Trivial things have kept me busy, like staring into space, switching channels mindlessly, eating biscuits, calculating the number of lines on my palm, re-reading the same paragraph of a book I started two months ago and mostly biting my nails for my visa to come through. Having said that, I discovered last week that not only H1B visas but the VAF1series(UK visa) can also make as much headlines, if someone would only try. Having taken the initiative to gather frivolous news I shall throw light on how VAF1s can be so worthy of "breaking news". Well, before I get started, a disclaimer first.
"Anyone from the British Visa Office, ever accidentally bumps into this space, then I'd like to state that I am in no way responsible for this preposterous content, however if you are adamant then please give me enough time to run."
Now that I've stated the obvious, let me get started in the true sense.
It was the 17th of April, and it was a morning, as early as 7:30 a.m and I was, no, not snuggling in my blanket, instead standing in a queue that was to lead to a bigger queue in the middle of the day, and then another of its kind, only to know the wait's extending three weeks. People stand in three queues to get a visa to the UK? We're not even getting to meet the Queen! In the first queue you are moving fast, you realize you're close and then you're handed over this coupon which gets you nauseated when you read the 3-digit number on it. It's pressing to ask at the counter, "is it possible that I'd get home for dinner tommorrow night..oh okay, it's really okay, I don't mind it here either!"
Now you are playing this slithering snail, crawling, pretending to know where you are heading. After a long, lethargic wait you find yourself addressing this awfully curt person(the agent), who can't get enough of needling you, giving you just the glimpse of the "powerful" guy to come, the one who may reject your visa and ask, where do you shop for your shirts?(under my breath: dude, you like the pink one instead?).
If that's not enough, Brits like being generous. The biometrics test stands testimony to it. They want your fingerprints, I mean your thumb, left and right, your index, middle, ring and the little one, again left and right, well I hope that satisfies them. No, don't be so cruel, they don't take your toe prints.
It's at this moment, the defining moment when you feel you've been rescued from the edge-of-the-cliff experience, when you are going to be handed over with a receipt which contains your reference number, so as to follow-up the status of your visa. Yes it's coming and bang! tragedy strikes! The guy forgets to give you the receipt, and you're dying, you have no previous memory of what you were seeking out to get. You feel strangulated, and you just need to free yourself of the "UK paranoia", you decide to run, you are running really really fast. It's at this final moment, when you are beginning to be released from the clutches, the realization sets in and you feel cheated, disillisioned and alienated. You want to go back at the counter and tell them, "I'll skip dinner, however do you mind if I play frankenstein tonight?"
What do I want to ask myself at the end of this exercise? Will I get my visa?
"Anyone from the British Visa Office, ever accidentally bumps into this space, then I'd like to state that I am in no way responsible for this preposterous content, however if you are adamant then please give me enough time to run."
Now that I've stated the obvious, let me get started in the true sense.
It was the 17th of April, and it was a morning, as early as 7:30 a.m and I was, no, not snuggling in my blanket, instead standing in a queue that was to lead to a bigger queue in the middle of the day, and then another of its kind, only to know the wait's extending three weeks. People stand in three queues to get a visa to the UK? We're not even getting to meet the Queen! In the first queue you are moving fast, you realize you're close and then you're handed over this coupon which gets you nauseated when you read the 3-digit number on it. It's pressing to ask at the counter, "is it possible that I'd get home for dinner tommorrow night..oh okay, it's really okay, I don't mind it here either!"
Now you are playing this slithering snail, crawling, pretending to know where you are heading. After a long, lethargic wait you find yourself addressing this awfully curt person(the agent), who can't get enough of needling you, giving you just the glimpse of the "powerful" guy to come, the one who may reject your visa and ask, where do you shop for your shirts?(under my breath: dude, you like the pink one instead?).
If that's not enough, Brits like being generous. The biometrics test stands testimony to it. They want your fingerprints, I mean your thumb, left and right, your index, middle, ring and the little one, again left and right, well I hope that satisfies them. No, don't be so cruel, they don't take your toe prints.
It's at this moment, the defining moment when you feel you've been rescued from the edge-of-the-cliff experience, when you are going to be handed over with a receipt which contains your reference number, so as to follow-up the status of your visa. Yes it's coming and bang! tragedy strikes! The guy forgets to give you the receipt, and you're dying, you have no previous memory of what you were seeking out to get. You feel strangulated, and you just need to free yourself of the "UK paranoia", you decide to run, you are running really really fast. It's at this final moment, when you are beginning to be released from the clutches, the realization sets in and you feel cheated, disillisioned and alienated. You want to go back at the counter and tell them, "I'll skip dinner, however do you mind if I play frankenstein tonight?"
What do I want to ask myself at the end of this exercise? Will I get my visa?
