Missing passport, slipping pride

What happens when you forget where you left your passport pouch—especially when you are moving lock, stock and barrel from one state to another state? A feeling of despair? An overwhelming urge to kick yourself in the back, which you cannot do for obvious reasons? Do you rack your brain trying to sequence the events – when you last looked at it and for what purpose? Did you take the passport out for any specific task, such as checking the expiry date or renewing your visa? And after all that, do you still draw a complete blank?  

Well, that is exactly what happened to yours truly. It began when we moved base to our new house in a different state sometime back. We flew in, and a couple of days later the vehicle carrying our household goods arrived. We went about our job of unpacking the cartons and getting the house in order when I suddenly realised that my passport was not in the hand baggage I had brought along. Sheepishly, I asked my better half if she had seen it or packed it along with her personal effects. She gave me a look loaded with disdain and, with a shrug, replied in the negative.

A sense of despondency came over me, and my temper grew increasingly short. Matters went from bad to worse over the next couple of days as the search yielded no results. I had the distinct feeling that my better half was trying to prove a point, as she repeatedly questioned where I had kept it while packing my things. The message was simple and clear, without her saying it in as many words: she was far more capable of taking care of important documents than I was. I had no option but to swallow my pride. 

With the status quo continuing for days, I began looking up the procedure for obtaining a new passport. Realising that I would need to file an FIR reporting the loss, I wondered whether to register it at the new location or the old.  However, my intuition kept telling me that the passport was merely misplaced, not lost.

The only way to salvage any pride was to find it, and the best chance lay in searching through the remaining unopened cartons with a fine-tooth comb, hoping for a miracle. With this objective, we both set about the task in all earnestness.

Lo and behold, the passport pouch turned up in one of the cartons filled with empty handbags and purses—and there was a collective sigh of relief. Alas, it was my wife who opened that particular carton, and, needless to say, she had the last laugh.

Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.