Someone to identify with.
The five I've selected are not necessarily my favourite sporting moments. They're simply a random set of five that somehow hit me hard, in a personal sort of way. They are not quite my earliest memories either, but they all go back a long way. I've decided to split them into two posts.
1. The Kiwis' dream run in the 1992 World Cup
Specific moments:The opening game at Eden Park against Aus - Martin Crowe getting his hundred, and Chris Harris' throw from the boundary to run out David Boon.
I had to put this at number one because it's made me a kiwi supporter for life. This was a tournament in which the Kiwi's could do no wrong, until Inzamam ul Haq happened. I started following cricket only a couple of months earlier, watching the Indian's getting thrashed in Oz. Here was the team that gave it back to the aussies, beating them comprehensively. As the tournament went on, Crowe pulled off some daring tactics which worked brilliantly on their irregular shaped grounds, and I was spellbound. As for this match, Crowe's hundred will always be my favourite captain's innings. Prior to the tournament, he was at war with the selectors and the media and public thought he shouldn't have been the skipper. Chris Harris is probably my most admired cricketer. I guess his quick fourteen in this match, not to mention the stunning direct hit from the boundary sums up why - a real oddball of a cricketer with a gutsy manner and a certain odd flair. An eccentric looking bowler who (at that time) sent down teasing medium paced leg cutters, he was simply one of the world's best fielders, even though that tournament is remembered more for Jonty Rhodes' fielding. He's now been told his career is practically done, but that's another story I'll blog about later. For the record, I watched only the conclusion of the NZ innings and the entire Aus innings in someone else's house since we didn't have STAR, and saw the entire highlights package in the evening.
I've stuck by New Zealand ever since. In the last decade, their numerous defeats at the hands of the Aussies have been particularly hard to swallow. However, it makes the victories taste sweeter. Following the kiwis has been a roller coaster ride, a bittersweet experience that seems to keep my loyalties even more firmly grounded.
2. Wimbledon '93 Final - Sampras beats Courier
My tennis initiation was 1991 when I saw Jim Courier taking on John McEnroe in some ATP tour match. The match, complete with McEnroe's outbursts, was won by Courier and I found myself rooting for him thereafter. It was then, a big disappointment for me when some fellow American called Pete Sampras (I just knew the name at the time) ended his Wimbledon dream with a 7-6 7-6 3-6 6-3 victory in the finals, exhibiting a perfect serve and volley game as flawless as his temperament. Now, Sampras lifting the Wimbledon trophy for the first time was essentially a defining moment as far as my tennis loyalties went, rather than the match itself. So I somewhat resented Sampras and his domination of the sport after that, and firmly put myself in the Courier-Agassi camp. But my anti-Pete stand was a bit unfair, in retrospect. Courier had been the world numero uno the previous year and his career went downhill after this. In the mid nineties, Sampras beat Courier in two epic five setters (Aus '95 and French '96), both of which had similar patterns; Sampras trails by two sets, breaks down when told "Do it for your coach", and heroically comes back to win in five. Again, it turned me against Pete. Courier had the matches all but wrapped up, and after all this courtside drama from pete, he finds the crowd cheering for his opponent and the match taken away from him. From then on, nothing that Pete Sampras achieved could ever endear me to him. I remember cheering out loud in '96 when he lost to Mark philippousis in the 3rd round of the australian, and in that Wimbledon Quarterfinal against Richard Krajicek. I was also a firm supporter of Agassi when he and Pete had their rivalry going on. But Pete could still do no wrong. To me he was like the annoying teacher's pet who stood first in class every time.
Pete was considered one of the game's 'gentlemen', the nice guy who still finished first, but I never did fully appreciate his value to the sport till the turn of the century maybe, when his apparent decline began. In 2002 when he seemed down and out, he still had enough gas in the tank for one last grand slam title (the US open). I'll remember him as the sportsman I once loved to hate, but he eventually won me over through his sheer guts and the quality of his game. I had a similar quirk against Steffi Graf at one point of time, but when spoilt brats like Martina Hingis took over, I found myself celebrating Steffi's comeback, culminating in that French open final of '99 where she beat Hingis.
