My identity was determined even before I was born, my caste or creed perhaps: followed my visual identity, my face. But then even Orangutans have faces: thus a name became necessary.

My name banner was doing quite well for sometime until I had to stop short at a blind end. The crowd refused to recognize me any more. This made me think of dressing myself up with a new look, sporting a host of identity tags as far as I could afford.

It started off with my phone number, my all and sundry certificates, credit card number, my car number, my email ID, investor ID, folio number and the list went on. Now I am the bloated egotist, with my portfolio swelling with identities. Who stops me from standing up at par with you face to face? You will certainly have something to lose if you do not recognize me.

I am absolutely numbered, like a prisoner in my own backyard, but with a grand, customized public face. I often wonder what it would be like to live without these appendages. Consequently, I shall have to strive to keep these records in place all my life. Or perhaps in constant fear of a calamity that could wipe them out for good and render me a non entity beyond recognition: to keep myself of being plunged into a dark well by you.

As my host of identities keep piling up by the day I lose sight of the real me, and there is hardly any time to find myself. So I decide to remain lost for the present.