“Look straight ahead,” said the man taking my photograph for Aadhaar. I had already stood in a queue, given him my address and pressed all ten fingers on his machine. Now he wanted a good look into both my eyes. “After all this,” I asked him, “will the government know who I am?”

“Of course, sir,” he said. “Next!”

I went home thinking the matter had been settled. Years later, with the SIR snapping at my heels, I stood in another queue to make sure my name was on the voters’ list. I took out my Aadhaar. “That tells us who you are,” I imagined the officer saying. “For the electoral roll, we also need to establish that you’re an Indian citizen.”

“Hope you’re not going to judge me by the clothes I wear.”  I told him with an impish smile.

I got my name on the list and thought I could put my feet up. Then the Union Panchayati Raj Minister said voter ID and biometrics would be used to verify welfare beneficiaries. A few days later, he clarified that Aadhaar would be used too. I pictured myself back at the counter.

“Which card would you like?” I asked. “Give me both,” said the clerk. “Let them vouch for each other.”

There was a time when I walked into an office with my passport and expected to walk out with my work done. Then I learnt to carry my PAN card. Then my voter ID. Then my Aadhaar. Nowadays when somebody at a counter says, “May I see some identification?” I ask, “How much time do you have?”

But here is what I would really like to ask. If a man can pay somebody inside the system to get a card on false papers, why is the man who paid nothing and gave his real address the one being sent back to the queue?

“We suspect some cards were improperly issued, sir,” says the official.

“Have you spoken to the people who issued them?” I ask.

“Certainly, sir. They suggested we ask you for another card.”

When will the government start trusting itself? It issued my passport, gave me a PAN, put me on the voters’ list and took my fingerprints. If all that still leaves room for doubt, perhaps I should take the Prime Minister with me as my guarantor.

“Good morning,” the Prime Minister will say at the counter. “I’ve come to vouch for him.” The clerk will look at me, then at the Prime Minister. “And who will vouch for you, sir?” he will ask. “I’m the Prime Minister,” he will say.

“I can see that, sir,” the clerk will reply. “But do you have anything with your current address on it?”

Then he’ll hand us a form each and point to the back of the queue. The Prime Minister will turn to me and say, “You could have warned me.”

“I did, sir. I said I’d prefer to bring my PAN card…!”