Malathi Rao, Sep 26 2017, 1:45 IST
That life has become a tad complicated for an octogenarian like me in Modiji’s Digital India is a mild understatement. I hear the same from many of my senior friends who have to fend for themselves. I’ve had to make many visits to the Aadhaar office which, interestingly, happens to be next door to my favourite bakery.
During pre-Aadhaar days, I used to enjoy my visits to the bakery for those coconut cookies and fresh bread. Now, my visits are invariably to the dingy Aadhaar office. Sure, I already possess my precious ID. But these outings are in aid of a minor correction (updating data, as they call it) that I am obliged to take care of.
This time around, I planned the strategy for days. The trick was to be there before the office doors opened. Of course, there would be a line already in place. I collected all the documents as well as the photocopies the previous night and kept them on the table alongside my smartphone, for without the smartphone (the crucial OTP!), life in digital India cannot move an inch forward.
What about all those luckless, jobless men with families, newborn babies and old women on crutches who throng the Aadhaar office throughout the day? How do these poor folk find their bearings in New India? I can swear they are all smarter than the smartphones (borrowed or stolen) they clutch in their hands and sport their Aadhaar cards proudly once they get hold of the plastic IDs. Of course, the PM is their inspiration.
Mouthing a Ganesha stuthi, I took my place in the snaking line, wondering what had happened to all those promises that senior citizens would receive special treatment by way of separate queues and services. After shifting my weight from foot to foot in the unmoving line — for each Aadhaar applicant was into a blue-faced argument with the clerk in charge — I decided to take the law into my own hands.
Professing loudly that I was about to faint, I jumped the line and took my seat in front of a zombie with a computer. He looked at me and asked for my token number. I didn’t have one. Before I could say dammit, an aggressive-looking gent with a token number pushed me off my seat and plonked his old mother, saying she too was a senior citizen; in fact, she was more senior than I as she was shaking from head to foot. He had brought along with him his entire clan who had to be processed one after another, which left me without any hope.
Benefits of the Aadhaar card still remain obscure to my short-sighted vision. To my discomfiture, I recently got an SMS to link my bank account and mobile number to my Aadhaar number. Though I did not comprehend these orders, I dumbly complied out of a sort of fear. So far, the Aadhaar card has spelt a nightmare to me. Maybe with time, I’ll enjoy its benefits, whatever they may be
