A Case of Identity Theft

Clicking a picture for ID cards is always messy. The end results are always the same. Somehow, the camera shutter captures the moment my carefully constructed face pulls off a stunt. When I get my ID cards my reaction always is:

That. Is. Not. Me.

School ID cards were hideous. I chalked it up to the following:
a) Their camera was ancient
b) My classmates in the queue in front of me never failed to make faces
c) The department went enthusiastic with Photoshop. They applied blush for some of us, darkened some, and brightened some.
d) The photographer bunked his class on patience.

Then came our Emirates ID cards. I kept trying to figure out what to expect next, all through the biometrics when the lady, pointing to some contraption perched on her pc said, “Look here”.

So I did.

When the ID card came, my sympathy was with the government. If I robbed a bank, and dropped my card there, they would never catch me. Then again, if they did catch me, they needn’t take a thug shot of me. I carry it around in my purse.

I came to India and I thought, “Ok, maybe I can start over”. Nope, no such luck.

We had to enter some data in the lab. When we came out, they told us to write our ID numbers monstrously big on an A4 sheet and hold it up. We were the first ones out. We had to pose in groups of three. In my defense, I had no idea what they were for. So we fell about in hysterical laughter clutching the paper. The photographer got pissed and snapped anyway.

When the IDs came, I consoled myself saying next year I can pose much better. So no big deal, right? Then I happened to see this:

Valid till July 2016.

Please note: In case I die and the college wants to hold a condolence ceremony, there are much better photos of me on FB. I really don’t want to die again of mortification.

Then came the Aadhar card photo shoot, here. This time I knew what to expect. So when the lady said, “Look here”, I made my face smile, and looked deep into the camera pinhole.

No click.

Then my sister screamed my name. I swiveled my head.

Click.

WHAT? NO! I looked back into the camera.

Click.

I stared into the camera,  desperately wishing for another click that never came.

At least, I got this photo instantaneously, and therefore an instantaneous pronouncement that I wasn’t 18, but close to 35. My family ended up arguing who came the worst off. I was second worst. Guess who took the first place.

Let’s just say my sister got the punishment she deserved. Apparently her intentions were totally innocent. “I just wanted to remind you to smile”, she whined.

Aw.
But I'm still mad at her.

Hopefully, yours in fellowship,