(Tailpiece: Hingis has returned now, and I now find myself gunning for her. I really wonder why.)
Part II coming up soon.
"Now I'm not a fanatic about sports, but I'm no casual observer either....lemme tell ya I'm enough of a sports fan....." - George Carlin
This post is really a tribute to an RV senior of mine, Shomodipta Biswas aka Shom. Yesterday at Casa's, the topic somehow turned to 'earliest sporting memories' and he was telling us (Gowda, Ashanka and me) about his five earliest defining sporting memories, and how they..well...converted him. I've decided to put down my own reminiscences, but first a reflection of sorts on what it's all about.
It's about childhood recollections, particularly of those pre-STAR TV days. It's not really a 'those were the days' sort of thing. It's about loyalty from a young age. I mean, why do we support the teams we do, and why do we always remember the players we do? Shom gave us the gist of the answer yesterday, something like "Back then, you know nothing about the sport. But someone comes along and provides that special moment of magic, which wins you over." That moment becomes a part of you, an indelible stamp in your head. After all, it's an impressionable age, and it sticks with you forever. A bit like seeing your first Elizabeth Shue or Katy Mirza picture and being able to recognize them years down the line. I've been a supporter of the New Zealand Cricket team for fourteen years now (yes, even when they play India), and having seen umpteen lows and a few highs in that period, it sets me thinking about the whole loyalty from a young age thing. For example, thanks to the suitably aggresive marketing of ESPN STAR's telecast of the Premier League, English Football is suddenly 'in'. Enter Roman Abromovich, and Chelsea FC effectively buys rather than creates a star team (OK, they are a good side with a great manager, but..). And in the process many a football watcher suddenly discovers he's a die-hard Chelsea fan. He now can't stop defending Mourinho's comments in the press, or talking about the 4-5-1 formation. For me, however, it's never been about either the best team or the underdog. It's always been about who or what captured my imagination at some point in time. Someone to identify with.
The five I've selected are not necessarily my favourite sporting moments. They're simply a random set of five that somehow hit me hard, in a personal sort of way. They are not quite my earliest memories either, but they all go back a long way. I've decided to split them into two posts.
1. The Kiwis' dream run in the 1992 World Cup
Specific moments:The opening game at Eden Park against Aus - Martin Crowe getting his hundred, and Chris Harris' throw from the boundary to run out David Boon.
I had to put this at number one because it's made me a kiwi supporter for life. This was a tournament in which the Kiwi's could do no wrong, until Inzamam ul Haq happened. I started following cricket only a couple of months earlier, watching the Indian's getting thrashed in Oz. Here was the team that gave it back to the aussies, beating them comprehensively. As the tournament went on, Crowe pulled off some daring tactics which worked brilliantly on their irregular shaped grounds, and I was spellbound. As for this match, Crowe's hundred will always be my favourite captain's innings. Prior to the tournament, he was at war with the selectors and the media and public thought he shouldn't have been the skipper. Chris Harris is probably my most admired cricketer. I guess his quick fourteen in this match, not to mention the stunning direct hit from the boundary sums up why - a real oddball of a cricketer with a gutsy manner and a certain odd flair. An eccentric looking bowler who (at that time) sent down teasing medium paced leg cutters, he was simply one of the world's best fielders, even though that tournament is remembered more for Jonty Rhodes' fielding. He's now been told his career is practically done, but that's another story I'll blog about later. For the record, I watched only the conclusion of the NZ innings and the entire Aus innings in someone else's house since we didn't have STAR, and saw the entire highlights package in the evening.
I've stuck by New Zealand ever since. In the last decade, their numerous defeats at the hands of the Aussies have been particularly hard to swallow. However, it makes the victories taste sweeter. Following the kiwis has been a roller coaster ride, a bittersweet experience that seems to keep my loyalties even more firmly grounded.
