It is said that only a small group of men and women have had the opportunity to experience the existence of God. Mystic sufis and saints have experienced it through a combination of deep devotion and search for the truth. In fact, Bhagavad Gita talks about bhakthi (devotion), karma (work) and gyana (knowledge) as the different paths available to realize the existence of God. In my case it was bhaya (fear)!
I had worked at it for more than three years. My older brother had coached me through the entire process. He told me it was crucial to get a rank in the third year of college, so I studied hard that year and secured the second rank. As a result, my tuition fees were waived for that entire year and I managed to set that money aside for �apping.� University of Roorkee didn�t issue rank certificates in the middle of a program, but I pleaded with the Head of the Department and obtained one -- just for the sixth semester! Dr. Ray, who had returned recently then from a tenure at the University of Wisconsin, offered to write me a recommendation letter. He was a bearded man in his late forties who spoke American with a Bengali accent. He was a mild-mannered, friendly person, but also a man of principles. He refused to share the contents of the recommendation letter with me. I had to give him a list with the names of all the universities I was interested in, along with a white envelope for each one of them. He would only return the sealed envelopes for me to post. I soon realized that principled men only elevate the level of risk. And I had a very low tolerance for risk on such matters of grave importance. So University of Texas at El Paso became my �dummy� university to test Dr. Ray�s recommendation letter. I found out that I had nothing to worry. He spoke glowingly about the University of Roorkee in general and my abilities in particular. I didn�t understand why a man of such strict principles chose to exaggerate and inflate things without any basis. But I am not the kind who asks questions when things are stacked up in my favor.
The miracle happened. 
I received a research scholarship from the Pennsylvania State University. Finally, my dream had come true. I had earned a ticket to the United States! I was elated. When I learned about the good news, I started to jump with joy in the hostel main corridor at Roorkee. There is even a picture in my album to vouch for that (in it, I am touching the ceiling with my right hand!). And just when I was beginning to consider myself a lucky guy, misfortune struck me right between the eyes.
I woke up early on that dreadful day. 
The American Embassy was at a walking distance from our house in Chanakyapuri, New Delhi. My Dad and I left home at five-thirty in the morning and reached the place even before sunrise. There were about a dozen of them ahead of us in line. Most of them, like me, were students hoping to get the F-1 visa. Dad wished me good luck as I entered the compound with hope and excitement. But I was to meet a consular officer from Hell. He was the very incarnation of rudeness. He asked me to prove to him that I would not immigrate to the United States for good. I could furnish no such proof. Even as I was explaining about my desire to study in a university at the United States, learn the skills, and come back home to teach, he opened my passport, turned to the last page and stamped it with red ink, indicating that I was denied of the visa. I was shocked! This couldn�t be true! He couldn�t possibly do this to me! I begged and pleaded with him to reconsider my case. But he threw the documents at me and asked me to leave. As I stood there and continued to plead, he called for security and I was shown the exit door.
The interview ended just like that. Three years of hard work was destroyed in less than ten minutes. Bad karma attacked me with great ferocity and I succumbed even before I realized what hit me. I walked back home in a daze and broke the bad news to my mother. She went into a shocked silence. Dad called from work and I told him what happened at the Embassy. The entire family was grief stricken. I had come within striking distance of achieving my lifelong goal, but was struck down at the last instant. It was unmistakably the saddest day of my life. I went numb. I had no appetite for the lunch that my mother had prepared and readied on the dining table. I went into the bedroom, shut the door behind me and went to sleep. The shock overwhelmed me and I knew of no other mechanism to cope with it.
A strange force must have possessed me during that sleep because my dad later told me that I was an entirely different person when I woke up. Even as he started to commiserate with me, I asked him not to feel sorry for me but to look at the situation as an opportunity in disguise. I quoted from the Gita and stressed on the need for equanimity in dealing with both happiness and sorrow. I was only twenty-two years old then and my father was fifty-four! It was that force from within starting to animate my thoughts and actions.
I had another chance to apply for the visa, and this time I was determined not to leave anything to chance. I took a bus to Roorkee the next morning to meet Dr. Ray. I told him about the rejection at the Embassy, and he seemed both surprised and puzzled. �But did you tell him that you have a full scholarship from Penn State and will not be a financial burden to the government of United States?� he asked. �The officer didn�t give me a chance to explain myself, sir,� I replied. �OK then, we need to devise a strategy to tackle this. I will write a letter to the officer at the American Embassy stating that you are a brilliant student who needs to be given this opportunity to study abroad. This is not fair. You have earned it through merit and they shouldn�t take it away from you.� I began to realize that Dr. Ray was taking this personally and that cheered me up. Both of us started to draft that letter on his letterhead. He would type a sentence on his computer and read it aloud for me to comment on it. We went back and forth like this, editing the lines in the letter. In there, we stated that my only intention was to study abroad and come back home to apply the skills and knowledge in India. Dr. Ray talked about the need to modernize India with the technology from advanced countries, which would be brought back by students like me. He cited himself as an example, and pointed to the numerous research projects that he had initiated at Roorkee. He also informed this unknown �Consular Officer at the American Embassy� that a number of structural changes were underway at the Metallurgical Department in the University of Roorkee because of the things that he had seen and experienced in the United States. Much of the content in that letter was irrelevant for an officer at the Embassy, but it reassured me. Dr. Ray also told me to take some evidence of property and assets in India for the consular officer at the Embassy to see. �All of this will be �proof� for that officer. It will prove to him that you will come back to India. And make sure a notary public stamps your documents. In the States all documents are considered valid only when they have been attested by a notary public,� Dr. Ray suggested.
