Everything that could go wrong with a trip home

Call it nostalgia, call it homesickness, but I am still drawn towards India every chance I get. I have consistently made a trip home every year since I came to the USA, lasting about a month each time.

I headed home this time too, with bags mostly filled with chocolates and other things I got for my parents and brother. They had made no demands, but this was my first trip home since I started earning and it felt like a responsibility that I had to fulfill. I was also entrusted with the duty of transporting goods for my friends, which would be duly received from me once I was home and settled.

I reached the airport with a friend on the day before Christmas, wondering which counter to go to, because I had booked the tickets through an American airline and the flights were operated by a Dutch and Indian company. We happened on the right counter after searching for a while and I was glad I was let off with a warning even though the weight off my baggage slightly exceeded the limit. I hoped for the best as I seated myself on my window seat en route to Amsterdam. Only when the passengers next to me were served their specially ordered vegetarian meal did I realise that the smartest thing I did preparing for this journey was to save half of my lunch that I ate at the airport some time before boarding the plane. This was the first red flag which I should have noticed when I was trying to do an online checkin the previous day. I was not prompted to choose a meal option. There were a lot of Indians heading home on the flight, just like me. Apparently most of them were vegetarian too. And that is why I had to make do with just the sides of a non vegetarian meal when they served. To top it off, the air hostess was quite rude and not entertaining any queries, which were more like pleas from someone starving since a few hours. The only silver lining was that the dessert was amazing, which I would have missed, had I had the special meal. I quickly pulled out the spinach pastry I had packed and gobbled it up, wondering what I would do after a few hours when I would be ravenous. I was sulking as I got off the flight, the hunger not helping my fatigue, thanks to my inability to fall asleep on flights.

There was ample vegetarian food on the second flight which gave me enough energy to deal with the next disaster. I and my friends waited at the baggage claim for what seemed like eternity, wondering whatever happened to both my bags and one each of theirs. The airline staff did not think it was their responsibility to inform us that more than half the passengers’ luggage had not arrived as we waited. It was up to us to run after them, now that we had made it to the other side of the world. We crowded around three of the staff members who appeared overwhelmed, to say the least. They assured us that the luggage would make it to Bangalore the next day on the same flight and that it would be delivered home that very day in the morning. I spent a major part of the next two days making calls to them and speculating what I should do. They promptly delivered the bags more than two days later while I was on a train to Chennai with my family. My mother spent a lot of time trying to convince the driver of the vehicle delivering the bags not to give up on finding our house tucked away in what we hope is Bangalore, but is not really a part of it. Thanks to their diligence, I blew up a few thousands of rupees and a few hours of our time to get me a set of brand new clothes as we were going on a weeklong trip to Sri Lanka. I hoped to regain at least a part of that money from them as compensation.

Next came my visa interview, this time for the coveted H1B. I am not sure if it was the audacity that I had already been granted the visa and only needed the stamp or the lack of sleep the previous night, I was not worried when I got to the consulate. Little did I know that Trump had something else in store for me. My suspicions were raised when the officer took a blue colored form and started writing something at the very beginning of my interview. Within a few minutes, he handed it over to me stating that my visa had been rejected for administrative processing. The word ‘rejected’ pierced through me, making me wonder if it was finally time for me to look for a job in India and settle down. I went back to our room dejected even though I was told I would hear from them in a week. This probably meant that my return journey would be delayed. I was relieved later in the evening when I learned that quite a few of my friends had received the blue slip and got their passport back within a couple of weeks. That still meant I would have to postpone my trip back.

I spent the next few days being ill and in anxiety, making sure to check my visa status twice every day, once in the morning and once in the evening. I did not even make a trip to my hometown to pay a visit to both my grandmothers thanks to the uncertainty. My departure date came and went, and I was still at home. I worked from home for a couple of days, mostly catching up on all that I had missed and trying to pick up where I left off.

I stopped checking the status obsessively because my birthday was approaching and I did not want to ruin it. I checked it the day after and it said it had been approved two days ago, well within the two week time limit everybody suggested. I booked my tickets soon against the wishes of my parents who thought I should make the best of the situation and stay longer now that everything had been delayed anyway. It cost me an arm and a leg, wiping away all the elation I felt when told that my cancelled fee was waived off. Till that day, I was eagerly waiting to get back and now when it was confirmed, all I wanted was some more days at home.

The only thing that was “right” amongst everything that went wrong with my trip was that I spent an extra weekend at home, which included my birthday and a long lost friend’s wedding and reception. I met some classmates and friends who I had not seen since more than three years, reliving some memories, catching up with each others’ lives.

Now for the final nail in the coffin. I arrived at the airport with two half empty suitcases. I was told that I was allowed only one, when the ticket I had clearly stated that I was allowed two for free. I paid a hundred dollars for the other one since I did not have the time and energy to argue with the airline employees who seemed to be ganging up against me, one joining them every time I tried to say my ticket clearly stated otherwise. I decided to take care of it once I was back. I was served vegetarian food on both of the not-so-full flights. I spent a good few hours talking and emailing the customer service of three different airlines once I was back, to no avail. Maybe I felt so strongly about losing all that money since it was my first time. Either I would become really smart and tactful or I would just get used to this and let it go every time it happens because I have other things to bother about. Mostly the latter, I guess.