“Which party do you think would win the election this time?” Shyam asked me with his eyes still glued to the newspaper that he has been reading intensely for some time now. The early morning ‘Chai session’ has been our routine for the last many years I remember.
“Why, do you kids still have doubts that Indian Peoples Party (IPP) will clean sweep the elections with a landslide victory” spoke the Uncle from the table across. We know him as ‘uncle’ but not his name. Like us, he is one of the devoted ‘chai’ customers in the tea stall. Every morning, the tea stall becomes the hub of all local politics and it is not the ‘Special Masala Chai’ that pulls everybody, but the gossips and political chatters that takes place there. You can easily save your Rs. 5 on the newspaper just by being there at the tea stall half an hour in the morning. And it is not just politics that is discussed, people even at the UN may not be discussing about War and peace like they do there every morning. Right from Obama’s dog to Sarkozy’s new wife, movies, local fights, nagging wives, nosy girlfriends, and even sex. There is nothing under the sky that is not discussed at the tea stall every morning. The ‘special’ in the masala chai hoarding makes absolutely no sense. What is special is the discussions and arguments every morning. They make and break governments right there sipping a glass of masala chai.
“What about our state?” quipped one toothless but bearded man from across the table. The uncle replied outright “The center rules everything. They want IPP on our state and they will make sure they come to power here in our state too.” Everyone in the tea stall seems to be nodding at the uncle’s argument. Some were miffed and pretended as if the discussion does not concern them.
Suddenly someone in the room said “That man is a demon, we should not vote him.” Everybody turn towards the person in surprise. He was speaking of one person while the rest were discussing about party politics. But everybody understood whom he alluded when he said ‘the man’.
Let me warn you all, this is the regular pattern of discussions in the tea stall. It starts from World peace, then to the center government, and then the state, then districts, downright to your municipal ward. And then when it comes to the municipal ward, it gets personal and arguments start. But, that is the regular trend and everybody is used to the routine by now. Just that when it gets too loud, you will hear the Chaiwaala shouting “Repeat chai, anyone?” Now, that’s like a librarian shouting “Silence” to bring in some decorum to the library filled with kids. And it works miraculously. People ask for a repeat, the chaiwaala makes his sale, the people find a reason to break the argument.
Shyam had just realized he has let out a monster and was now struggling to focus on reading his newspaper. He gave up in a few minutes and I had my mischievous smile on the face. I chuckled “You invited these troubles.”
The uncle joined in the conversation “I have heard that he bribes certain groups and local youth clubs to vote for him this election.” “That bastard” someone shouted from the back. Everyone turned to the high pitch voice and he mellowed down instantly “he has swindled funds when he was working as a babu before.” There is an unsaid rule about such political discussions and shenanigans is to keep the pitch low. The low pitched voices gives a gravity and seriousness and undivided attention to the discussion. That person was not aware of the rule just like the disgusting fly which was hovering over my head constantly. I shooed it away instantly.
Another person who had stopped by for ‘chai’ on the way to his fields also shared his stand “That School teacher is also a big liar, mind you. He must be having some illegal links or how would he be able to sponsor so much funds required to contest the election.” Another person nodded and added, “I have heard he owns a big house in the city with dark glass. They say the dark glasses is to cover illegal things going on inside the so that people don’t see what’s going on inside.” I thought to myself whoever told that person about the dark glass story has played a cruel joke on that innocent soul. I wanted to burst out laughing, but then it would be against the protocols. “T for Teacher, and T for Treachery too, mind you,” the man at the far corner spoke meticulously. Everyone nodded their head in unison.
"And what about that retired army fellow?” A man who was standing some distance from us whispered. “I heard rumors he has got acres of properties registered in Nepal, owns a five star hotel in Delhi. His son is the Youth leader of our club and he himself is an old friend of the President of IPP. He seems to be the strongest contender going by his political connections."
Suddenly, uncle denounces all politicians saying “I despise these politicians.” Just a while ago he was confident of IPP winning a landslide victory, but perhaps sanity has prevailed over him for a while now “They corrupt young minds and bribe the old ones. They make promises and bring development as long as they are up on the dais delivering their lectures. The last election, this leader promised me that he would assist me to rebuild the broken wall of my compound if I voted for him. He even came home bringing along a Bhaaley (cock) to cook and a bottle of Khattu. We drank happily and made plans about what he would do after the elections. My family of eight voted for him, all of them. We went on to win the election, but my wall is still broken. He has a secretary now with whom I must make an appointment to meet him. Shameful!! My friends, politics is dirty,” Uncle rued. The whole gathering nodded in agreement to his revelations as if God himself had come down and spoken the words.
