All this talk about the Special Intensive Review and the subsequent heated Debate on citizenship and the right to vote. It has me thinking. Am I a citizen of India? I think I am. May I try it on? I doubt I can.
I was born here, I have voted several times, and I have countless government-issued documents proving that I have lived here forever. But, in matters of state what I think is not necessarily what it is. So, I carefully examined what I have in the form of documentary evidence to convince myself that I am indeed a citizen. At the end of that self-inquiry, the answer I got was neither direct like the taxes I pay nor indirect like the taxes I don’t realize I pay. I realized that establishing citizenship in India is like chasing the horizon. Every time I thought I was within reach, I backed away a little further. Every time I thought I understood what it is, it confuses me a little more. Until I realized that Indian citizenship is just a thought, a happy notion, a big legal nuance. It’s not something you can hold in your hand. It is a virtual being; That’s why Digi-locker was created. But not even that can contain him.
Let me guide you through the process of my self-realization:
I have an identity card issued by my office. It covers 42 years of my professional life, but it means little because it has not been issued by the government. Forget citizenship, it doesn’t even give me entry to Shastri Bhavan.
I have a driving license. It allows me to drive in India. It doesn’t give me citizenship.
I have the registration certificate for my vehicle. It tells the government that I have a mid-level sedan and that maybe they should look at my statements especially carefully. But citizenship, in no way.
I have PAN income tax card. This shows that I contribute my grain of sand to the country’s coffers. But citizenship is very far away; This card only takes, not gives.
I have a passport. It is issued only to Indian citizens. Therefore, most of us assume that it is a citizenship document. Unfortunately, it is not. It’s just a travel document. In fact, I don’t even have my passport (that applies to you too). Please see the “caution” note on the back flap: “This passport is the property of the Government of India” and must be surrendered when ordered by the government.
I have an Aadhaar card. Admittedly, this is the only honest card I have. It tells me what it really is: just an ID document (implying that it is not a citizenship document). No luck here either.
Decades ago, when I was still a dependent, my name appeared on the family ration card and the CGHS (Central Government Health Scheme) card. I don’t have them now. Even if he had, they would be of no use. They are just cards that promise free cereals and health services to citizens. They are not citizenship cards.
I have a CBSE secondary school certificate with my date of birth. This is the only valid document I have of my birth. Anyone born in India before 1987 – with some exceptions, such as the children of foreign diplomats – automatically qualifies for citizenship (jus soli, birthright citizenship). I was born (long) before 1987. So, you would think I was a citizen of India. I am, but this birth certificate is not my citizenship document. It only “qualifies” me to claim citizen status. It doesn’t “give” me the status in a way that I can display it. This is a lot to untangle, so let’s go over it again. Since I was born in India before 1987, I am a citizen. I can claim citizenship because I have a document proving that I was born in India. But no, that document is not my citizenship card either. Close, very close, but not there yet!
Citizenship is a very strange ship. It is there, but there is no evidence that it is there. I only know one other person who is in a similar state of confusion: God. And, just for the record, He is also a non-citizen. In fact, if He is lurking somewhere around here, it would be illegal since He was not born here.
I have a voter ID card. It can only be issued to citizens of India (because only citizens can vote). Simple logic tells me that this card is my citizenship. But a law that is simple to understand is no law at all. Ask any Babu, the weight of a well-crafted law, like our Citizenship Act, is directly proportional to its incomprehensibility. My voter ID grants me my inalienable right to vote. It is available to me only because I am a citizen, but it is not a citizenship document.
As the Supreme Court of India has just stated: The Electoral Commission can verify If I am a citizen and you give me a voter ID because you think I am Indian, but you cannot certify me as an Indian. This is also as complicated as the issue of birthright citizenship, so let’s go through the rigmarole one more time. Only Indians can vote. It is the duty of the Election Commission to issue voter ID only to Indians. To do this, it analyzes 11 documents that, individually, are not citizenship documents. But collectively they create magic: they convince the Electoral Commission of our citizenship. But the voter ID card that comes out of this group blanket of 11 documents, (come on, say it out loud) is NOT proof of citizenship.
My takeaway from this: the sum of the parts is a whole, but the whole is actually a hole. I will explain it the day the government explains the Citizenship Law to all of us.
The funny thing about Indian citizenship is this: there are a lot of definitions and documents that tell me I’m not a citizen. There is not ONE document that tells me that I am a citizen. As I said before, in India citizenship is just a thought, a happy notion, a big legal nuance. It’s not something you can hold in your hand. A wise politician once said that poverty is a state of mind. Citizenship is also that: a collective understanding, a state of mind.
Those who have entered India illegally have nothing to prove that they are Indians. Those of us who think we are Indians have a ton of documents that essentially prove nothing. Same difference. Legal and illegal are in the same leaky constitutional boat.
It is a mystery why a government that prides itself on one nation, one pension, one nation, one ration, one nation, one election and the like delays giving me ONE, just ONE, card telling me that I am an Indian citizen.
Postscript:
Here is the irony of ironies. This problem of virtual citizenship is reserved only for birthright citizens like me (and you). Naturalized citizens, foreigners who take an oath of allegiance to India, are duly issued a certificate of physical citizenship. During all these years I had the affection of a compatriot for Adnan Sami. Now I envy him. He has something that I don’t have. I have to beat my chest to prove that I am Indian, he just has to get a certificate. He believed that all citizens are equal. It turns out that naturalized citizens are more equal. Jaihind!
– Finish
