Angappa Naicken Street a Gateway to Getaway (standard:travel stories, 2030 words)
Author: Juggernaut	Added: Jun 09 2011	Views/Reads: 2961/1832	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A biographical travel sketch describing struggles to obtain travel documents.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


rugged looking stranger was quiet all along; the rickshaw suddenly 

entered the “Parry's Corner,' a landmark in the City comparable 

to “Time Square” in New York, Juggernaut identified quickly and felt 

calm for a moment.  Then, the rickshaw made a sharp turn into ‘Angappa 

Naicken Street' a narrow and winding road appeared more like a 

warehouse district.  Many small trucks and other transportation 

vehicles were double parked leaving no space at all; nevertheless, the 

rickshaw driver found room to drive through and suddenly stopped in 

front of a small white washed building as if he knows exactly where to 

stop. The stranger got out and paid the rickshaw driver and signaled 

Juggernaut to follow him into the small unassuming building with a sign 

board that read “Kutty Travels.” 

Dumfounded Juggernaut followed the stranger into the building 

that opened into a small court yard enclosed on all four sides with 

three floors of rooms like a motel.  Some people were squatting on the 

floor along the edge of the court yard and other standing on different 

floors as if everybody was waiting to see something to happen soon in 

the center of the court yard. 

“You go inside that room,” said the man with his hand stretched 

to show the direction of the room and disappeared into the crowd. 

Juggernaut looked around suspiciously and slowly entered the 

room.  A dark, heavy set man with greasy hair was sitting on a posh 

upholstered chair that looks more like a king's throne.  Juggernaut 

introduced himself and asked if he could get a passport without ‘No 

Objection Certificate'.  “You talk to my son, he will be here anytime, 

you can wait outside,” said the man without paying any attention at 

all, he hardly looked at Juggernaut. 

Juggernaut came out of the room slowly into the court yard 

still a busy place with people hanging around. From their garb, it was 

evident that most of them were from an area in Deep South known for 

migrant workers. 

Juggernaut looked around to see a receptionist or some sort 

sitting behind a small desk with few phones.  Juggernaut approached her 

to find out when the son of the business owner would turn up 

here.  “You mean Thomas?” she said.  From her accent, Juggernaut 

realized that she is a person of Anglo-Indian mixed race descent. 

“Is Thomas is the son of the old person in the office?” 

inquired Juggernaut. 

“Yes, Thomas is the son and he will be here sometime soon.” 

“Do you know exactly when?” 

“No, he will come any time, no exact time,” the slender light 

skinned woman looks more like a school girl though an adult. 

“I am Rose, you were not from this area,” Rose quickly figure 

it out. 

“No, somebody near the passport office brought me here to get 

help in obtaining passport,” Juggernaut was still in his thoughts. 

“I am sure you get help,' Rose was kind and friendly. 

“Who are all these men here?” inquired Juggernaut. 

“They are like you, came here to get passport.” 

“Do they live here?” 

“Yes, see all those rooms on different floors, they live here 

until they get passport.” 

“How long it takes to get one,” 

“Its all dependents, for some it takes few weeks and for others 

longer than that,” replied Rose; matter of fact away. 

“You mean weeks?” Juggernaut appeared worried. 

“Or even months,” Rose wide opened her dark eyes. 

“I need to get mine in few days.” 

“Well, talk to Thomas when he comes,” Rose was not convincing. 

Juggernaut was really worried now after talking to Rose, on 

other hand, he was happy to found Rose, the only person to talk to in 

the alien crowd. 

“You wait outside on the street to catch Thomas otherwise once 

he enters the court yard you can't catch him,” Rose gave a helpful tip. 

Juggernaut went out to the street and looked around see a small 

rundown coffee house on opposite side of the street.  Juggernaut paid 

for a cup of coffee; the porcelain cup looked suspicious but the coffee 

was hot, sweet and strong. It was very hot outside, so was the coffee, 

but Juggernaut felt better with each sip. 

Then all of a sudden with big thunderous noise came a large 

black motorbike to stop in front of the building.  A fellow with dark 

shades on the bike with engine still running looked around as if he is 

a person of great importance.  Juggernaut rushed to him before he got 

out and introduced himself quickly. 

“I need to get a passport to travel?” 

“Where you are going?” 

“Port of Spain.” 

“Which port in Spain?” 

“Port of Spain is a City in the Caribbean.” 