We paid our bills and came out of the tea stall. We could hear a few others outside from the discussion already making plans for a campaign meeting and the follow-up dinner later tonight. They were excitedly discussing the 36 Kilo Khasi that the candidate had purchased for the dinner tonight. To us, he looked like the most potential candidate to win the elections.
“So, who do you think will win this time?” I mockingly asked Shyam who was already quite irritated by the chaos inside. “All of them are of the same lot. Each one corrupted to the core. And why blame them? We ourselves are more excited about the Khasi and Khattu that they bring for us, then why complain about scams they do. The amount of money that they have to spend feeding and bribing people like us, they also need to recover what they have spent. Who are we to complain then that all politicians are corrupt?”
“Ok, we remain neutral la?” I sensed his frustration and thought it wise to end the discussion there. “We remain neutral like our great country during the Second World War, we will use “NOTA” (none of the above) option and follow the Non-Aligned Movement of our great leaders.” We both broke out laughing and parted our ways as we had to get ready for the college.
“Hey son, come here. Will you?” The old man had a military accent. He looked masculine and well-toned for a man of his age. I suspect him to be the retired army fellow from the chai discussion.
“Yes sir,” I tell him politely.
“Are you a student? I am Lance Naik Jung Bahadur.” He put out his hand for a shake with a huge grin on his face.
“Yes sir, I am.” I answer him amused, realizing where these conversation was headed to.
“You know I'm contesting in the coming MLA's election and I need young men like you to vote for me. With you and your friends support, I might be able to win. And if I win, young people like you will be blessed the most. I promise to work for developing the Youth of our contemporary society.”
“I'll support you, sir and I shall advise my friends to do the same,” I reply him politely yet again.
He grins. “That's like my man,” he laughs softly and pats me in my shoulder.
He slips his hand inside his pocket and produces a little package. The envelope has a little bulge in the center area. “For you and your friends,” he whispers.
“Yes sir,” I said.
He laughs harder. “I like you, he says. Help me and I'll help you, young man. That's a promise.”
“Yes Sir,” I fake him a salute.
As soon as I go out of his sight, I check the cash in the package. Five thousand rupees. I take my phone out and call Shyam.
Shyam: Hello
Me: Guess what?
Shyam: what?
Me: The cash has doubled.
Shyam: (Laughs) First the School teacher. Who is it this time?
Me: The retired army fellow.
Source : gyasa.org
“Why, do you kids still have doubts that Indian Peoples Party (IPP) will clean sweep the elections with a landslide victory” spoke the Uncle from the table across. We know him as ‘uncle’ but not his name. Like us, he is one of the devoted ‘chai’ customers in the tea stall. Every morning, the tea stall becomes the hub of all local politics and it is not the ‘Special Masala Chai’ that pulls everybody, but the gossips and political chatters that takes place there. You can easily save your Rs. 5 on the newspaper just by being there at the tea stall half an hour in the morning. And it is not just politics that is discussed, people even at the UN may not be discussing about War and peace like they do there every morning. Right from Obama’s dog to Sarkozy’s new wife, movies, local fights, nagging wives, nosy girlfriends, and even sex. There is nothing under the sky that is not discussed at the tea stall every morning. The ‘special’ in the masala chai hoarding makes absolutely no sense. What is special is the discussions and arguments every morning. They make and break governments right there sipping a glass of masala chai.
“What about our state?” quipped one toothless but bearded man from across the table. The uncle replied outright “The center rules everything. They want IPP on our state and they will make sure they come to power here in our state too.” Everyone in the tea stall seems to be nodding at the uncle’s argument. Some were miffed and pretended as if the discussion does not concern them.
Suddenly someone in the room said “That man is a demon, we should not vote him.” Everybody turn towards the person in surprise. He was speaking of one person while the rest were discussing about party politics. But everybody understood whom he alluded when he said ‘the man’.
Let me warn you all, this is the regular pattern of discussions in the tea stall. It starts from World peace, then to the center government, and then the state, then districts, downright to your municipal ward. And then when it comes to the municipal ward, it gets personal and arguments start. But, that is the regular trend and everybody is used to the routine by now. Just that when it gets too loud, you will hear the Chaiwaala shouting “Repeat chai, anyone?” Now, that’s like a librarian shouting “Silence” to bring in some decorum to the library filled with kids. And it works miraculously. People ask for a repeat, the chaiwaala makes his sale, the people find a reason to break the argument.
Shyam had just realized he has let out a monster and was now struggling to focus on reading his newspaper. He gave up in a few minutes and I had my mischievous smile on the face. I chuckled “You invited these troubles.”
