As I inched
towards the gallery I could see the medley of people gathered at the gallery
portico. Heightened anticipation, some nervousness, some genuine concern for
the future, some tiredness from the tireless, sleepless, food less working and
convincing in the days gone by, a
plethora of support for all the war heroes gathered there for the final show
and a little stink of dirty politics- all concocted together to make a potpourri
of a surreal sort. I could see my opponents with my supporters, friends with
their supporters, and my own supporters. The scene took on a nature of an
intense trade-fair where the best deals are often made at the last. They asked
me if I was tensed. No I wasn't. That
same feeling had descended upon me as it always does before taking on a huge
audience- not calm exactly but that of no tension at all…it’s here, give it
your best shot. The gallery was chock-a-block with almost twice of a thousand
people. Religious chanting of the name you supported so that it registers in
the mind of the voter, distribution of little strips of papers for the same
purpose as an equal amount littered on the floor, numerous ringtones going off
at random moments defying all norms of rhythm, and the final trial, and the
same final push as in the final stages of labor. My supporters had come, they
were scattered for the final showdown, positioned at different places for giving
me the ultimate cover. It was war. The overheard conversations made it
interesting. In one such instance, I could overhear a supporter telling his candidate-
Don’t just stand like that man, work, mobilize!!
Some called
this contest interesting because I was contesting. A woman. I did not feel
different. It wasn’t revolutionary. My mother did it, my dad did it, and my
friends elsewhere do it, men, women alike. No it wasn’t different. Only a
little unbalanced for person to person meeting in my case was tad limited compared
to those against me. But there’s no use complaining, for it never solved
problems- in history, at present. The mechanism has been working for long now,
the ball has been set rolling. It was Game of thrones right in the campus
grounds. A thousand different faces, all with a mind…a battleground abuzz with
a thousand and more working, thinking minds. Emotions, tactics and game plans lay
bare and like jagged weapons. All of these people worked and talked since the
past few days, fair and unfair. It was addictive in a different sort of way. That
was the watershed of all efforts right up till the last pink slip was thrust in
the tin ballot box. Adult franchise, democracy, politics. I’m an adult and I had
an army of my own….in all of that a song constantly played in my mind- Queen’s-
We are the champion, clichéd, but true. It wasn’t a cakewalk for nobody. And as
the siren at 12 went off, signaling end of a game for this year, calm set upon
everyone, it was visible. The efforts were wholeheartedly put in, the results were
awaited but for all those involved in the game all that I know, the efforts
were made, the results were awaited…. The game was played…