2. Wimbledon '93 Final - Sampras beats Courier
My tennis initiation was 1991 when I saw Jim Courier taking on John McEnroe in some ATP tour match. The match, complete with McEnroe's outbursts, was won by Courier and I found myself rooting for him thereafter. It was then, a big disappointment for me when some fellow American called Pete Sampras (I just knew the name at the time) ended his Wimbledon dream with a 7-6 7-6 3-6 6-3 victory in the finals, exhibiting a perfect serve and volley game as flawless as his temperament. Now, Sampras lifting the Wimbledon trophy for the first time was essentially a defining moment as far as my tennis loyalties went, rather than the match itself. So I somewhat resented Sampras and his domination of the sport after that, and firmly put myself in the Courier-Agassi camp. But my anti-Pete stand was a bit unfair, in retrospect. Courier had been the world numero uno the previous year and his career went downhill after this. In the mid nineties, Sampras beat Courier in two epic five setters (Aus '95 and French '96), both of which had similar patterns; Sampras trails by two sets, breaks down when told "Do it for your coach", and heroically comes back to win in five. Again, it turned me against Pete. Courier had the matches all but wrapped up, and after all this courtside drama from pete, he finds the crowd cheering for his opponent and the match taken away from him. From then on, nothing that Pete Sampras achieved could ever endear me to him. I remember cheering out loud in '96 when he lost to Mark philippousis in the 3rd round of the australian, and in that Wimbledon Quarterfinal against Richard Krajicek. I was also a firm supporter of Agassi when he and Pete had their rivalry going on. But Pete could still do no wrong. To me he was like the annoying teacher's pet who stood first in class every time.
Pete was considered one of the game's 'gentlemen', the nice guy who still finished first, but I never did fully appreciate his value to the sport till the turn of the century maybe, when his apparent decline began. In 2002 when he seemed down and out, he still had enough gas in the tank for one last grand slam title (the US open). I'll remember him as the sportsman I once loved to hate, but he eventually won me over through his sheer guts and the quality of his game. I had a similar quirk against Steffi Graf at one point of time, but when spoilt brats like Martina Hingis took over, I found myself celebrating Steffi's comeback, culminating in that French open final of '99 where she beat Hingis.
(Tailpiece: Hingis has returned now, and I now find myself gunning for her. I really wonder why.)
Part II coming up soon.
Sunday, June 4, 2006
VISA Power...
This weekend has been a largely forgettable one..well almost. Somewhere between Thursday night and Friday morning, a long forgotten 'friend' called viral fever decided to visit me. I kind of sensed his presence, but apparently did not acknowledge it. Come Friday, and I was too busy working away in the cubicle, trying to get the JSPs to run on my system. I hadn't been forced to work this hard in months. The extreme air conditioning made 'him' feel totally at home. And so, at the end of the day, I dragged myself home in a shivering state, physically drained. I won't go much into what followed, let's just say I was down and out for most of the weekend. It hasn't been a complete waste though. I've been able to catch up on a bit of reading...I'm midway through Paddy's copy of three men in a Boat. And of course, I finally get to inaugurate my blog.
In two months I'll be joining the legions of Indian students heading off to the United states for a Master's program. Around this time of the year, everyone' s attention turns to the Visa Interview and the intricacies it involves. Thankfully I got mine over with on the 22nd of last month. Every other person has their own theories and advice on this final hurdle, which naturally leaves you a bit apprehensive before the big day. Not that my experience at the American Embassy is anything worth remembering, but I'll anyway rewind to Chennai, May 22nd (for lack of other subject matter to blog about).
I always get tense before interviews. In this case, after a lot of useless pondering, I was satisfied that all documents were in place, my acads were decent enough and they really had no reason to reject me. I left for Chennai in a more relaxed frame of mind. The flight landed at Kamraj Domestic around 6 in the evening, where I met my dad and left for the Alwarpet guest house in a taxi. There was the usual tinge of nostalgia I felt during the drive and on reaching my Amamma's old house (now functioning as a "Corporate Guest House"). There's a distinctive something about Chennai from whitewashed old buildings to wide roads, unmistakably heavy air and signs advertising "High Class Pure Veg. Restaurant". Normally, you either like it or loathe it. I choose to like it. Still, no one in their right mind would ever have anything nice to say about the weather there. Particularly in summer. Just when you think you've developed a tolerance for it, it comes back and hits you in the face, as I was to find out the next day.
