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| Image : indiatoday.in |
It was October of 2006. Earlier to it 20 Octobers had whizzed passed in my life. All went remarkably unremarkable. But this was special. For this
was the first time I was to step into a foreign land. And it was not Nepal. Bhutan?. It wasn’t either.
My college had signed a student exchange program with a German
University a year earlier. Students from each university were to visit the
other. Few privileged seniors from my college had already been to Germany as a
part of this exchange program. It was time for the next batch. 10 of us were
nominated to go to Germany. We were asked
to get Passports asap. The touts and brokers outside passport offices helped us
to secure one faster than asap.
Prior to that my closest association with the word 'Passport'
was with the passport size photograph. But this time passport meant Passport. Back
then, unlike now, Passports were rare. Unlike other government Ids the passport
was given its due respect. You could actually see the scanned photograph and
more so you could resemble yourself with it. Those who had it used it as an address proof. Like talent in India more number of passports died without ever
being recognized to serve its intended purpose. My passport was rather lucky.
It didn’t die a lonely death without ever being stamped. It got to show its
power and together with a Visa it was destined to fly away in the very first
year of its birth. The stamped Visa inside the passport was even better.
Colorful and bright.The authorities had taken pain to present a milky white version of me that was nowhere like me.
On the morning of October 6th the 10 of us and 2 additional
professors stepped into my first flight of life- that too an international. Our
family members lined outside the Delhi airport and gave a farewell as if we
were NASA astronauts heading for ISS. Unlike astronauts we were ordinary people
with ordinary hopes, ordinary aspirations and ordinary dreams. A foreign visit
was nowhere in our scope of bucket list. Not even in an Indian mugga list. So we
were treated like specials. My mother hugged me. My father patted me and
whispered " there is a letter in your jacket's pocket. Open it when you
are up above".
We Indians have a tendency to cheer everything that is excitingly
unique for us, especially when we are herded together.So when the flight ran on the
runway, we cheered. It ran further. We cheered louder. It ran further. We doubted if it will run all the way to its destination or will it ever fly. Someone
from the passengers shouted " Jai Hanuman" and we all followed
"Jai Hanuman". Just then the flight took off and the sanctity of
science and religion both prevailed. A few minutes past it was up and above.
I felt the letter with my hand and opened it. In bold blue
letters of hindi my father presented emotions that reverberated with the then
ongoing time. As if the letter shared similar feelings to mine. It echoed in
words what I felt during those moments. "Upar Surya tumhare bhaagya ki
tarah prakaashit and divymaan hai..." I turned around and the sun was
perfectly glaring in its beauty. "Aur tum Pavansut k teevra veg se aakash
ko cheertey huay pavan se badhey jaa rahe ho" . I looked far deep into the
sky. I was actually cruising. In a four page letter he blessed me for a bright
future and happiness. As I read it, I knew I will cry. I did. For him it
was a great day and so was it for me.
Coming back to my Passport, it spent its remaining entire life
in the company of other stupid I-cards, sealed inside a folder with a
diminished hope of getting a chance once again to prove its worth. It never got
another. Since I was no Jason Bourne, that was my only passport. With its demise died my hope of another foreign tour.
That was in 2006. Orkut was rife, testimonials were still being
written, facebook was yet to gain immortality ,'like' still meant liking and
had nothing to do with an unemotional click on mouse. Foreign tours were still
rare, I was in my 20s and I still had hairs.
Come 2018. Orkut is only in memories, I am in my 30s, the hairs count sum up to 30. Facebook governs the status war. Updates of
foreign trips of my friends and friend’s friend’s friend’s are all spluttered
on my homepage. I, for one, possess still those lovely ordinary thoughts, that
in its fantasy and grandiose manage only to travel as far as Andaman Islands.
In a private job it may be a regular phenomenon to be asked
about your Passport and an onsite visit to a foreign nation. But a govt. job is
bound by the law of the land. The law ensures that you are always grounded on this very land
and never take off.
Amid such laws arrives a moment when I am asked "Do you
have a passport?". I had regressed to my naive stage and produced two
passport size photographs in response "I have two". The person
concerned consoled my mental apathy and said " Passport sir, the one which
gets you out of our motherland".
Full twelve years after that auspicious October someone was
again interested in sending me to a foreign land. And again it was not Nepal or
Bhutan. This time to the land of the rising Sun-Japan. So once again I own a sleek
new Passport, bearing my scanned colored image, duly stamped with a Visa. The authorities have done justice to their work this time, for now I look like a dacoit and I can totally relate myself from the image.
40 of us are to visit Japan as a part of technology learning
program. Not that we are the chosen few. There have been earlier groups as well
and future groups are scheduled ahead. I like others just happen to get an
opportunity to be a part of it. Nothing outstanding and no bragging. A mere mix of luck, coincidence and God’s
will, that’s it. Nevertheless, the opportunity in itself bestows a big exposure
on all of us.
For me and people I know, foreign visits are still held in awe.
We still 'like' and envy the status updates of our friends and relatives from a
foreign land. It is still a big game for my kind of people. So tomorrow
will be a fortunate day.
Tomorrow as I fly again to a foreign nation I will recall that October and the friends from the last trip. I will again
remember my father and his letter. Standing outside the international airport I
will try to recall the place from where he waved me then. Tomorrow I will wish my Passport a better
luck than its predecessor. I wish it gets to see many more colorful Visas on
all pages of its life. And many tomorrows later I would like to turn around and see how I felt prior to this trip which I could not do then. Normal?Excited?Can't tell. May be both, may be none. I may share this post or I may not. But tomorrow this post will serve as a memoir of that lovely October and this eventful December both.
Thank you for reading
