The day turned out to be a disaster for me. My application for a visa to the UK was rejected again. This is the second time in a row now and that is always a damn bad feeling. It hurt especially since they claim that I haven't the money to sustain a 3-month stay in the UK and they suspect my access to means and my intentions once I get onto the British Isles. Some moron in the immigration department clearly did not see my bank statements and other details clearly stating my net worth. Since it came as a letter, there was a no point shouting at them for this transgression.
My head burst with the thought that I'd rather stay in their country and not return to where I live. I mean why? To get access to a National Health Service that is not even able to support their existing citizens? I mean, hey, I did go to school there and yet came back to my own country to stay and live in. Damn and what if I did stay back, I am pretty certain I'd be an asset to the larger dimwitted cockney trash that hangs around in the UK. I took out and read my rejection letter, again and again, it’s been three years of trying and thousands down the tube for visa fees and consultant commissions. Visiting the UK is a duel and not a very pleasant experience for me. I mean, I had visas from 13 different countries, one was from Australia for God’s sake. But no, I was not deemed fit to enter this Wonderland of Fish and Chips and Ryan Giggs.
I ranted for a while and the intensity of my disgust was making me hungry. I popped into old favourite - Kake Da Dhaba for a butter chicken with dahi meat and crisp tandoori roti. All for Rs 450 and, no wonder there, that it is my favourite restaurant.