Passed port

I got my passport today. Here I am sharing my experience in case someone in a similar situation searches these archives.

The folks at the consulate were very helpful. There were not many people around, which was surprising since this consulate services the entire western United States. It is not very big from the outside, the only distinguising features from the other San Franciscan houses in the neighborhood being a courtyard and a large Indian flag. Inside, it was slightly more tacky than I had imagined, instantly reminded of the DMV offices or the post office I had been to earlier in the morning. I had even plonked in two dollars to leave my car parked for an hour, just in case.

The lady in charge of the security looked over my application and fixed it; the photographs were of the wrong size. A young hispanic woman, with big dark brown eyes and a strong confident voice, in a uniform. She directed me to another lady at the counter, who patiently heard my story about how I ended up sleepless at her counter this morning. My first surprise of the day, she did not start by shaking her head.

She asked me to write a quick note describing my situation for the Vice Consul, which she passed on to him. All this was done right on the counter, I was not asked to come back after I had done writing it, as you half expect. I admitted my screw up in that note and asked for help.

I described my emergency as having to attend a cousin's wedding. The real story is that I had only discovered yesterday that my passport had expired. My tickets were booked for the end of the month, only a few business days away, and the Consul General's web page mentioned that it may take up to 15 working days to get a new passport. After making a couple of frantic phone calls to calm myself down after the discovery, I was ready to postpone the flight if required. I then went about gathering the paperwork until late in the night, taking the opportunity to finally label the filers as I have always been meaning to do. I rediscovered some old love letters and greeting cards, tucked away in an envelope, labeled 'Time Capsule: Do not throw', a note to myself from last year. I can never throw them. I sometimes feel I keep them around just to show them off to myself.

I was asked to wait around for a bit, and I used that opportunity to marvel at the motley group of people that had assembled, each with their own little pesky problem. A couple of shrunk, middle aged americans, anachronisms from the summer of love. A harried businesswomen from Seattle. Sikhs and their wives. An important looking young student.

The Vice Consul, Mr. Jaladhi Mukherjee soon came out, complained light-heartedly about me calling it an emergency and then got my application in as an emergency job. The way it usually works is that all the passport applications in one day are all asked to come back on the same day about two or three weeks later. All applicants today were being asked to come back on Sep 6th. Rush jobs are for family emergencies or lost or stolen passports. I felt I did not thank Mr. Mukherjee enough. Someday I will figure out how to do my bit to have nice people continue being nice.

That is it. Half an hour, a good experience and $130 dollars later ($40 for a new passport, $90 for emergency processing), I was asked to come back at 4 in the evening.

In the evening, I did not have to wait much for the passport. There indeed was a slight delay caused by a malfunctioning scanner though. The lady at the counter was even apologizing about this little delay. Thank you lady at the counter. You represent hope in one of its various forms.

There was another person waiting with me. He had lost his passport in a robbery at his house in his absence, and had been waiting for six months to get his family's passports done. I was feeling a little bad that mine was being made in less than six hours for a rather trifling emergency of my own making.

So, I am now the proud owner of a new shiny passport and ready to fly.

So long San Francisco. Hello New Delhi.