Mirror, mirror, on the wall, am I guilty after all?

Raju Korti
I often wonder what it would be like to get caught in a situation where you become the butt of attention for all the wrong reasons. Not because you aced something or flubbed spectacularly, but simply because you resemble someone who did. The sheer absurdity of being singled out for your genetic makeup -- an equation you had no part in solving -- is a thought that sends shivers down my overthinking spine.

(A Wikipedia grab)

Folk wisdom assures us that everyone has a doppelganger. I call them sixth or seventh xeroxes.  Scientists, those spoilsports of romantic notions, go a step further to claim we might have six lookalikes scattered around the globe. Six! Think about it: six people running around with your face, potentially making terrible decisions while you sleep peacefully, oblivious to the chaos they could embroil you in.

Case in point: Akash Kanojia, 31, a driver from Durg, Chhattisgarh, who was recently detained because he bore an uncanny resemblance to the prime suspect in the Saif Ali Khan attack case. Kanojia, innocent as a toddler stealing cookies, found himself in a Kafkaesque nightmare after a tip-off to the Railway Protection Force. The police detained him at the Durg station, only to arrest the actual assailant -- a Bangladeshi national -- in Mumbai the next day. Poor Kanojia was released, but the damage was done. He lost his job, his bride-to-be called off their engagement, and his family is now the subject of whispered gossip.

Frankly, it’s hard not to feel sorry for the guy. Even harder to imagine how I’d cope if this ever happened to me. I’d probably write a panicked resignation letter to life, complete with typos, and seek refuge in a monastery where nobody knows me -- including my doppelganger.

But this is where the comic relief in the tragedy kicks in. If my doppelganger happens to cross paths with me, I’d run them through a thorough interrogation: “Are you guilty of anything I need to know about? Parking fines? Criminal cases, perhaps? No? Alright, genetics vagairah baad mein dekhenge.”

The notion of a doppelganger has fascinated us for millennia. Literature and cinema have mined its potential for hilarity, horror, and heartbreak. The Internet, that ever-watchful keeper of oddities, delights in unearthing lookalikes of celebrities. From Alia Bhatt and Priyanka Chopra to Virat Kohli and MS Dhoni, the parade of familiar strangers is endless. Even I, non-descript as I thought myself to be, have been mistaken at various stages for cricketer Robin Singh, actor Ashish Vidyarthi, and filmmaker Ravi Chopra (poor man’s versions, of course). While I’m flattered, it leaves me wondering if my supposed fame comes with any unpaid bills -- or criminal charges.

The only consolation is we are all hostages to this dreadful possibility: that someone, somewhere, with your face, your mole, and your mother’s smile, might upend your life with their actions. It’s a grim thought, lightened only by the hope that my doppelganger -- wherever they are -- keeps a low profile. Because if not, I’m readying my alibi. And maybe with a T-shirt that reads: “I’m not that guy.”