The question stings, doesn’t it? Seventy-eight years after independence, after every flag-hoisting promise of progress, after billions sunk into the so-called digital backbone of a “New India”, an Indian citizen still stands stripped, clutching a deck of IDs that collapse like paper in the rain.
The Bombay High Court, echoing the Supreme Court’s earlier warning, has torn away the illusion: Aadhaar, PAN, voter ID—those sacred tokens of belonging—prove nothing about your citizenship. This is not a quibble of law. It is a betrayal, a bureaucratic unmasking that leaves 95 crore voters reeling. Every fingerprint scanned, every iris captured, every vote cast reduced to nothing more than administrative trivia. The very documents we were told defined us as Indians are suddenly revealed as hollow. So the question hangs, sharp as a knife: if these cards don’t make me Indian, then what does? And if the state cannot answer, what is left of the nation we thought we belonged to?
The Bombay High Court’s ruling came like a thunderclap, denying bail to Babu Abdul Ruf Sardar, a man accused of illegally entering India from Bangladesh and forging documents to claim citizenship. But Justice Amit Borkar’s remarks were clear and cutting: “Merely having documents such as an Aadhaar card, PAN card, or voter ID does not, by itself, make someone a citizen of India.” These documents, he said, are for identification or accessing services, not for establishing nationality under the Citizenship Act, 1955.
The Supreme Court, on the same day, backed the Election Commission of India (ECI) in a parallel case, stating that Aadhaar “cannot be accepted as conclusive proof of citizenship” and must be independently verified. Courts may be justified in invoking stringent conditions on infiltrators. But should the government agencies thoughtlessly thrust them upon those who were born in undivided India? And they chose to make an independent India their natural habitat for life. Or on those who were subsequently born in Bharat?
It leads us a crucial question. Where does one find evidence about his Indian citizenship? The Register of Citizens (RoC) hasn’t been revised since 2011 dues to bureaucratic wrangling. The RoC is perhaps the only credible document that is prepared after due diligence by millions of government officials after every decade. Now it’s the ECI which has evolved its own mechanism of granting franchise to an Indian. It also means it has taken over the role of the RoC, because only an Indian citizen can participate in the elections. It wants 11 documents from any prospective voter to claim his right to vote.
The ECI now wants birth certificate, matriculation certificate, domicile, marriage, parent’s birth certificate etc. Surprisingly, none of the plastic or digital identities like Aadhaar, PAN, and its own photo identity card— the Electoral Photo Identity Card—are strong enough evidence.
Why? No coherent justification is given. The ECI needs to be reminded that only 2.5 percent of Indians have passports. Just 14.71 percent have matriculation certificates. Birth certificates? Difficult to guess how many Indians possess it. The ECI’s own data, presented in court, shows that most Indians lack these documents.
Let’s talk about Aadhaar. The government had spent a staggering `12,000 crore, or approximately $1.5 billion, by 2023 to build this “unique identity” system. It was claimed it would be the key to everything—bank accounts, taxes, property transactions, even entry to sensitive establishments like airports. It’s a biometric behemoth, capturing your fingerprints, iris scans, and personal history, linking you to your family, your address, your existence. It’s mandatory for buying a car, renting a house, or filing taxes. Yet, when it comes to proving you’re Indian, it’s worthless. The ECI says it’s not enough to get you on the voter list. The same government that pushed Aadhaar as the ultimate proof of existence now shrugs and says, “Sorry, not for citizenship.” And the kicker? Aadhaar’s vulnerabilities have been exposed time and again.
Then there’s the voter ID, the EPIC issued by the ECI. For decades, it’s been your ticket to the ballot box, proof that you’re part of India’s democratic heartbeat. But now ECI finds its own voter’s list tainted as it contains the names of those who have entered illegally. Illegal migrants, as defined by the Act, can’t acquire citizenship through most routes.
Why hasn’t it clarified what makes a citizen? Why hasn’t it created a single, secure ID that proves citizenship, like a Social Security Number in the US or a National Insurance Number in the UK? Instead, we’re juggling Aadhaar, PAN, voter ID, ration cards—none of which cuts it.
Advocate Saurav Agrawal, commenting on the Bombay HC ruling, hit the nail on the head: “Time has come for the executive and the judiciary to provide for a document of proof of citizenship. Surprising that the government fought so hard in the Supreme Court for sustaining Aadhaar, but now it transpires that Aadhaar has been rendered a mere paper, albeit at the cost of privacy rights.”
The way forward: India needs a universal citizen card—a single, secure document that proves citizenship, voter eligibility, and identity. Other countries have done it. The US has its Social Security Number; Germany has its Personalausweis. Why can’t India? The government must issue clear guidelines under the Citizenship Act, streamline document requirements, and protect the data of its citizens. The current mess, where 95 crore voters face identity uncertainty, is unacceptable. After 78 years, India is still searching for a way to define its own people. That’s not just ridiculous—it’s a democratic disgrace.
So, am I an Indian citizen? I wield an Aadhaar etched with biometrics, a voter ID baptised in ballots, a PAN card chained to every tax I’ve ever paid. Yet, because I was born beyond today’s borders, in a place now painted as Pakistan, and because my parents’ papers have perished with time, the courts declare I am no one—nameless, nationless, until I summon proof from the shadows.
This is not my burden alone—it is a mass malaise, a collective crucifixion of millions ensnared in a Kafkaesque carousel where the state demands evidence it knows we cannot provide. It is paperwork without purpose, bureaucracy without mercy, belonging without belief. Identity is turned into interrogation; citizenship into suspicion. The government must shatter this sham. It must forge a single, sovereign citizen card, codify the right to belong, and close this chasm of doubt.
Until then, crores of Indians will clutch their cards like charms, only to be told they are nothing more than scraps of plastic. And so, the cruellest truth remains. In the land of more than a hundred souls, the question who is an Indian still drifts unanswered, like a ghost in the wind and haunting the very idea of India. The answer, after 78 years of freedom, is still blowing in the wind. As of now, I am a voter. But what about the future?
Read all columns by Prabhu Chawla
PRABHU CHAWLA
prabhuchawla@newindianexpress.com
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