Chapter 3: The Visa

Applying for a Schengen visa is like taking an exam you didn't study for.

Sush sits at her desk with her laptop open and seventeen browser tabs and a growing sense of panic. The VFS Global website is a labyrinth. She needs:

- A valid passport (she has this — got it two years ago when her family went to Nepal) - Two passport-sized photos (white background, no smiling, 80% face coverage) - Proof of accommodation for every night of the trip - Proof of funds (bank statements for the last three months) - Travel insurance with minimum €30,000 medical coverage - A detailed day-by-day itinerary - A cover letter explaining the purpose of her visit - Flight reservations (not tickets — just reservations)

She starts with the easiest part: the photos.

There's a photo studio near the Akurdi bus stop. She goes there on her lunch break, tells the guy she needs Schengen visa photos. He nods like he's done this a thousand times. The flash is too bright. She's not allowed to smile. She looks like a hostage in the final photos, but they meet the requirements.

₹200.

Next: accommodation.

She spends three hours on Hostelworld, booking refundable hostel beds in Paris, Amsterdam, Barcelona, Rome, and Berlin. Female dorms. Shared bathrooms. ₹800-1200 per night. She screenshots every confirmation email.

Next: travel insurance.

She finds a policy on Policybazaar. ₹4,500 for fifteen days, €30,000 medical coverage, repatriation included. She pays with her debit card. Her savings account balance drops to ₹1,42,500.

Next: the itinerary.

This is where it gets real.

She opens a Google Doc and starts typing:

Day 1-3: Paris - Arrive at Charles de Gaulle Airport - Check in to hostel (Le Montclair Hostel, Montmartre) - Visit Eiffel Tower, Louvre Museum, Notre-Dame Cathedral

Day 4-5: Amsterdam - Train from Paris to Amsterdam (Thalys) - Check in to hostel (ClinkNOORD) - Visit Anne Frank House, Van Gogh Museum, canal tour

Day 6-7: Barcelona - Flight from Amsterdam to Barcelona - Check in to hostel (Sant Jordi Sagrada Familia) - Visit Sagrada Familia, Park Güell, Gothic Quarter

She keeps going. Rome. Berlin. By the time she's done, she has a fifteen-day itinerary that looks like something a real traveler would do.

She's never been to any of these places. She's never even been on a plane by herself.

But the itinerary exists now. On paper, she's already there.

Next: the bank statements.

She downloads the last three months from her banking app. The balance is consistent — around ₹1,40,000-1,50,000. No suspicious transactions. No huge withdrawals. It should be enough.

Next: the cover letter.

This is the part where she has to lie.

She stares at the blank document for ten minutes. Then she starts typing:

> To Whom It May Concern, > > My name is Sushmita Haldar. I am a 22-year-old Indian citizen currently employed as a therapist at [Centre Name] in Pune, Maharashtra. > > I am applying for a Schengen visa to visit France and other European countries for tourism purposes from [Date] to [Date]. This trip is a personal milestone for me, as I have recently completed my Bachelor of Commerce degree and would like to explore European culture, history, and art before beginning the next phase of my career. > > I have attached all required documents, including proof of accommodation, travel insurance, and bank statements. I have strong ties to India, including my family and my employment, and I intend to return to India at the end of my trip. > > Thank you for considering my application. > > Sincerely, > Sushmita Haldar

She reads it three times. It sounds formal and boring and nothing like her actual voice, but that's probably good. Visa officers don't want personality. They want proof that you'll come back.

She saves the document.

Next: the flight reservations.

She doesn't want to buy the actual tickets until the visa is approved — that's ₹45,000-50,000 she can't afford to lose if the visa gets rejected. So she uses a website that generates fake flight reservations for visa applications. It costs ₹500. She feels like she's committing fraud, but the website assures her it's legal.

Pune → Delhi (layover) → Paris. Return: Paris → Delhi → Pune.

She downloads the PDF. Adds it to her folder.

Finally, she has everything.

She books an appointment at the VFS Global office in Pune for the following week. The appointment slot costs ₹1,200. The visa fee is €80 (approximately ₹7,200). Service charges are another ₹1,400.

Total cost so far: ₹15,000.

Her savings: ₹1,27,500.

She hasn't even bought the real flight tickets yet.

But she's committed now.

---

The VFS Global office is in Shivajinagar, in a building that smells like air conditioning and anxiety. Sush arrives twenty minutes late (as always) and has to wait in a queue of other visa applicants — families going to Italy, couples going to Switzerland, a group of college students going to Germany.

Everyone looks more prepared than her.

When it's finally her turn, she hands over her documents to a woman behind a glass partition. The woman flips through everything with the expression of someone who has seen a thousand identical applications and is deeply bored by all of them.

"Purpose of visit?" the woman asks.

"Tourism."

"How many days?"

"Fifteen."

"Traveling alone?"

"Yes."

The woman's eyes flick up. "Alone?"

"Yes."

A pause. Then the woman goes back to the documents.

Sush's heart is pounding. She's sure something is wrong. She's sure the woman can tell she's lying, that this isn't really about tourism, that she's running away from her life.