After returning to New Delhi, dad and I worked on transferring all the money from his different bank accounts to my name. Next, we took a taxi and drove off to the seediest part in city where unshaven, pan-chewing, ill-clad �notary publics� sat on broken chairs with a typewriter and rubber stamp. Like hawkers, they yelled at us, inviting us to do business with them. We picked one of them at random to help us draft a letter stating that my father�s home in Bangalore was to be transferred to my name. This was to be typed on a twenty-rupee stamp paper. When all the typing was done, both of us signed the �legal document� and then my dad paid the notary a hefty sum of money. Now, I was the owner of lakhs of rupees and a home in Bangalore! Why in the world would I want to migrate to the United States with all this property in India? All this reasoning seemed ridiculous, especially since I had a full research assistantship from the university where I was to study, but nothing made sense back then.
I went back to the Embassy the following week. My dad came with me and my mother, back home, was praying for me. It was to be my tryst with destiny. My future depended on the outcome that day. I prayed to God almost constantly. I was given a token and asked to wait. As others walked in and out I saw many students return teary eyed. In them, I saw the same shock and disbelief that I had experienced only the previous week. All their hopes and expectations quashed in an instant by a capricious officer. No reason, no explanation, no logic � just the rejection to deal with. It was ruthless in there at the Embassy. My token number was called out and I walked in with great deal of trepidation. It was a different officer this time. He smiled and greeted me. He then looked at my completed visa form and asked for the letter from the university. In my nervous state I extended Dr. Ray�s letter to him.
�What�s this?� he asked.
�Sir, that is a letter from my professor stating that I will be coming back to India,� I replied.
� I don�t need this,� he said, returning the letter to me. �Can I see your scholarship letter?�
I presented it to him.
�Penn State has a beautiful campus,� he commented.
I remained silent, not knowing what to say. I had come to believe that consular officers at the American Embassy were evil men who derived pleasure from humiliating students in front of others. This officer was a blonde, good-looking man with pleasant manners. He confused me.
�So what do you have in there?� he asked pointing to the folder that I had in hand.
�Sir, these documents are proof that I have property here in India, and will not migrate to the United States.�
�Can I see it?�
I offered the folder to him. He smiled even as he thumbed through it.
�Is all of this for real?� he asked, slyly.
My heart skipped a beat. If he didn�t believe this, I had nothing else to offer. I burst into a long, irrelevant explanation on my intention to come back to India.
�Do you really want me to believe that?�
I nearly fainted when he asked me that question. I felt that I was going to be denied the visa again. My voice started to choke with emotion.
�Yes, sir.�
�I don�t believe it,� he replied with that same smile of his.
I prayed to God again and asked for help. He was about to forsake me two times within a week, and it was too much for me to take. How could He possibly be this cruel to me? What had I done to incur all this wrath from Him? But I continued to pray even as I asked these questions.
�I tell you what, Mukan,� the officer continued, even as he struggled to pronounce my name, �I don�t believe your story but I am going to give you the visa because you have been a good student.� He smiled and then winked at me! He kept the passport and asked me to come collect it later that afternoon when the visa would have been stamped on one of the pages.
So just when I thought I was going to be rejected, the officer approved my application for the student visa. There, at that very instant, I realized that God had heard my prayer and intervened to help. God had changed the officer�s mind at the very last moment. 
There was no denying that fact. I had come to experience His supreme power! As I put all my documents back into the folder and walked back to the waiting room, I pumped my fist in air and let out a jubilant �Yes, I got it!� It broke the uncomfortable silence in the waiting room at the Embassy, and a few of them smiled and rejoiced with me. A few more came forward and congratulated me. I ran out and announced the good news to my father who was waiting outside. He, too, was overcome with joy and hugged me right there on the road outside the Embassy!
�Did you show the officer all the documents that we prepared?� he asked eagerly.
�Yes, Pa,� I replied.
�So that should have done the trick and convinced the officer,� he said.
Not really, but how could I possibly tell that to him?
Mukund Narasimhan
September 2003
