I am the kind of man, who absolutely cherishes to have people around. Solitude scares me. Even the MBTI Assessment results proved that. (MBTI is a personality assessment where one of the tests is about the source from where we draw our energy i.e. whether we draw our energy from the outside world – extroversion or from within ourselves – introversion). I am a certified Extrovert. I enjoy the company of people. I enjoy talking to absolute strangers. I enjoy forging new relationships. Also, I value friendships or relationships more than anything else in my life. I believe that my friends are the only income I have had in the past 27 years (not ignoring the fact that my bank balance is in debt, whether in terms of Rupees or Pounds). I hate losing any of them and hate breaking any relationships.

But…Sometimes…just sometimes…you just can’t get rid of someone from your life…No matter how much you hate them…they still keep on loving you…keep on showering their (unwanted) blessings…provide their (unneeded) services… undeterred by the dreary and lacklustre response I give…only sometimes…just sometimes…I act like a dog that gets a flea near its tail and keeps going round and round in order to bite the life out of this irksome flea.

Oh Dear! Now that I have called her flea and totally ignoring the fact that I called myself a dog, I am wondering what blessings she will shower now. There seems no respite for me, from her… my Lady Luck…In case you did not get it till now!

She loves me way too much. She cannot live a day without letting her presence felt in my life…and what an emphatic presence she has.

Well, to begin with, I lost my passport. Not today…not yesterday…but in April last year….to be precise…on 1st of April, 2010. Yeah! She made a fool of me, quite well! I was shifting from my University accommodation to privately rented house, as they are much cheaper here. On that dreadful day, I do not know how, I lost my passport. Got scared so much that was almost ready to poop in my pants. I ran immediately towards the Police Station (Not to poop…but to lodge a complaint). The nearest one was closed as everything in this lovingly cold country closes down at 5pm. Made a rush to the main constabulary office. Quite a hike it was. Thoughts for the answer of one simple question “Now what?” were flashing at a rate faster than what an Intel i8 processor can handle. By the time I reached the main constabulary it was 7 pm and most of the constables had left. An old lady graced the reception, and after asking all possible queries that police officers ask to quench their thirst of questioning (though she was quite gentle and polite in her questioning), she said “Our policies have changed. We DO NOT register complaints or provide crime reference numbers for loss of any 3rd party IDs i.e. Non-UK Passports, Driving Licenses or any other ID not issued in UK, anymore. These changes have been implemented only from today. I am sorry.” I stood stunned. “WHAT?” was the only word I could utter. Probably for the second time in the day and fourth time ever, I was looking so fair. I must have turned into some shade of yellow or brown from black, due to sudden disappearance of blood from my body. Even the Lady Constable noticed the sudden change of shade and tried to calm me down. She explained, very politely, the change of policies again, and asked me to contact the High Commission of India for further details or help and even if the Police are able to find my Passport or somebody is kind enough to return it, it will still be sent to HCI, London.

Well Done My Lady! As always, you timed your blessings to perfection.

Next day was even more dreadful. Called up HCI, London but they directed me towards Consulate General of India Office, Birmingham. Made at least 100 calls to that office, but no one answered. Had to rush to Birmingham immediately as I panicked further. Well! My panicking was for no small reason. It was 2nd April. A Good Friday. A public Holiday. A waste of £ 30. But money was of no concern at that time. A wait of 3 annoying days for any progress. Meanwhile, I brought both my accommodations upside down. Searched the entire 4 bedroom house, the room of University Accommodation, and all the shops on the route to my estate agents where I had thankfully given a copy of the passport and visa for rent agreement (the only copies I had). Result – more disappointment. This war was lopsided. She was winning every bout. It was Monday – Finally. Another trip to Birmingham. Another waste of £ 30. It was Easter Monday. Again a public holiday, about which they had no mention on their website and nor on the notice board when I was there on Friday. Bloody Bu&&%£$! I almost went down on knees and was about to cry when an Indian Sardar gentlemen asked me about my worries. I blurted it all out like baby. He calmed me down and told me it will be sorted. I needed to Come back the next day.

Next day, by the grace of the almighty Lady Luck and a poor decision taken by me to travel by bus, I was 3 hours late of my scheduled arrival. By the time I was at the office, it was Lunch. Had to wait 3 annoying hours for them to reopen. (Who the hell has Lunch for 3 freaking hours? Apparently Indian Babus do.) When they reopened, I had another of my “Pale Moments” (and not before I had to wait another hour for my queries to be answered and being thrown around from one desk to another). The officer-in-charge said they cannot do anything until and unless I have a formal Police complaint, as that is the gazetted rule of India and they have not received any notification from the constabulary about any of the changes I mentioned. Bravo! Back to Leicester. Back to the Constabulary. This time around, the officer who was present went ahead and gave me a copy of the policy change document along with his contact number and Officer number, so that the officer’s in CGI can call him up and verify the notification, which according to him was sent across to all the High Commission offices in UK.

Another trip to Birmingham the next day. Another long queue. Another disappointment. The officer in-charge was on leave. He had called in sick.