I spent the rest of the evening organising my Documents. One of the inhabitants of the guest house was a Zimababwean called Melusi Moyo, who works in a software company in Harare. The company has a tie-up with 3i Technologies, and he suddenly had to leave for this obscure Indian city called Chennai on an assignment with 3i. Upon meeting him, I resorted to cliched topics for conversation from cricket to football (thankfully he follows both) and Victoria Falls and Wildlife. Actually he was pretty candid in his views about the crisis in Zimbabwe and the whole Mugabe thing (he called the BBC 'biased'), and shared his own views about life in India ('the food's great but the place is too hot') and his own experiences of trying to get an American Visa. He'd been rejected twice on some flimsy grounds when he was all set to go for his Master's years ago. But that's another story.
My appointment was scheduled for 1045 on Monday Morning, and the consulate was barely a 10 minute drive from the guesthouse. I reached the place around 1015, believing i had made it in good time. In a matter of seconds I realized I had done absolutely no groundwork on the place. Outside the (small) gate, stood a long queue of people holding their files above their heads apparently to provide some shade for themseleves. It's equally likely they were about to beat their heads in frustration. I joined the queue, which was moving at snail's pace. They seemed to be letting in people at the rate of one every ten minutes. While the security guard was busy driving away anxious parents, complaints poured out from everyone around me ('Can't they at least provide some shade? And what happens when it rains?'). I waited a good 45 minutes in the sweltering heat before they finally let us in. By now the queue, of course, had broken in two.
After a basic security check inside, the formalities began. Now, before you enter the actual American Embassy, where the interview takes place, you submit your documents at a processing counter in a semi open-air area which looks a bit like one of the fringe corridors of the Tirupathi balaji Temple. With only one fan, there was no escape from the heat. I was shunted in and out of 2 different queues and made to wait around three hours while they processed the docs. It just so happened they decided to take a really long time to return the docs to me...I saw people who had 12:00 appointments going in and coming out with smiling faces...before I even had a chance to proceed from that annoying room. The Tirupathi similarity pretty much ends with the queues. Over there the pilgrims scream their lungs out in anticipation of getting a glimpse of Lord Venkateshwara, here it was a long, mind-numbing wait with uncomfortable silence surrounding you. For no apparent reason, I started singing Simon & Garfunkel songs to myself. It was probably an instinctive way of not letting everyone else's tension get to me. As the long wait grew longer, I asked myself "Is this really the American Consulate?"
Finally my documents turned up and I was given the go-ahead...into the main Embassy. I had no idea what the time was since I didn't have a watch and had to leave my cellphone at home, but I must've spent around three hours there already. The Main Embassy was thankfully air-con (the Yanks would have surely melted otherwise). After I got my fingerprints taken I was told to sit...and wait. Here too, i was lost amidst a sea of people. The monotony was temporarily broken when the Charge d' Affairs of the Consulate (or simply 'the boss' as he prefers to be known as) came and gave us a five minute lecture on how to conduct one's self during the interview. The interview dosen't take place in a separate room, instead you have about ten counters each having an interviewer behind it, with about ten candidates in a row for each counter. The boss was doing his best to be funny, and good on him for effort at least. "You think it's a pain doing this interview thing for one day. These people do it everyday for four months nonstop. I try to tell 'em its a great job, but they just don't agree."
