The day at the booth

'Wins and losses are one thing, but sending a message is in my opinion something even stronger', says the author

It was voting day here in Bengaluru and so the wife, the mongrel Bagha and I drove to the polling booth down the road. The place was a school on Bore Bank Road, a narrow lane that adjoins the railway tracks. There were cars and bikes parked all around the school’s gate and so I had to stop the car a short distance away. I left a window down for Bagha to gawk at the world (I thought briefly of taking him along and putting on my sunglasses, pretending he was a guide dog, but then thought better of it).

At the booth, there was a long queue, long by my standards at least, about seven or eight people. I told the wife that Bagha couldn’t be left alone for long and so we could come back. She opted to stay on and so Bagha and I drove off.

I returned about an hour later and the queue was even longer, about a dozen people, and this time I just decided to soldier through. A couple in front of me, young and urbane, was talking about an article in The Economist. Apparently India’s is not the biggest election in a single day, the husband was telling the wife (I know they’re related because there was a child saying “mummy” and “papa”). The biggest election was actually the one in the United States because most people were qualified to vote on that one single day, unlike in India where it’s broken up into phases. And, he continued, because American turnout was low, actually it was another place that held the record for most people voting in a single day and that was Indonesia. Two hundred million people, he said, to his wife’s “wow” (and across 18,000 islands, I wanted to add, but didn’t).

It took about 15 minutes for us to reach the entrance of the hall. We kept getting delayed by people cutting the queue: an old man asking if there was a separate queue for senior citizens who was let in; an obese old woman with a stick who was led in by a young woman (both of whom apparently voted, which I thought was a bit dodgy); a man in a kaftan or whatever those Arab robes are called who wanted to know why there wasn’t a separate queue for women as there was in the booth next door (he was told by a young man that in such queues men alternated with women and so there was no advantage); a middle-aged man with a slight limp who had someone come along with him to say “handicraft” to the guard at the door; a very old couple of perhaps 80, both doddering and hard of hearing, the man held up by an assistant (who was not allowed in). All of this, mind you, in the 15 minutes or so it took us to cover the queue of a dozen. 

There was plenty of seating outside right next to the line, and someone disabled or infirm could just sit and slide along but apparently none of them could wait. I am quite impatient but today I was all right with this. And shame on me for even pretending to be blind and for abusing also, at least in thought, the animal rights of the mutt.

The couple in front of me separated at this point after a brief debate on what the kid should do (she went in with mommy after consulting the guard). Daddy stepped out of the queue and when I gestured at him inquiringly said he had already voted elsewhere. I asked the guard if he had voted. He couldn’t understand Hindi or English and so I picked up his hands (large and meaty) to check for the ink. He understood and shook his head, saying “duty”. I asked him where he was from and he said Bellary. There was a report in the newspapers a few months ago which said that 55 per cent of government officials on duty couldn’t or didn’t vote. We need to sort this out.

Just outside the door was a large poster with the names of the candidates and their symbols. On top were three candidates from the national parties: M K Pasha from the Bahujan Samaj Party, P C Mohan of the Bharatiya Janata Party (the incumbent) and Rizwan Arshad of the Congress. Under them were a dozen or so local party candidates and independents. I’ve always preferred to vote for the BSP but this time I was supporting an independent.

The events and news of the last five years have directly affected India’s Muslims

His name is Prakash Raj (Serial No 14, symbol “Whistle”) and he’s an actor, quite popular in Bangalore. You can see his face in advertising and you can also see him in the media, talking articulately about politics. He is the most liberal candidate I have ever encountered speaking out fearlessly on the issues that matter particularly to me. We shared a common friend (Gauri Lankesh, who was murdered, most likely for her unambiguous writings against Hindutva) and I have heard that a lot of people are voting for him.

My wife says a vote for independents is a wasted vote but I don’t agree. Wins and losses are one thing, but sending a message is in my opinion something even stronger. A colleague and I were talking just the day before voting, while on the bus taking us to our plane, about the hundreds of actors who had expressed their opinions about whom people should not vote for. What do you think of this, my colleague asked me, and I said to him it was a great thing. It happened everywhere in civilised democracies and it would happen even more in the next election.

We were on our way to our branch office in Pune and one of my colleagues there was taking the train back that day to Bangalore to vote. He is Muslim and I live in a middle class Muslim neighbourhood. Indeed, most of the people in the line I was in were Muslims and I have not seen such queues at that polling station before.

The events and news of the last five years have directly affected India’s Muslims. The rest of us may also be affected but not as directly as them. They will vote in large numbers without fail and I wonder if their turnout will make a difference and send a message.