I GOT INKED
Finally the
day arrived when I went for voting! It had been a distant dream. Having
led a sequestered life in the forces, where voting just didn’t happen due to
the nomadic nature of the job I was a ‘drawing room’ activist. Perpetually worrying
about the state of affairs in the country, how those rotten politicians were
sucking the country dry, and then cursing the ‘bloody Indians’ for shopping for
such ‘rotten tomatoes’ and plonking them in the parliament. I was happy letting
my lips serve the nation. But then a
posting to Jammu, my home town, changed the scenario.
My name was
on the voters’ list giving me the permission and the opportunity to vote. The
booth was set up in a Government school in the middle of a busy township. I
went with some trepidation streaked with confidence. Finally I will send my
chosen candidate to the Big House and make Modi the PM. I have let the cat out
of the bag – yes I have voted BJP- not for their manifesto but just for change.
Congress has spent a decade partying now is the time for the other half to go
to the ball. But novelty of the PM and the situation might make them dance the
salsa. Later may be they will get back to the ‘Lok Sabha Beat’ but till such
time India might see some good done to it.
I have
digressed from what I set out to say. Well the voters queued up- ladies on one
side and men on the other. Policemen kept a vigil. I too joined the serpentine
line and waited for my turn. It was scorching hot. The April Sun didn’t take
leave on voting day as the rest of the state had. I was sweating and tanning.
My carefully maintained complexion getting a solar make over. I was taking the
pain to stand for hours in the sun and vote for my preferred party but did those
‘netas’ even realise the effort some of the pawns in the Big game go through to
light their way to the coveted office. Elderly ladies and very elderly ladies
too joined in but were mercifully spared the torture of shuffling on ‘hot’
feet. They were especially lead into the booth where they cast their vote. One
of them arrived on a plastic chair lifted by her two sons. I wondered again
what choice had that ‘mataji’ made? Would she choose as was her wont or had
she made a conscious decision of supporting a better candidate? There were
women who had left their kitchens and lined up with toddlers in tow, dressed up
in their best ‘suits’ and darkest lipsticks. I felt that the exercise of
casting their vote gave them a sense of freedom and power, a sense of control
which they had compromised on so many levels.
We were sent
in batches of four. The polling officials meticulously checked our
identification proof with their own lists. We were directed from one official
to the other. I felt lost and then found, lost some more and finally found again
as the man with the prized ink carelessly dipped the twig of the ‘sesam’ tree
in the inkpot and smeared my index finger with it. Unknowingly he had
accessorised my attire. That finger was on its way to being photographed and
‘facebooked’, ‘whatsapped’ or ‘tweeted’. Choice was mine and I chose all three.
A cardboard
box hid the beeping machine. As I moved towards it a very tall and a very old
man walked in on doddering legs. We made way for him. He was ticked off the
list, inked and led to the cardboard box. He was weak in the eye and the knee
and those darned symbols on the machine made no sense at all. His thick glasses
did little to help. But it was a journey which only he had to undertake much like
the heavenly one. He bent low-low-low and very low till his nose was touching
the EVM and only his outstretched legs were visible from behind the cardboard
box. He shook and he twisted and he turned and shook again, a little more twist
to the left and we heard the long beep. He had done it! He emerged from behind
the box, a smug smile on his face. It was one triumphant walk for him which he
might not take the next time.
Having never
seen an EVM in my life I was thrilled to see it materialise. I approached it
with the confidence of a pro and pressed the blue button next to our national
flower. I had heard about the lady who kept pressing the red light on the EVM
hoping to make it sing. I didn’t want to be that lady. I got it right in
the first go. I came out of the booth but sadly that thrill was missing even
though I had a great time observing the regulars. I walked back home relieved
for having done my bit in saving the country and getting inked.
AB KI BAAR...........