<p>I visit Bengaluru regularly even though the United States is where I have settled down. I come with a lot of enthusiasm and well prepared to meet the challenges of changing my lifestyle in the place I fondly call home.</p>.<p>This time, after a long hiatus imposed by Covid, I came armed with vaccination certificates, negative test results and a triumphant smile on my face. Though disappointed at the indifference shown by the immigration officials at the airport to my proud display of certificates and negative test results, I made my way to the airport exit with a brave face. </p>.<p>I turned on my phone to connect with my designated pick-up and suddenly realised that I had forgotten to sign up for international calling with my carrier in the US. My mind blanked out for a moment but recovered quickly enough to pursue the Plan B. I jumped into the next taxi in line and gave my destination as the “nearest mobile service provider shop”.</p>.<p>The driver looked me up and down, perhaps wondering what sort of a man had his abode in a telecom carrier’s retail outlet. He nevertheless deposited me at the said location in 30 minutes. I took out my wallet to pay him and realised that I had forgotten to collect some local currency at the airport.</p>.<p>The taxi driver was a step ahead of me and said that I should first sort out my mobile phone business before attempting to draw money from an ATM which required an OTP, a term that would come to haunt me over the next few weeks. Heeding good advice, I entered the shop and came out armed with a local mobile phone, but not before having to rummage through my two suitcases for the prized Aadhaar card, wisely obtained a few years ago.</p>.<p>Next, after a crash course from my driver on what and how to use an OTP, I confidently entered my bank’s ATM enclosure and attempted to withdraw money. Prompt came the response, “enter OTP”. My newly acquired mobile phone and I stared at each other and came out no wiser as there was no OTP in sight.</p>.<p>Looking at my plight, the taxi driver said, with some amusement, “Sir, has this new mobile number been registered with your bank?” </p>.<p>To cut a long story short and to hide my embarrassment, I will just state that I went home, paid for the taxi from my dad’s wallet, went to my bank after a few hours and sorted things out and registered my mobile number. This was followed by a long, tense interaction with the ATM and when I heard the sweet sound of an OTP arriving on my new mobile device, I felt like the winner of a mega lottery. </p>.<p>Over the next several days, in attempting to complete several financial transactions, I received and used no less than a hundred OTPs, putting to shame any IPL batsman attempting to score the fastest century.</p>
<p>I visit Bengaluru regularly even though the United States is where I have settled down. I come with a lot of enthusiasm and well prepared to meet the challenges of changing my lifestyle in the place I fondly call home.</p>.<p>This time, after a long hiatus imposed by Covid, I came armed with vaccination certificates, negative test results and a triumphant smile on my face. Though disappointed at the indifference shown by the immigration officials at the airport to my proud display of certificates and negative test results, I made my way to the airport exit with a brave face. </p>.<p>I turned on my phone to connect with my designated pick-up and suddenly realised that I had forgotten to sign up for international calling with my carrier in the US. My mind blanked out for a moment but recovered quickly enough to pursue the Plan B. I jumped into the next taxi in line and gave my destination as the “nearest mobile service provider shop”.</p>.<p>The driver looked me up and down, perhaps wondering what sort of a man had his abode in a telecom carrier’s retail outlet. He nevertheless deposited me at the said location in 30 minutes. I took out my wallet to pay him and realised that I had forgotten to collect some local currency at the airport.</p>.<p>The taxi driver was a step ahead of me and said that I should first sort out my mobile phone business before attempting to draw money from an ATM which required an OTP, a term that would come to haunt me over the next few weeks. Heeding good advice, I entered the shop and came out armed with a local mobile phone, but not before having to rummage through my two suitcases for the prized Aadhaar card, wisely obtained a few years ago.</p>.<p>Next, after a crash course from my driver on what and how to use an OTP, I confidently entered my bank’s ATM enclosure and attempted to withdraw money. Prompt came the response, “enter OTP”. My newly acquired mobile phone and I stared at each other and came out no wiser as there was no OTP in sight.</p>.<p>Looking at my plight, the taxi driver said, with some amusement, “Sir, has this new mobile number been registered with your bank?” </p>.<p>To cut a long story short and to hide my embarrassment, I will just state that I went home, paid for the taxi from my dad’s wallet, went to my bank after a few hours and sorted things out and registered my mobile number. This was followed by a long, tense interaction with the ATM and when I heard the sweet sound of an OTP arriving on my new mobile device, I felt like the winner of a mega lottery. </p>.<p>Over the next several days, in attempting to complete several financial transactions, I received and used no less than a hundred OTPs, putting to shame any IPL batsman attempting to score the fastest century.</p>