The uncle joined in the conversation “I have heard that he bribes certain groups and local youth clubs to vote for him this election.” “That bastard” someone shouted from the back. Everyone turned to the high pitch voice and he mellowed down instantly “he has swindled funds when he was working as a babu before.” There is an unsaid rule about such political discussions and shenanigans is to keep the pitch low. The low pitched voices gives a gravity and seriousness and undivided attention to the discussion. That person was not aware of the rule just like the disgusting fly which was hovering over my head constantly. I shooed it away instantly.
Another person who had stopped by for ‘chai’ on the way to his fields also shared his stand “That School teacher is also a big liar, mind you. He must be having some illegal links or how would he be able to sponsor so much funds required to contest the election.” Another person nodded and added, “I have heard he owns a big house in the city with dark glass. They say the dark glasses is to cover illegal things going on inside the so that people don’t see what’s going on inside.” I thought to myself whoever told that person about the dark glass story has played a cruel joke on that innocent soul. I wanted to burst out laughing, but then it would be against the protocols. “T for Teacher, and T for Treachery too, mind you,” the man at the far corner spoke meticulously. Everyone nodded their head in unison.
"And what about that retired army fellow?” A man who was standing some distance from us whispered. “I heard rumors he has got acres of properties registered in Nepal, owns a five star hotel in Delhi. His son is the Youth leader of our club and he himself is an old friend of the President of IPP. He seems to be the strongest contender going by his political connections."
Suddenly, uncle denounces all politicians saying “I despise these politicians.” Just a while ago he was confident of IPP winning a landslide victory, but perhaps sanity has prevailed over him for a while now “They corrupt young minds and bribe the old ones. They make promises and bring development as long as they are up on the dais delivering their lectures. The last election, this leader promised me that he would assist me to rebuild the broken wall of my compound if I voted for him. He even came home bringing along a Bhaaley (cock) to cook and a bottle of Khattu. We drank happily and made plans about what he would do after the elections. My family of eight voted for him, all of them. We went on to win the election, but my wall is still broken. He has a secretary now with whom I must make an appointment to meet him. Shameful!! My friends, politics is dirty,” Uncle rued. The whole gathering nodded in agreement to his revelations as if God himself had come down and spoken the words.
We paid our bills and came out of the tea stall. We could hear a few others outside from the discussion already making plans for a campaign meeting and the follow-up dinner later tonight. They were excitedly discussing the 36 Kilo Khasi that the candidate had purchased for the dinner tonight. To us, he looked like the most potential candidate to win the elections.
“So, who do you think will win this time?” I mockingly asked Shyam who was already quite irritated by the chaos inside. “All of them are of the same lot. Each one corrupted to the core. And why blame them? We ourselves are more excited about the Khasi and Khattu that they bring for us, then why complain about scams they do. The amount of money that they have to spend feeding and bribing people like us, they also need to recover what they have spent. Who are we to complain then that all politicians are corrupt?”
“Ok, we remain neutral la?” I sensed his frustration and thought it wise to end the discussion there. “We remain neutral like our great country during the Second World War, we will use “NOTA” (none of the above) option and follow the Non-Aligned Movement of our great leaders.” We both broke out laughing and parted our ways as we had to get ready for the college.
“Hey son, come here. Will you?” The old man had a military accent. He looked masculine and well-toned for a man of his age. I suspect him to be the retired army fellow from the chai discussion.
“Yes sir,” I tell him politely.
“Are you a student? I am Lance Naik Jung Bahadur.” He put out his hand for a shake with a huge grin on his face.
“Yes sir, I am.” I answer him amused, realizing where these conversation was headed to.
“You know I'm contesting in the coming MLA's election and I need young men like you to vote for me. With you and your friends support, I might be able to win. And if I win, young people like you will be blessed the most. I promise to work for developing the Youth of our contemporary society.”
“I'll support you, sir and I shall advise my friends to do the same,” I reply him politely yet again.
He grins. “That's like my man,” he laughs softly and pats me in my shoulder.
He slips his hand inside his pocket and produces a little package. The envelope has a little bulge in the center area. “For you and your friends,” he whispers.
“Yes sir,” I said.
He laughs harder. “I like you, he says. Help me and I'll help you, young man. That's a promise.”
“Yes Sir,” I fake him a salute.
As soon as I go out of his sight, I check the cash in the package. Five thousand rupees. I take my phone out and call Shyam.
Shyam: Hello
Me: Guess what?
Shyam: what?
Me: The cash has doubled.
Shyam: (Laughs) First the School teacher. Who is it this time?
Me: The retired army fellow.
Source : gyasa.org
+Avinash+Gurung+at+the+Gorkha+Rangamanch+Bhavan+in+Darjeeling+on+Saturday;+Bimal+and+Asha+Gurung+in+the+audience.+Pictures+by+Suman+Tamang.jpg)
Post a Comment