To put it very simply, life is just a continuum of observation and learning. Observation may be both inward and outward, and learning is derived from observations that we make on a daily basis. If we observe carefully, many aspects, layers and nuances of life are visible all around us. Indeed, while our own lives give us a firsthand experience, cross-sections of life around us can be equally enriching and educating.
One of the Passport Seva Kendras (PSK) offered me such a cross-section the other day. My wife had an appointment for submitting her documents to the PSK and I had accompanied her. At the appointed time, the guards ushered her into the PSK and I realized I had some time to kill while she went through the document verification routine. I bought a cup of elaichi tea and a couple of Osmania biscuits from one of those ebullient thela vendors that somehow always exist outside such offices and settled myself on the low wall of the PSK parking lot.
As I looked around me, I realized the PSK was teeming with hopefuls from all walks of life, looking forward to get a passport for a variety of reasons. There were youngsters, presumably looking forward to academic avenues abroad. Most of them were accompanied by their parents, and the entire family had the look of expectant excitement of their faces. One of the young girls even touched her parents’ feet while going in.
Then there were the overseas job-seekers. Many of these hopefuls, evidently, were financially stretched (or perhaps even jobless) in India and were probably looking at greener pastures like the Middle East, Canada or even Africa to prop up their and their dependents’ lives. They came clutching crumpled polythene packets containing their documents, their faces frequently betraying their anxiousness. Some of them had disheveled looks, evidently having travelled from neighboring towns or villages to the PSK. You could guage the criticality that the PSK held in their scheme of things.
Senior citizens represented a third category of applicants. Elderly couples helped each other as they painstakingly climbed the stairs of the building. Some applicants waited patiently, running a final check of their documents through reading glasses perched on their noses. Some others kept flitting around nervously, occasionally stopping to look around, ask someone a question or just to catch their breath. A variety of situations that had brought them to the PSK could be extrapolated on observing them. Some were going to visit their children who were living or settled abroad. Maybe some had a daughter who was expecting maternity soon. A couple I accidentally overheard was being forced to move abroad to live with their younger son as the elder son in India was not inclined to share a roof with his parents. The PSK was, for these elderly ladies & gentlemen, a portal to either a family reunion or family dismemberment.
And then there were the frequent flyers. These were professionals working in multinational firms who were used to frequent overseas visits and their passports had either expired or run out of pages. They were probably even tired of attending visa interviews. The look on many of such people was plain irritation, non-productive but mandatory work eating into their exacting but handsomely paying working time.
As I kept absorbing what I was seeing, the dichotomy of India’s so-called development seemed to play out in front of me. While some sections of our society are clear benefactors of India’s tryst with development, misery and seemingly fathomless struggle still stare unflinchingly at other sections. Bright minds are moving abroad and weakening our demographic dividend. Social structures are weakening and emotional strains are on the rise. The future of our nation is indeed bright, but on that day at the PSK, it seemed at best to be a light at the end of a pretty long tunnel.
