Immigrant Life, Part V

So, this is how it works in Denmark for a foreigner who's married to a Dane. I get residency, which I have to reapply for every year or every two years. Until this year it took about a month or two for the new residency stuff to get through and for me to get a stamp on my passport.

I'd sigh in relief once I got the stamp. I know they won't kick me out of the country - but being an immigrant, that is one fear you carry unless you're a permanent resident in a country or a citizen. It isn't like I'm expecting the Gestapo to come knocking on the door...actually come to think of it, I am. It's a silly fear and my husband can't understand it, but it's there, big and strong, always wandering around, grabbing me occasionally and scaring me that I'll be kicked out of Denmark and then how will I see my kids (and then I plan a scenario where they do and my husband and my kids come along and we live happily ever after in Australia even though they probably have weirder immigration policies, who knows). This is not going to happen, I mean, I’m not going to be kicked out of Denmark, even in a weird alternate universe where we’re all monkeys, but I worry all the same.

I can't get permanent residency until I live here for 7 years. It used to be three but now the ruling party needs the support of, what my husband and I call the racist party, the Danish People's Party, and so the rules to make immigrants permanent residents have become more stringent. They want us all gone – they believe in the whole Denmark is for Danes business. They would like to pass a law, I am sure, that says that Danes must only marry Danes.

Two years ago I got residency for two years. I sent my application for renewal this April when it was time and then heard nothing. In July, I was going to travel so I asked them, hey, what's up? They said, we'll give you a visa but it's going to take 8-9 months to process the residency application. I asked them if then they'll give me residency for a year and then I have to go through this process again? They didn't have an answer to that question, because they had not seen my application yet.

So they gave me a visa. It took two hours of waiting at the Integration Centre office. My husband came with me. It was our 8th wedding anniversary, we both had taken the day off and spent part of it getting a stamp on my passport. During these times, I’m very annoyed with my husband. It isn't his fault, but this is his country and I blame him.

A month ago I changed jobs. And now I have some travel to do for work. So I called them again and said, hey, what's up? They said, get a visa, it’s going to take some time before your application is processed. But they can only give me a visa for a total of three months, which means I can leave Denmark for a period of 120 days. I don't need that much, just five days here and there.

This was the first time I went to the Integration Centre alone. My husband picked up the kids that day and I left work early to make the 3:30 p.m.-5:30 p.m. office hours on Thursday evenings, designed to help those immigrants who have jobs.

The Integration Centre is nice to look at. There are chairs and tables. A place where you pull out a ticket number (I got there at 3:30 p.m. and picked out number 360 and they were helping number 210). There's even an aquarium. The people across the counter are actually very nice and helpful.

But the place, the air in the place is thick with desperation. It's like being on a railway platform in India with hundreds of people waiting. Crying children, people on the phone, people who don't speak Danish with their friends or acquaintances who do, women nursing babies, men walking with crying ones...it's the most desperate place I have been. People are there, literally, waiting for their lives to be made better. Afraid of what will happen. Scared they might be turned down.

I am not a refugee. I am an immigrant, married to a Dane, earning a decent salary (55-65% of which I give to the Danish government), owning two cars (250% of the sales price of which I give to the Danish government), having two Danish kids...I'm pretty much the kind of immigrant even the racists are probably okay with. But in that place, with all that misery and waiting, I felt a lump of hysteria rise through me. As I waited and waited, I started reading Suketu Mehta's MAXIMUM CITY, a book about living in Bombay and how hard it is to live in Bombay. I suddenly realised that I have nowhere to go. The Danes don't want me, I'm not an American citizen (and they don’t really want me either, considering what I hear in the news these days), India is so bloody difficult (according to the pages of the book I managed to read)...I have no home.

By the time I got to the woman across the counter, I was having a tough time forming words. I was almost hysterical, wanting to burst into tears. I called my husband and asked him to talk about something, anything, to keep my mind of this sudden feeling of homelessness wrapped around me.

The woman across the counter was very nice and pleasant. She gave me my visa and promised to expedite my application so that I could travel in relative peace.

I left there feeling like I had escaped a foul and disgusting place – a prison, a refugee camp…I can’t even describe it.

I came home and wished I could leave Denmark, live some other place. But where? Where do I go? Would I really fit in India with my Danish husband, my own Western temperament and my half-Danish children? Should we move back to the US? But didn't we leave for a reason? Would it be right to move back? And how would I deal with all those photos of missing children on milk cartons? In Denmark, there are no missing children. I’m not making this up. There really aren’t.

This is why so many writers dwell on the subject of leaving home, making a new home - immigration. It's a bloody difficult thing.

Just the other day someone asked me if I would change my citizenship; get a Danish one three years from now when I'm eligible for permanent residency and a citizenship, if I want it. I really don't know. I don't think I want to be Danish - I'm not that much in love with Denmark or Danes. And in any case, can I be anything but Indian? Is nationality something within us or is it really our passports? I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't. Maybe in a few more years I'll figure it out.

If you’re an immigrant, please share your thoughts about how you feel.