Passports are a hateful token of the politicisation of a fractured world, symbolising the elevation of petty national sovereignty above universalism that explains Brexit. There’s a sense of utter finality, too, about the booklet I have just collected from India House in London for it will in all probability be my last passport. I said so casually to the cheerfully scruffy but very helpful consular assistant who was horrified. “You mustn’t say such things!” he exclaimed in Hindi, “and during the puja too in Kolkata!”
My old passport, which has now been cancelled although it could have run to
My old passport, which has now been cancelled although it could have run to
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