Coming into Pondicherry, proudly holding my Indian passport and Manglish (Malayalam and English). Tamil and Malayalam are close; getting a SIM card or opening a bank account shouldn’t be too hard. I’m an Indian citizen, after all.
Was I sorely mistaken…
A week into Pondicherry, awaking bright and early to the sounds of roosters behind our place. I don’t need an alarm clock anymore; the roosters have become one. However, I lay in my bed exhausted.
Unable to communicate with my coworkers because I could not speak Tamil. Making my way trying to talk to auto drivers, attempting to bargain my way because no way a 1km (10 min drive) is 300 INR, or chit chatting with the banana stall man so that he does not ‘tourist’ charge me for these bananas (I still paid more than I should have =\) So much energy expended to continue to play the facade that I fit in, that hadn’t just arrived a mere week ago. Soon enough, I realized that my exhaustion was coming from a false reality that this was going to be an ‘easy’ transition. Letting go of that expectation, I began to notice the little wins, laugh at the missteps. The joy of doing laundry on my own, or realizing that nodding along to sentences I didn’t understand could sometimes land me in situations I didn’t expect – like agreeing to a mehndi ink tattoo.
Those experiences were glimpses into the realities of this new life, but nothing hit quite like what came next: an expedition to get my Aadhar card.
From Kerala to Chennai to Pondicherry – 6 government offices – countless conversations with family, auto drivers, and gov’t officials all in search of an Aadhar card. What looked simple online quickly became a maze of miscommunication and closed doors. Concluding that there was a singular person who does Aadhar for 18+ NRI at the municipality office – but unfortunately, she went on maternity leave – that afternoon.
While the escapade was unsuccessful, I took away a few lessons and realizations
1. Don’t trust the internet blindly
With a list of IDs and a form to fill out, getting an Aadhar card for 18+ NRI seemed to be laid out. However, the reality when we stepped into each office was not the same, and everyone had a different but unified opinion – we don’t have the capacity to do it here.
2. Start learning landmarks – Google Maps is not always enough
One of our final stops on this journey was a person in an office, near the hospital, who knows how to acquire this Aadhar card. Relieved that such a person existed, we hurried to the auto driver. Only to find out he had no idea where this was, nor did Google Maps. Reality soon set in, finding this man was not going to be easy.
Here, directions aren’t coordinates but landmarks: by the hospital, municipal building, restaurant. Oftentimes, not everything is on Google Maps. As a head-down, blue line follower, I realized I need to readjust how I navigate the space I am now living in.
3. Start making friends – Network is everything
I found it interesting how willing people were to help. Even as we were jumping through the hoops, this journey involved many. From the auto driver pitching in his ideas on where to go and who to ask. The people on the side of the street helped us figure out where the building was. The municipal lady called up her contacts to figure out who to reach out to. Kindness here feels tangible, and you could feel it through the dealings of the people. Just as much as influence and power are frustrating, the generosity and willingness of the people around you are just as strong.
That week taught me that systems do not simply rely on rules. They run on people. Who you know, who is willing to help, and how persistent you are can determine what gets done. I think about the livelihood of the children and mothers who are at Satya Special School, the ones who live in villages, who might not have access to information and networks. While this unsuccessful attempt was just an inconvenience for me, for the families who rely on these systems, whether it be disability certificates, jobs, or Aadhar cards for their child with special needs, it is a daily struggle. To be in a state of constant fighting, to give your child space in a world that was simply not ready for them. I cannot begin to imagine the hoops they would need to cross to create these spaces, and how resilient these mothers are to make these efforts.
This made me realize how important an institution like Satya School is for disability advocacy to be the voice for the concerns and needs of parents and children here. But also, as a support system for the mothers. More than just taking care of the children, the school capacitates the mothers, trains them to become teachers, community advocates, or therapists. Satya even provides loans for businesses and flexible work options, allowing mothers to continue to care for their children while making a living.
What started as a quest for an Aadhar card became a lesson showing me that systems here are not faceless. Every interaction you have can bend and shift the system depending on who is willing to help, who you know, and the persistence you have to make it work. Let us hope within a few months, I can build this network to complete my Aadhar card expedition.