I eventually got fed up of waiting and got myself into one of the queues on the pretext of my 1045 appointment (it was already 230). It would be another forty five minutes before my interview began. Now every interviewer is equipped with a mike, to enable the applicant to hear him clearly. It also means once you're in the queue you can quite easily hear the interviews taking place. I'd have to say this bunch of Americans were among the rudest and nastiest people I've seen. They seemed to be probing every detail possible, particularly when it came to elderly couples planning to visit their children in the states. There seemed to be mass rejections all around. A very unpleasant atmosphere, on the whole. They almost rejected a techie from HP who had an assignment onsite (on the grounds that the nature of his work was not 'convincing' enough) and eventually granted him the Visa after making him compile a list of each and every project and platform he had ever worked on, signed in triplicate, et al. The student crowd was not spared either. One guy was rejected because of two backlogs he had early in his degree, while another was refused because he quit his job early and had been doing nothing for around six months.
For my part, I was simply tired and wanted to get it over with. Finally my turn came...and what an anti climax it turned out to be. The interviewer, a stout bald man who appeared to be in his forties, looked at the documents and murmured to himself "UT Austin...hmmm", and started the questioning. "When did you graduate?", "How long have you been working with CTS?", 'Why are you leaving your job?", "What do your parents do?" and a couple of other queries. After he took a quick look at the CA Statement and said "Your passport will be mailed to you in approximately three day's time, have a good day..."
And that was it. The interview took all of two minutes. Instead of reflecting on the fact that I finally got the Visa, I rushed out of the place immediately. I don't think I've ever been so glad to leave a place before..
This weekend has been a largely forgettable one..well almost. Somewhere between Thursday night and Friday morning, a long forgotten 'friend' called viral fever decided to visit me. I kind of sensed his presence, but apparently did not acknowledge it. Come Friday, and I was too busy working away in the cubicle, trying to get the JSPs to run on my system. I hadn't been forced to work this hard in months. The extreme air conditioning made 'him' feel totally at home. And so, at the end of the day, I dragged myself home in a shivering state, physically drained. I won't go much into what followed, let's just say I was down and out for most of the weekend. It hasn't been a complete waste though. I've been able to catch up on a bit of reading...I'm midway through Paddy's copy of three men in a Boat. And of course, I finally get to inaugurate my blog.
In two months I'll be joining the legions of Indian students heading off to the United states for a Master's program. Around this time of the year, everyone' s attention turns to the Visa Interview and the intricacies it involves. Thankfully I got mine over with on the 22nd of last month. Every other person has their own theories and advice on this final hurdle, which naturally leaves you a bit apprehensive before the big day. Not that my experience at the American Embassy is anything worth remembering, but I'll anyway rewind to Chennai, May 22nd (for lack of other subject matter to blog about).
I always get tense before interviews. In this case, after a lot of useless pondering, I was satisfied that all documents were in place, my acads were decent enough and they really had no reason to reject me. I left for Chennai in a more relaxed frame of mind. The flight landed at Kamraj Domestic around 6 in the evening, where I met my dad and left for the Alwarpet guest house in a taxi. There was the usual tinge of nostalgia I felt during the drive and on reaching my Amamma's old house (now functioning as a "Corporate Guest House"). There's a distinctive something about Chennai from whitewashed old buildings to wide roads, unmistakably heavy air and signs advertising "High Class Pure Veg. Restaurant". Normally, you either like it or loathe it. I choose to like it. Still, no one in their right mind would ever have anything nice to say about the weather there. Particularly in summer. Just when you think you've developed a tolerance for it, it comes back and hits you in the face, as I was to find out the next day.
I spent the rest of the evening organising my Documents. One of the inhabitants of the guest house was a Zimababwean called Melusi Moyo, who works in a software company in Harare. The company has a tie-up with 3i Technologies, and he suddenly had to leave for this obscure Indian city called Chennai on an assignment with 3i. Upon meeting him, I resorted to cliched topics for conversation from cricket to football (thankfully he follows both) and Victoria Falls and Wildlife. Actually he was pretty candid in his views about the crisis in Zimbabwe and the whole Mugabe thing (he called the BBC 'biased'), and shared his own views about life in India ('the food's great but the place is too hot') and his own experiences of trying to get an American Visa. He'd been rejected twice on some flimsy grounds when he was all set to go for his Master's years ago. But that's another story.
