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Winds before Portugal Visa

As i walk across thousands of people, I realise I am not alone in this walk. They all walk the same paths but on different journeys, Different walks, different roads but the same destination. I woke up thinking of taking printouts for another visa application.

The last four applications got rejected because I did not fit the criteria set; somehow, I'm afraid I have to disagree with them, and they don't agree with me. Every time the same institutions but different locations and different people. I hand out papers, asking where I am going, not knowing that I could never make it to Europe. I don't fancy Europe but travelling there could be significant. I am talking about Western Europe, i have gone to the Eastern country Serbia. Although, as last time, I end up being in India.

As I walk the streets of Mumbai, thoughts form around every space and corner; when I take a printout of my bank statement, I have to get it certified and stamped from the bank account. The lawyer sends me a message asking me to get Shares Certificate from the company CS. I sent CS a statement but with no response. There are many people who i depend on for this application, and I feel nimble.

I have to take my photograph 70 % to 80% of the head, and the embassy people want to see your head. The shop I went to just took a picture using my new iPhone as if he knew that this phone has a better camera, sent himself an email and then jumped on editing the photograph. He had to trim my hair digitally, and now my hair looks glossy and flat.

I asked him if he could do other print outs the documents. They are like a certificate of shares, my bank account, my travel insurance and an invitation letter from Portugal, the prescribed flight ticket that is reservation and proof of employment.

All of this is long day work, sometimes a week. To remove errors, I got printouts of not needed documents. It was my mistake reducer, a part of the brain conditioned to look at things from the past. I wonder if they could find some loophole in my document as the Danish Embassy did. It feels like in their small rooms of AC chambers that suffocate for pristine air decided on the spur of the moment that Saransh Sharma should not get to Denmark at any cost. They conspired and partied all night with their friend, telling them the story of an Indian guy trying to immigrate to Denmark and how their wit helped save Denmark's sovereignty.

I realised and snapped back to where I was; interestingly, all of the folks working in the shop turned out to be Biharis. Biharis are smart.

I went out to get the bank statement attested, and I saw how the bank representative sat across and said, please sign this form. The regulation states that they waste one paper and destroy one more tree for a bank statement they could provide online. It tells me the amount of mist trust and wrong incentives in place.

I asked myself time for a break, but how could I take a break? I had to get another set of documents from another bank certified. As I walked across people in black and white, walked by number grew. These people were now a swarm, and I realised I was in a lawyer neighbourhood. As I walked among them, I checked the weather, turning partly cloudy and windy, as if these winds and clouds were telling me something.

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