“Never heard,” said Thomas and revved the engine playfully to 

stir up loud noise while Juggernaut was explaining that Port of Spain 

is the Capitol of Trinidad, an Island in the Southern most Caribbean. 

Thomas was brash with a look of arrogance. He was wearing fancy 

clothes, gaudy gold rings and thick gold chains hanging around his 

neck.  With thick dark mustache and well built body, he looked more 

like a villain in Indian movies. He placed the bike on the stand and 

walked quickly towards the court yard with a leather bag and Juggernaut 

followed him quickly to catch up. 

As soon as Thomas entered the court yard, people came running 

and surrounded him as if he was distributing food to a very hungry 

crowd. 

Thomas removed few passports from a large messenger leather bag 

and shouted few names.  A handful of people from the crowd rushed 

towards him to get close to him.  Those people appeared ecstatic with 

joy as if they were chosen for facilitation. The others dispersed away 

slowly looking dejected. 

Juggernaut decided to come back next day to meet Thomas and 

provide him with more information since he was busy with the chosen few 

making some transactions. 

Juggernaut was staying in a motel few miles from the Central 

Railway Station and some distance from the travel agency place.  In the 

beginning, he travelled on auto rickshaw to the travel agency; after 

few days he took public transportation to the travel agency. After a 

week, he started walking to save money and kill time.  It became a 

routine to visit the travel agency around 2 PM, chat with Rose and wait 

outside drinking hot coffee for Thomas to arrive on his fancy motor 

bike only to be told to come next day. 

One week has already passed, Juggernaut was really worried, and 

he was running out of money. 

“You are going where to do what?” Thomas inquired one day. 

“To do Ph. D.,” 

“I don't know what it is, but let me tell you, I can send you 

to a place where you can more money than you never imagined in your 

life,” said Thomas laughing loudly. 

“Where?” Juggernaut appeared puzzled. 

“The same place, I am sending all those men waiting here to 

go,” “none of them have education like you, but I bet them going to 

make more money working in the Middle East,” Thomas was still laughing. 

Juggernaut for the first time learned where the crowd in 

waiting was heading.  He was not sure whether he was doing the right 

thing to go for a higher degree; “perhaps with my education I can make 

more money in Middle East,” thought Juggernaut.  But again, he was not 

sure.  He decided to wait for his passport to go to the West Indies. 

“If you want your passport you need to meet Thomas everyday to 

remind him how bad you need your passport, otherwise you will stuck 

here for weeks or even months,” Rose was kind to Juggernaut. 

Juggernaut developed a good rapport with Rose, talking about his 

familiarity with Anglo-Indian community back in his home town hundreds 

of miles away.  Rose appeared happy to talk to Juggernaut in English 

rather than in local language with others residing in the building. 

After visiting every day for over two weeks, “Thomas got out of 

his bike and signaled Juggernaut to follow him into the court yard. 

Juggernaut followed him. “You got lucky today,” said Thomas pulling a 

passport from the leather bag. 

“You got my passport?” screamed Juggernaut. 

“Somehow I managed to get your passport without the 

certificate,” Thomas was holding the passport in his hand high in the 

air as if he was teasing a child with a candy. 

“Thank you, Thank you,” Juggernaut was overwhelmed and Rose got 

up from her chair looking happy for Juggernaut. 

“This is a genuine passport not a fake, you know,” Thomas was 

boasting how hard to get passport without proper documentation. 

“Juggernaut was holding his passport and looking hard at the 

details inside to make sure his name was spelled correctly and the 

photo was his for real.” 

“Well, it costs you 500 rupees, because you don't have the 

proper documentation.” 

“At the beginning you said it costs around 250 rupees.” 

“May be, but it took lot of work to convince the Regional 

Passport Officer to get your passport,” “I can send you to Middle East 

with a guarantee job offer for more money,” Thomas was smiling. 

Juggernaut looked at Rose and saw shaking her head sideways in 

subtle manner.  Juggernaut got the hint; “No thanks, I decided to go to 

the West Indies,” Juggernaut paid the amount in full to take full 

control of his passport from Thomas. 

Juggernaut was happy to get out of the building for the last 

time with passport in his hand which appeared elusive for more than two 

weeks.  Rose was very helpful.  Going to the West Indies almost 4 

decades ago was a great experience but going to Middle East to work in 

oil fiends in early seventies could have been a smart thing to do. 

Whenever, Juggernaut looks at his old Indian passport, the rigmarole he 

went through to get it particularly to deal with the brash and arrogant 

Thomas comes to his mind. 


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