In the grand over-stamped, tea-smeared opera that is Indian bureaucracy, there reigns a sovereign deity: the Aadhaar card! Part identification, part amulet, entirely inescapable. Lose it, and one might as well lose one’s citizenship, social standing, and access to a piping hot breakfast. Not quite a week back I had thought of taking a look at a much-talked of University, that was literally a stone’s throw from my house, and the re-eally funny matter was that after all these years and years of living here, I remained simply oblivious of its existence! Well, shan’t dive into what brought me there since it’s too circuitous a story, and so not worth the while. Yes, so far, the hottest day of June reported the Met department — as if one needed to know that it was 50 degrees! The puddles of sweat where one stood, despite the parasol, partially shielding me from the raging sun was enough proof…And there I was walking towards the mile-long gate of this notable university, when I was stopped by a rather belligerent security guard! Sure, he was simply doing his job, I explained to myself, but whyever so, did he have to take on the job of a Rottweiler, right down to the biting sneer of his mouth that seemed an inch away from tearing out your face! Then he transformed into the gatekeeper of the realm, demanding my credentials while in the same breath pursing a steel whistle into his condescending lips, as if I was seeking entry into a fortress! (Was he going to blow the whistle on me—what in heaven’s had I done ?!) “Aadhaar,” he commanded. Aah yes, the key to modern Indian life—the Aadhaar card. Without it, entry was a mere fantasy. And so, I started fumbling into my tote fishing for that all-important piece of plastic! Entry was allowed as the man sniffed suspiciously at it, and the gates clanked open sans the magic of Khuljaa Simsim, for the next act to commence… I was gestured to a small office where the clerk was courteous enough to say Namaste, and then signalled me to sit—a photograph of mine was taken, a photocopy of my Aadhaar card and then a Visitor’s Pass was handed to me, for me to hang across my neck to take a look at the campus, perhaps even meet a member of the faculty…felt like it was a noose around the neck, and the less said about its dirty ID strap the better— grimy, limp and probably a decade old! By now, of course, had lost the desire to take a quick indoors tour of this place and returning this Access Pass, fled the scene! But back to the omnipresent, omniscient Aadhaar card— it’s a ticket to existence. Need a hotel room? Show your Aadhaar. Applying for your driver’s license? Aadhaar please! Attempting to prove you are not a figment of someone’s imagination?! Aadhaar to the rescue!
However, I wasn’t new to this kind of Aadhaar interrogation, so it should not have caused the sort of dry-mouthed indignation that it did at the portals of this campus; it was towards the end of February when I thought I had earned myself a short holiday to the mountains…so I found myself in Mussoorie, and couldn’t be happier, but could only feel the pine-breezed air after the jump-the-hoops check-in! I had the audacity— the utter nerve—to try to check into a hotel without presenting my Aadhaar with the flourish accorded to this laminated charmed document. The reason: Strangely (perhaps, some mysterious force was at play wanting to cancel my holiday…) my Aadhaar was not in my wallet, and I had double-checked to ensure it was there before leaving for the hills…Passport?! Pan Card?! Voter ID?! All presented with the desperation of a colonial subject, pleading, imploring—actually begging—entry at the Viceregal Lodge. “Madam, no Aadhaar, no check-in!”
The Receptionist couldn’t care to tone down his spiralling impatience or scale down his Himalayan self-importance. On the contrary, he was revelling in both…And it was as if he alone held the sanction of National Security with each check-in! You might well imagine, as this man of modest height, stood up to wag his finger at your phone that the National Anthem was playing in the background. “Your mobile might be your final chance!” He couldn’t keep the bark out of his voice. And this was the Hospitality Industry… Yes, divine intervention courtesy the mobile, since after scouring high & low in its Gallery, a picture of the blessed card was located and scanned to be put on the charming resort’s record for all times to come; of course, if there was a next trip there, you’d have to furnish it again. (However, this time round, you’d do so like a knight brandishing a sword!) And what about the lady who had returned from Cambridge—armed with a PhD—her English as sharp as a Savile Row razor.
She arrived at Himachal University to collect her degrees, only to be educated that she needed her Aadhaar. Whatever for? “To prove, you are you!” pat came the administrator’s smug reply. The lady was lost for words. It didn’t matter that she had been enrolled there for four years! Returning to myself, it was almost a year ago, when at long last, I found a cook. She came with glowing references, hair tied tight in bun and fingers that didn’t boast of grubby rings. In other words, hygienically speaking, fit for the job! But, sigh, sigh, sigh, couldn’t hire her since no Aadhaar. The neighbourhood security guard (yes, another guard!) wouldn’t let her in. It was as if this prospective “chef” was auditioning for a job at the CBI. And what about the nightmarish moment when one has to update one’s own Aadhaar address. The procedure required—-wait for it—proof of address. However, could one provide the requisite proof when one’s bills etc. were addressed as per the Aadhaar, I was struggling to change.
Back momentarily to the heavenly resort in Mussoorie—the Aadhaar now in place, you’ve crossed the moat, scaled the biometric walls…. and just when you think you’ve earned your hash browns you tap-dance to the breakfast table, only to be halted by a voice that makes you freeze. “Ma’am, please scan your Aadhaar to access the buffet.” In biometric Bharat even your appetite must be verified!