My appointment was scheduled for 1045 on Monday Morning, and the consulate was barely a 10 minute drive from the guesthouse. I reached the place around 1015, believing i had made it in good time. In a matter of seconds I realized I had done absolutely no groundwork on the place. Outside the (small) gate, stood a long queue of people holding their files above their heads apparently to provide some shade for themseleves. It's equally likely they were about to beat their heads in frustration. I joined the queue, which was moving at snail's pace. They seemed to be letting in people at the rate of one every ten minutes. While the security guard was busy driving away anxious parents, complaints poured out from everyone around me ('Can't they at least provide some shade? And what happens when it rains?'). I waited a good 45 minutes in the sweltering heat before they finally let us in. By now the queue, of course, had broken in two.
After a basic security check inside, the formalities began. Now, before you enter the actual American Embassy, where the interview takes place, you submit your documents at a processing counter in a semi open-air area which looks a bit like one of the fringe corridors of the Tirupathi balaji Temple. With only one fan, there was no escape from the heat. I was shunted in and out of 2 different queues and made to wait around three hours while they processed the docs. It just so happened they decided to take a really long time to return the docs to me...I saw people who had 12:00 appointments going in and coming out with smiling faces...before I even had a chance to proceed from that annoying room. The Tirupathi similarity pretty much ends with the queues. Over there the pilgrims scream their lungs out in anticipation of getting a glimpse of Lord Venkateshwara, here it was a long, mind-numbing wait with uncomfortable silence surrounding you. For no apparent reason, I started singing Simon & Garfunkel songs to myself. It was probably an instinctive way of not letting everyone else's tension get to me. As the long wait grew longer, I asked myself "Is this really the American Consulate?"
Finally my documents turned up and I was given the go-ahead...into the main Embassy. I had no idea what the time was since I didn't have a watch and had to leave my cellphone at home, but I must've spent around three hours there already. The Main Embassy was thankfully air-con (the Yanks would have surely melted otherwise). After I got my fingerprints taken I was told to sit...and wait. Here too, i was lost amidst a sea of people. The monotony was temporarily broken when the Charge d' Affairs of the Consulate (or simply 'the boss' as he prefers to be known as) came and gave us a five minute lecture on how to conduct one's self during the interview. The interview dosen't take place in a separate room, instead you have about ten counters each having an interviewer behind it, with about ten candidates in a row for each counter. The boss was doing his best to be funny, and good on him for effort at least. "You think it's a pain doing this interview thing for one day. These people do it everyday for four months nonstop. I try to tell 'em its a great job, but they just don't agree."
I eventually got fed up of waiting and got myself into one of the queues on the pretext of my 1045 appointment (it was already 230). It would be another forty five minutes before my interview began. Now every interviewer is equipped with a mike, to enable the applicant to hear him clearly. It also means once you're in the queue you can quite easily hear the interviews taking place. I'd have to say this bunch of Americans were among the rudest and nastiest people I've seen. They seemed to be probing every detail possible, particularly when it came to elderly couples planning to visit their children in the states. There seemed to be mass rejections all around. A very unpleasant atmosphere, on the whole. They almost rejected a techie from HP who had an assignment onsite (on the grounds that the nature of his work was not 'convincing' enough) and eventually granted him the Visa after making him compile a list of each and every project and platform he had ever worked on, signed in triplicate, et al. The student crowd was not spared either. One guy was rejected because of two backlogs he had early in his degree, while another was refused because he quit his job early and had been doing nothing for around six months.
For my part, I was simply tired and wanted to get it over with. Finally my turn came...and what an anti climax it turned out to be. The interviewer, a stout bald man who appeared to be in his forties, looked at the documents and murmured to himself "UT Austin...hmmm", and started the questioning. "When did you graduate?", "How long have you been working with CTS?", 'Why are you leaving your job?", "What do your parents do?" and a couple of other queries. After he took a quick look at the CA Statement and said "Your passport will be mailed to you in approximately three day's time, have a good day..."
And that was it. The interview took all of two minutes. Instead of reflecting on the fact that I finally got the Visa, I rushed out of the place immediately. I don't think I've ever been so glad to leave a place before..
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