9/11 was a seminal moment for our generation. Terrorism, Al Qaida became buzzwords for all that could go wrong with the world. And most of us have some memories of that day.
My memory actually is from 3-4 weeks later. I was based in Jakarta then and had to travel to Argentina for a client’s global conference. Before that there was a small matter of our office senior management conference in Perth. So, my final travel plan was somewhat bizarre. I had to travel from Perth to Sydney. From there to Buenos Aires by Qantas for a conference which was for exactly one day. For the return leg my option was to stay in Buenos Aires for 2-3 more days as the only direct flight was a bi weekly flight or fly out to Miami. From Miami to LA and then take a Qantas LA to Sydney flight. Since my brother in law and sister in law were both in LA I decided on the second option.
The inbound leg to Buenos Aires was uneventful except for a horrible jet lag. When you exit a place at 10 in the morning and reach your destination after about 12-13 hours and it’s 12 noon the same day, the jetlag can be very pronounced.
The next day the conference got over at around 4 and I trudged to the airport to catch an American Airlines flight to Miami around 8-9 pm. This was the time when the Anthrax envelopes sent to some senators office in US had caused the death of 4-5 people and the Anthrax scare had been reported from Buenos Aires also. The office of one of US leading newspaper there had also received Anthrax laced envelope.
Security at the airport was tight and we had to disembark twice with a fully body and luggage search even before we reached the airport. Anyways, mercifully the flight was on time and soon one entered into fitful sleep for the 8-9 hours duration of the flight.
One of the perk of flying business class is the fact that one can be amongst the first to disembark and get ahead in the immigration queue. So, around 5:30 in the morning a very sleepy yours truly presented himself to an immigration officer.
My visa was 3-4 years old as I had travelled to the US from Egypt so I was not particularly bothered. And all the scary US immigration stories were still some months away.
The immigration official flipped through my passports (expired passports had valid visas which were attached to the current passport) and then with a straight face asked me where I was coming from. Buenos Aires, I replied sullenly. After asking me the purpose of my short visit to Buenos Aires, he asked me about my country of residence. Indonesia, I shot back getting a bit irritated. With a straight face he put his next question. And your visa is issued in Egypt? Of course, I replied. Any issues? I just wanted to get over this, go to the lounge, take a shower and catch the connecting flight to LA.
The official was now all business. He peered at me and snarled, yes. And asked me to step aside. Almost from nowhere two fully armed officials arrived and escorted me to a small room. A very senior looking official started asking me the same questions again.
Even though my sleep had vanished I still couldn’t make a connection. Till I was confronted with his view point. I was coming from a country which had an anthrax attack case. I was residing in the worlds largest Muslim populated country and my visa was from the land of Mohammed Atta and some of his companions.
The penny finally dropped.
Now, I was a bit apprehensive but the gravity of the situation had not sunk in. Please understand this was in mid October, just a few weeks after 9/11 when the scale and extent of US response to the attacks was still not clear.
I produced papers to show my conference invite. I showed them my passports which stated my religion as Hindu. But that was not enough. They wanted to know why the circuitous route back to Indonesia. I mentioned that I wanted to meet my BIL and SIL in LA. Big deal, they said. Why the urgency to meet them? That too since it was the in laws? I very truthfully explained to them our Indian culture of not missing an opportunity to meet wife’s brother and sister to ensure peace and harmony in the household. And for good measure I also added that since my BIL had moved to the US more than a decade and half ago, much before I met and married his sister, I had met him only once and therefore did not want to miss an opportunity to catch up with him again.
In hindsight all this sounds lame. What was I thinking? How could such stories convince terrorism scarred immigration or I do not know which department officials?
But something clicked. The senior guy asked me my BIL’s phone number. I gladly gave it. LA is 3 hours behind Miami. By then it was past 6 local time, so, around 3 am in LA. I was now hoping for a quick resolution and taking a shower.
The officer called the number and at the second attempt a very groggy BIL picked up the phone. The officer hardly introduced himself and demanded to know if my BIL knew a certain Mr. Mehta from India.
As I have said earlier, I barely knew my BIL. He in turn knew much less about me, he couldn’t even come down for the wedding. So when the question of knowing a Mr. Mehta was put forward he immediately denied it.
I couldn’t hear the conversation but the expression on the officer’s face said it all. Tell him my name is Vikas, I yelled. And I yelled again. Mercifully, my BIL heard me and he quickly interjected to identify me. A few more questions about where was I based and where I was coming from cleared all the doubts that the officer had.
I guess I also got lucky. Since all this happened in the chaotic times immediately after 9/11, when SOPs maybe were still being drafted and laws were being still tinkered with to give more power to the officials, some old fashioned investigation had got me off the hook.
The official saw my return ticket, noted down some details and voila my passport was stamped. I stumbled out of the room, all dreams of visiting the lounge having evaporated, I went to my gate to catch the connecting flight. Promising to give my full family history to my BIL.
Later, when I read about the travails of many due to racial or religious profiling, I realised how lucky I was. Today, we chortle about the incident as a joke, in the family. But I realise that I could have become an unfortunate sideshow of 9/11. As many unfortunately, had.
No comments:
Post a Comment