Among my top 100 many complaints in life, the one that riles me up each day when I wake up in the morning is this, "During the day, we keep ourselves busy with many(seemingly fructuous activities), the day passes by me at the rate of the movement of an extra lazy sloth. However, when i wake up in the morning, I feel the moment I wake up and the moment i had fallen asleep, is the just a few seconds apart. The effective distance between these 2 second is the time that I consumed before I fell asleep...". Why is this?
On one such mornings I woke up, having hardly slept the previous night. I had to visit the UK embassy for an appearance to get the British visa stamped in my 'Oh , so new passport'. I will be travelling to city that where Leadenhall street exists. All this hardly seemed to excite me. The moment I stepped out at 7.00 am in the morning, I wondered which seemed worse, my mood, weather or.. well... my mood again. The walk to the metro took me exactly 8 minutes.. felt like a lifetime in reverse gear. The ride to the visa cell was as event less as the sleepless night was. Nothing extraordinary. I had to change to another tram at Leidsaplein, a locality in the heart of amsterdam. Amsterdam did not seem very inviting in the wee hours of the morning. A rather quite beginning to another day. Ladies with and without husbands, ladies with and without dogs were making the rounds of a local park. I am not sure why I am writing dogs and husbands in the same breath.
As I waited for the next tram, tram 2 to nieuw sloten to take me to Emmastraat, my mind stopped thinking. Someone had once told me, 'try keeping your mind idle..'. They had challenged me with such gutso, that I had believed them to true. However, at that moment in time(wish I had noted it down), I realised that, I had not been using my mind at all. I was in a state of prolonged hibernation. Maybe this is how a computer feels when someone sets it an hibernation mode and prevents it from using its microprocessor. But here, it was an involuntary action. As the tram arrived, the dutch guy on the wheel, seemed so content with his job. Doing the same rounds everyday, day after day. The tram seemed like it had been borrowed from the past. Not the bright blue interiors, but a dull green. This added to the woes that I had deeply buried myself into. I had ridden a tram in Basel with the same green color. Felt like a flash from the immediate past. As i tried to make myself comfortable in the comfortable seat of the tram, I was scared that I would fall asleep. I tried reading the faces of the co-travellers. I could fathom nothing.
Emmastraat held its place in a beautiful and scenic surroundings. A huge lake, fallen leaves, a green creeper hugging a tree, the branches of the tree forming a hallow over the lake... pristine and virginal sight for the eye to behold. If I was a poetess, I would pen verses after verses on this feast to the eye. But I had to find the embassy. I looked around to ask someone. Not a soul in the distance of a few feet. I dismissed the thought of asking someone, and started walking in a direction. It did not matter whether it was right or otherwise. Lost in nothingness, I chugged along the well kept path, lined by immaculately maintained garden on one side and Renaults, Nissans, BMWs, merces, Peugeots on the other. Tiny drops of rain that had kissed the leaves all night were glistening in the morning light.
I checked the address on the slip of paper I had written it on, koningslaan 44. Ok, I had to find the 44th house. I could see the union jack waving in the zephyr. 2 guards at the entrance, were at the gate. I checked the address. I need to sit somewhere and sleep. Walked to the end of the street. On my left was a huge opening. Men, women and children in dozens were driving in from the gate to the enclosure. I turned over and sprinted in the opposite direction. Amsterdam domestic localities are bound to have parks dotting the area. I sat down at one such. Wanted to fall asleep on the bench. The thoughts kept wandering. I re-lived my life since last October 28th. Seemed like yesterday. But so much had happened, to have changed my life, at least at the surface. I was lost in the past, when my present jolted me out of my reverie. It was time to walk back to the embassy. 8.45 am. My appointment was at 9.00 am. As I walked in the direction of the cell, I spotted an Indian walking in the parallel lane. Another tourist to the queen's haunt, I thought. As the seconds wore on, I stood in the queue to gain entry into the cell. I had thought that the 2 security personnel were British. They spoke queens English with me, but conversed in dutch with each other.
The edifice of the embassy was impressive as any building in Europe can be. The imposing structure of the building on the exterior was a let down, once I could run my eyes in the interior. A narrow staircase led me to the mezzanine. 2 innocuous looking counters greeted me. As I made my way to the waiting room, I scanned the room, with the intent of making myself comfortable in the surroundings. As, i sat down on cold seats, flattenning my heavy jacket under me, I wondered when the number beeper would show 92. I was not alone in the waiting lounge. A musalman lady in a pair of crocodile skin shoes, an Indian olding on to C n A carry bag, a south asian - rather indonesian lady, and a Indian looking, but Indonesian man sat around me in a quiet distance. They kept me company with sheer aloofness. When ever I glanced over to look at the lady in crocodile skin shoes, she gave me a warm smile... I wondered whether she was trying to reassure me or herself. Within minutes the room was filled with people of varying sizes, shapes and color. A stout man in a pair of baggies, a thin lean mean looking guy, a family - husband, wife and too pretty, but restless kids. Now when I write this blog, I wonder what mended my lousy mood that day. I think it was the Young kid, a boy barely in his 5th year on earth. He kept glancing at me repeatedly... I could not help but smile at him. His face broke into a naughty grin, as though he was caught in an act of stealing cookies when his mama was asleep. This exchange of smiles and giggles continued for the next 15 minutes, till my number was beeped. I was in much spirits now, than i was, when i first got in there. The kid had helped me smile.
As I walked over to the counter, I pulled out my document from the folder. As I handed them over to him for scrutiny, I felt like was sinking into a labyrinth. I was not sure if i why I was travelling to London. Tourism? Friends? To meet Sir? or plain just like that, what the heck?Before I could reach a consensus on the reason, the embassy personnel asked me to place my left hand at the finger print scanning machine. He asked me apply force to the scanner. My hand started shivering. I was scared that the crowd me could see it. The shaking stopped when I pressed my other hand. The process ended faster than it had begun. I was asked me to wait for my passport. As I went back to my seat, hunger pangs kept me busy. Within 15 minutes, I was out of the embassy. The return seemed brighter than the journey to the embassy. It was nearly 9.45 am. Within 45 minutes I was taking the spiral staircase to the 5th floor. The day had begun.
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