LONDON BEACONING

Back in pavillion Liverpool (and reality), after my first and may I add successful, backpacking trip to Europe and Scotland. Now it was about time to get cracking with the dissertation. I figured it will be great to graduate. The following month and half comprised of increased frequency of library visits, sleeplessness, days merging into nights, tea merging with coffee and what not. I did work hard, and appropriately so. I submitted the papers before the deadline and fared well.

That very year end, in December my brother was to get married in home town Pune. November I decided to pack up and move away permanently from Liverpool. I wasn’t finished with U.K though, I just had to come back and this time to London. All of December was a lovely holiday and of course festive with the wedding and getting to know my brother’s gorgeous bride. My return tickets were booked for the new year’s eve. I was determined to go back to U.K. Saving the ticket mind you, no other provisions were made. Since I had recently graduated and moved out of Liverpool for good, I still needed to find a place to stay and of course a source of income. Let alone a potential job, I didn’t even have a work permit to begin with. A woman with no plan.

Amidst all the celebrations and commotion I would check gumtree.com everyday to look for a decent accommodation. It was already December 30 and I was due to fly out the next day. Where was I going to stay? Did I have enough funds to stay in a hotel indefinitely, have my meals and commute? Clearly not. But London, oh London was beaconing. My mum was sleepless. “ Are you sure you’re going to do this?”My mind was made up and there was no question of canceling or postponing my ticket. Finally around 11pm on 30th, I found a home letting a room in Hounslow. After calling the kind landlady, it was decided that I would spend the night of my arrival at hers and if we liked each other we can talk about a long term stay. One can imagine the relief this brought to my parents.

Smoothly landed in London on a new years eve and a friend from Liverpool, Shaheen who was also in London at that time, came to see me at the airport. She offered to accompany me till this possibly new home of mine. We took the Piccadilly line to get to Hounslow central station. It was rather late in the evening and the streets were deserted. We walked and walk in the sleet and slushy pathways. Neither of us had smart phones or enough balance to call and confirm the directions to the house. There weren’t people either to ask for directions. I kept thinking, what if we were lost? Could we knock on one of these doors and ask someone? How safe is Hounslow?

Just then a couple of guys walk out of a noisy pub, with lagers in their hands and merrily swaying as they walked about. Before we could consider asking them for help, one of them, the younger one says ,

“Will you marry me and cook Indian curry for me everyday?”, Bloody racist and sexist! I thought to myself.
“I do not cook”, I replied in the sternest voice possible.
The other bald one goes, “How about a blow-job then?”.
Disgusted, humiliated and infuriated, more importantly, stupefied, we simply walked away with no retort this time. I guess that’s London for you. We continued marching down the dark alleys until we spotted the Gurudwara the landlady mentioned as a landmark. Much to our relief, we were headed in the right direction. Took a right turn as was instructed and finally into stepped into a lovely residential neighborhood!

Finally I reached my destination, knocked on the door with as much glee on my face as the lighted Christmas decorations in the curtilage. An older, well dressed woman opens the door. She was wearing a blue glittering Salwar Kameez and introduced herself as Mrs. Aurora. I had lucked out! A gorgeous home and a Punjabi owner, couldn’t have asked for more. Albeit, I was yet to see my room. She did seem slightly upset for she was running late for a New year’s party on account of me but regardless, graciously let me stay in her home, all by myself till the following year, which was precisely one night away. Well, I ended up living there for the next 2 years.

Now that accommodation in London was sorted, a job and prior to that, a work permit was warranted. Since I had come prepared to apply, I mailed out all forms, documents and the holy passport for approval. Simultaneously, I began applying for jobs.

Within weeks I received my passport back, with a letter. I swiftly opened my passport but I couldn’t find any new stamp. Furiously, I had to see what the letter read. It was a letter of refusal. My heart sank. That was the worst thing that could have happened. Does this mean I’m now an illegal immigrant? Do I have to return home? I panicked and tried to talk to several people in the homeland security, visa services and a couple of lawyers. Thankfully none of them charged me for the advice they gave but my phone bills, well they were beginning to create a hole in my pocket. I got a different story from all of them. I almost gave up for the stakes were too high, I didn’t want to live illegally.

When I was dejected and had nearly packed up, I saw a ray of hope. The fine prints on the homeland security website stated in a roundabout manner, that a letter of refusal is different from a letter of rejection. I had to do some more research, a girl with two Masters in Philosophy should be able to sort this out on her own. Voila! This was a happy realization that all of it was a misunderstanding on my part. My visa wasn’t rejected, it was simply refused and that meant, I could re-apply. I had used an outdated application form. I used the same form I had downloaded when I was in India back in November while they were updated in October that year. What a waste of time and energy that was. I applied again, this time with the most recent form and received a work visa within weeks, and valid for three glorious years.

Eventually I found a job in an agency, as medical assistant for people with severe learning disabilities. I traveled to Reading, a different city altogether, three times a week for almost a year. The rest of the days I got shifts in various locations in and around London. Within months I knew the underground train map, like the palm of my hand. London gave me everything, lessons and blessings, ecstasy and loneliness. I hadn’t anticipated any different.