Yesterday, a website asked me to prove I was human. I thought of sending it my electricity bill, a photograph of my stomach, and a recording of me arguing with an automated helpline. Surely no other species would put up with so much nonsense. But the website wanted me to identify traffic lights.

There were nine little squares. One contained most of a traffic light. Another contained its elbow. A third contained something that might have been a pole, a drainpipe, or my future after failing this examination. I clicked cautiously. Somewhere inside a computer, I imagined a machine telling another machine, “He’s hesitating. Definitely suspicious.”

I failed. The website gave me motorcycles next. Now, I have driven on Indian roads for years, where recognising a motorcycle involves discovering one between your car and a concrete divider. Yet here I was, peering at a tiny photograph, wondering whether the rider’s left slipper counted as part of the vehicle.

“Try again,” said the computer. What confidence it had! No teacher had ever offered me so many supplementary examinations. Eventually, I passed and was permitted to enter my password. “Incorrect password,” it announced, with the satisfaction of a watchman who has let you through the gate only to discover you have come to the wrong building.

I clicked “Forgot Password.” It asked for my old password. This is rather like asking a man who has misplaced his spectacles to read the instructions for finding them. After further negotiations, it agreed to send an OTP. I waited. The phone remained silent. I requested another. Three arrived together, like relatives who have heard lunch is being served.

Naturally, I entered the wrong one. “Too many attempts,” said the website. “For your security, your account has been locked.” My account was now so secure that even its owner could not interfere with it. Somewhere, presumably, a criminal was enjoying a refreshing cup of tea while I was being treated as the principal threat.

I phoned customer care. A cheerful recorded lady informed me that my call was important. She then spent twenty minutes demonstrating how little. Every few minutes she returned to assure me that all their executives were busy. I began wondering whether both executives were helping each other remember their passwords.

Finally, a human answered. I nearly welcomed him into the family. He asked my name, date of birth, registered number and the nature of my problem. I explained everything. “Certainly, sir,” he said. “First, please log in to your account.” There are moments when patience requires assistance from the furniture. I gripped the armrest.

By evening, I had proved I was human to a website, proved I owned my phone to an app, and proved I was myself to a man who had never met me. Then my wife called from the next room, “Are you listening?” “Yes,” I replied automatically, while staring at the screen. “What did I just say?” she asked.

Again, a security question I was certain to fail..!

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