But the woman just stamps a few pages, takes Sush's fingerprints, and hands her a receipt.

"You'll get an email in fifteen days," the woman says. "Check your application status online."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Sush walks out of the office in a daze.

She did it. She actually did it.

Now she just has to wait.

---

The fifteen days are the longest of her life.

She checks her email every hour. She googles "Schengen visa rejection reasons" and scares herself with stories of people who got rejected for tiny mistakes. She has nightmares about the visa officer calling her parents.

At work, she goes through the motions. Sessions with Aarav and Ananya and the other kids. Progress reports. Staff meetings where Mrs. Deshmukh talks about "efficiency" and "cost-cutting" and Sush has to bite her tongue to keep from screaming.

At home, she avoids her mother's questions.

"You've been distracted lately," her mother says one evening. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine, Ma."

"Are you sure? You barely eat. You're always on your phone."

"I'm fine."

Her mother doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't push.

Sush spends her nights in her room, scrolling through travel blogs and YouTube videos. She watches a video of a girl walking through Montmartre in Paris. Another video of the canals in Amsterdam. Another of the Colosseum in Rome.

She imagines herself there. Alone. Free.

The thought is terrifying.

The thought is everything.

On the fourteenth day, she gets the email.

Subject: Schengen Visa Application Update

Her hands are shaking when she opens it.

> Dear Applicant, > > Your visa application has been processed. Please visit the VFS Global office to collect your passport.

That's it. No "approved" or "rejected." Just "processed."

She takes the next day off work (tells Priya-ma'am she has a doctor's appointment) and goes back to the VFS office.

The same bored woman hands her a sealed envelope with her passport inside.

"Open it outside," the woman says.

Sush takes the envelope. Walks outside. Sits on a bench in the parking lot.

Her hands are still shaking.

She tears open the envelope. Pulls out her passport.

There, on page seven, is a sticker.

SCHENGEN VISA** **Type: C (Tourism)** **Valid from: [Date]** **Valid until: [Date + 90 days]** **Number of entries: Multiple

She got it.

She actually got it.

She sits on the bench and stares at the sticker until her vision blurs.

Then she pulls out her phone and opens the group chat.

Sush: i got the visa

Rahul: WHAT

Rahul: YOU ACTUALLY DID IT

Kunal: wait you were serious about europe???

GP: holy shit sush

Sush: im going

Sush: im actually going

Rahul: when

Sush: next month

Kunal: does your mom know

Sush: no

Kunal: sush

Sush: i know

Sush: ill tell her

Sush: eventually

She doesn't tell her mother.

Not yet.

First, she books the flights.

Pune → Delhi → Paris. March 15th. Return: Paris → Delhi → Pune. March 30th.

₹48,000.

Her savings: ₹79,500.

Then she books the hostels for real (non-refundable this time).

₹18,000.

Her savings: ₹61,500.

She'll need at least ₹40,000 for food, transport, and emergencies while she's there.

That leaves her with ₹21,500 in her account when she gets back.

It's reckless. It's stupid.

She doesn't care.

She's going to Europe.

---

The lie she tells her parents is this:

"There's a training workshop in Goa. For autism therapists. It's two weeks. The centre is sending me."

Her mother frowns. "Two weeks? That's a long time."

"It's an intensive program. They're covering accommodation."

"What about your sessions here?"

"Priya-ma'am will cover them."

Her father looks up from his newspaper. "Goa is expensive. Do you need money?"

"No, Baba. The centre is paying for everything."

It's the easiest lie she's ever told.

Her mother still looks skeptical, but she doesn't push. Sush is twenty-two, after all. An adult. She's allowed to go to Goa for work.

The night before she leaves, she packs her bag.

One backpack. That's all she's bringing.

Clothes: jeans, kurtas, one dress (she never wears dresses but she bought one anyway), underwear, socks.

Toiletries: toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, soap, sunscreen, period supplies.

Documents: passport, visa, flight printouts, hostel confirmations, travel insurance, photocopies of everything.

Money: ₹20,000 in cash, one debit card, one credit card (₹50,000 limit, only for emergencies).

Phone: charger, adapter, power bank.

She stares at the bag. It looks too small to contain a whole trip. A whole transformation.

But it's all she needs.

Thumki watches her from the bed.

"I'll be back," she tells him.

He blinks slowly. Unconvinced.

She doesn't sleep that night.

At 4 AM, she gets up. Showers. Puts on jeans and a plain black kurta. Ties her hair back.

Her mother is awake, making tea in the kitchen.

"You're leaving so early?" her mother asks.

"The flight is at 8. I need to be at the airport by 6."

Her mother hands her a cup of tea. "Be safe, Sush."

"I will, Ma."

"Call me when you land."

"I will."

Her mother hugs her. Sush closes her eyes and breathes in the smell of her mother's hair — coconut oil and sandalwood soap.

"I love you," her mother says.

"I love you too."

It's not a lie.

But it's not the whole truth either.

She picks up her bag. Walks out the door.

The city is still dark. The streets are empty. She rides her scooty to the airport, and with every kilometer, she feels lighter.

By the time she reaches the terminal, the sun is rising.

She's really doing this.

She's really leaving.

---