Participating in Democracy 11th January 7:00 P.M….

Participating in Democracy
11th January 7:00 P.M.

Blisters. Big ones. On both feet. Indigestion. Not one decent meal in three days. A room full of stinking clothes and muck. Throat sore from screaming and almost complete, merciless exhaustion. Surely, surely you say, this must be an I banker on a weekend. Well I did offer options to people, otherwise it was a just a fat person electioneering. A mere two hours ago, thanks to the Election rules, I had wrapped up an arduous, memorable election campaign. Memorable for many things besides smelly underclothes and delicate vestibules of clear liquid at the balls of both feet. Yes, now how did it all begin...

The Manifesto
Egads!!! Those words will never leave me. Hours of writing, rewriting, vetting, correcting. Speaking to myself in my room. If people tell you good jokes are always good, THEY ARE SO WRONG!!! Ever been to one of those restaurants where the waiter doesnt give a !@#$? You sit there and he stands next to you screaming across the floor to the other guy, who himself is flooring another poor hungry man with the same Customer Service. And when you finally ask him whats there to munch on, our friend, with his "How can I elp ou?" badge blurts out: "ChappathiparathadosaidlisamosadahivadaLikeIgiveashitbondamoronjalebiIhatethisjobpoorimasala..." Thats exactly how you sound to yourself when you've been threough that "Oh what a clever play of words" joke a million times.

Writing a manifesto is real hard work. Besides the political correctness and substance, the sheer effort of writing a serious document which deep inside you trust in is nerve racking. So far you could type "Thus we increase market share for kidney stone crushing machines..." while your mind thought "If I push evil old people with walking sticks down the stairs will I go to hell...." This reminds of two interesting mallu jokes.

Interesting Mallu Joke 1: Theres this kid who has an exam and he had thoroughly learn't one essay for it. Thats right, one. His mother believes "My Friend" can be modified to handle any topic. Little boy returns home from exam. He is gleeful. "How was the exam son?" "Oh I have cracked it, the topic was "My Father". The mother winces. "And you wrote...?" Son: "I have many fathers. Arjun is my best father....." The boy had a troubled childhood.

Interesting Mallu Joke 2: Theres this kid who has an exam and he had thoroughly learn't one essay for it. That's right, one. His mother believes "The Coconut Tree" can be modified to handle any topic. (Boy, there are dumb people back home...) Son skips back home. He has dished out an essay on "The Cow". And how did dear son do that? "The cow is a useful animal. I have a cow at home. It is always tied to a coconut tree. The coconut tree is a useful......" The kid is today a successful NRI in Qatar.

The Pitch
Halfway through my second pitch one of the more painful memories happened. I violated the ancient rule of eyecontact. Oh I gave plenty. Not one of the 11 in the audience were looking at me. I believe the exact words I was uttering were: "Now isnt that fascinating..." Apparently not...

My campaign manager is a real gem. So much so, at one point he almost took a dorm away from me. I walk into a dorm and imagine my suprise when I read the slotting time table. "7:00 Raaka, 7:20 Campaign Manager (Arpit), 7:40 Sidin..." My pitch was delivered with remarkable venom....

The pitch of all pitches has to be the one where everyone eagerly listens to you.... waiting for you to finish. Thats because your talking to 5 candidates waiting in line and one listener. They have all heard it before and can even lip sync with you. I think I will see nightmares of that one guy not voting for me....

And bang!! its over. No more pitching. In two hours the voting wil start. But I think I am really too tired to worry. I just want to.... sit down, kick off my shoes, and booth capture.

12th January 1:00 A.M.

They havent started counting mine yet. A few results have come out. I am nervous, tense, and frozen. Its really cold. Futta's jacket maybe aesthetic, but not insulated. Every face I look at reflects tension and many have good will in them. I just want it over with and to go back to real life. I run over to a small crowd of people and laugh loudly at some joke. All candidates, all trying to hide behind the laughter and noise. All shitting bricks....

12th January 2:45 A.M.

Oh my god......