My passport gives me a vote in UK, but not in my own home in Bengal

“Didi, amake ki Bangladesh pathiye debe?” (Sister, will they send me to Bangladesh?)

My househelp asked me this one evening, her eyes filled with fear. The question came from a place of deep anxiety – that, today, is shared by lakhs in West Bengal. What is being described as a “logical discrepancy,” reportedly based on flawed or inaccurate technological processes, has translated into a traumatising lived reality for millions.

Her words lingered with me. They revealed how deeply insecurity has permeated the lives of the most vulnerable. The irony is that she is a Hindu woman, and her identity has never mattered to me. I was not raised to see differences as division. My father, an exceptional human being, taught us that privilege comes with responsibility – the responsibility to stand for those who cannot stand for themselves. For him, humanity was the only religion that truly mattered.

As medical professionals, my siblings and I have tried to uphold those values. We were trained to treat every human being equally, without discrimination. During the Covid-19 pandemic, when fear and stigma were widespread, we did not hesitate to care for patients across communities – even when society distanced itself from us, fearing infection. We served because that is what humanity demands.

Today, however, I write not only as a doctor but as a deeply concerned citizen.

I am currently based in London, where I work as a doctor, while my family resides in Baruipur, South 24 Parganas, West Bengal. Recently, we have found ourselves in a situation that is both distressing and profoundly unjust. The names of all my family members, including my own, have been removed from the electoral rolls despite clear eligibility.

My parents have been registered voters for decades. They cast their votes as early as 2002, and their names appeared in earlier draft electoral lists. Yet, without any clear explanation, my mother’s name has now been removed. My father was a respected doctor in South 24 Parganas, my sister is a general surgeon, and my brother is a general physician. We come from an educated and professionally established background – circumstances that should have safeguarded us, not rendered us vulnerable.

We submitted extensive documentation, including passports, educational records, and identity proofs – hundreds of documents. We attended hearings multiple times as required. The Booth Level Officer (BLO) and local authorities repeatedly assured us that a passport would be more than sufficient and did not request any additional documents.

When we later approached the BLO, she expressed surprise and confusion, stating that a passport is the strongest form of identification and that she had not expected our names to be excluded. She stated that she had no further information and was unable to provide us with a reason for our name deletions. 

This raises a question – if a passport is not considered adequate proof in such cases, what is? Despite a strong immigration history and my current residence and employment abroad, it appears that my Indian passport holds little value in my own country.

It is also difficult to ignore the possibility that this exclusion may not be incidental. If a family like ours can face such disenfranchisement, it is deeply concerning to consider the scale of impact on marginalised communities with fewer resources, less documentation, and limited visibility.

The irony is stark. As India is a member of the Commonwealth of Nations, I am eligible to vote in the United Kingdom, with local council elections scheduled soon. Yet, in my own country, I find myself denied a fundamental democratic right.

This is not merely a bureaucratic oversight. It is not just a legal or political issue. At its core, it is a humanitarian crisis. It reflects a growing climate of fear, exclusion, and systemic invisibility that threatens the foundations of a democratic society.

Ultimately, this is not just about names missing from a list. It is about dignity, belonging, and the fundamental right to exist without fear.

Dr. Arefa Sultana is a London-based doctor. 

Elections are not just about who wins, but about the questions that often go unasked – and this time, they matter more than ever. Support our new NL Sena on the ongoing assembly polls to help us follow the missing voters, the shifting politics, and the stories that could shape India’s future.