The Indian General
Election is just around the corner. Unfortunately, the damn thing does not come
with a statutory warning about how the unspooling events can be hard on your
heart with the added risk of your mental and emotional state unravelling with
alarming speed. There are cops all over the place for the ostensible purpose of
maintaining law and order who gesture for you to pull over, uncaring that a
bunch of chaps in bunched up lungis and Bappi Lahiri level bling just zoomed
by, nearly running over a poor old lady, in order to avoid hitting the placid
cow who was taking a leisurely stroll in the middle of the road.
Naturally, your heart rate goes through the roof,
while they bark questions at you and go through your luggage while an
overenthusiastic type records the proceedings. The dutiful minion of the law,
double checks your toilet kit which may or not contain a purloined item or two
from the last fancy hotel you stayed at, while a tidal wave of terror
overwhelms you as you envision yourself growing old, locked up in a dank cell
reeking of urine and filled with excreta (like in Sanju), awaiting your day in
court, while the judges take a half – hearted stab at clearing the backlog of
cases which is surmised will take a few centuries at the very least. As the
tension ratchets to unbearable levels, the cop with one last grunt to register
his displeasure since you refuse to make eye – contact, allows you to leave.
Where are these fellows the rest of the time you wonder, once your breathing
has returned to normal, when there are young girls being abducted/raped/killed,
when guilty diamond merchants are buying a first class ticket to Heathrow, when
mobs lynch citizens for eating beef?
Having barely recovered from your scary encounter
with the desi Mark Fuhrman, you decide to hit the spa and pamper yourself only
to find that all routes to your destination are blocked because an earnest
politician is on the campaign trail, nightmarish cavalcade of vehicles driven
by goons with definite road rage issues in tow. Citizens have been bussed in
from all over with the promise of mutton biriyani, booze and hard cash so that
they can listen to uninspired speeches that promise jobs and justice for
everybody while taking in the eye – popping ugliness that are the life – sized
cut-outs of crooks, complete with their creatively embellished achievements on
flimsily erected hoardings that seem in danger of toppling over unwary two –
wheelers who don’t wear helmets since it messes with their gelled hair.
While waiting for the traffic to clear, you whip out
your smart phone to check out IPL related matters when the news apps take it
upon themselves to provide in – depth analysis by eager beavers about the
upcoming elections hoping to convince you about the soundness of their
preferred candidate though we all know that like in the past, we will simply
have to choose between the devil and deep blue sea. Worst of all, the horror
show with its relentless, arduous and dedicated fusillade of all things
grotesque and nasty has only just begun. What to do? You sigh in resignation,
dig your nails into your palms, crawl homeward and scream into a pillow.
This article originally appeared in The New Indian Express. 
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