In my very fertile imagination, I can see it as clearly as if I were sitting in the room myself; a grand hall somewhere in the capital. The opposition parties have gathered once again after yet another round of electoral defeat.
They have gathered to do the impossible.
They want to work out how to beat the juggernaut that has flattened them repeatedly.
One senior leader clears his throat. All eyes turn to him. He adjusts his shawl, touches his chin thoughtfully and says with great gravity, “Rahul must get married.” There is silence. The silence of people wondering if the suggestion came from the political playbook or a matrimonial ad.
Before anyone can object, another leader jumps up with enthusiasm. “And Mamta must change her rubber chappals. We need proper footwear symbolism.” Heads nod with the importance of this revelation.
The hall is now alive with ideas.
Some want a new slogan.
Some want a new mascot.
One gentleman proposes a national argument competition where each opposition leader competes to see who can interrupt the other with the most passion.
Another suggests a mass meditation session so parties can unite their energies. A few leaders, with loud snores, have already begun meditating without being asked.
It is at this chaotic moment that a young voice rises from the back. A youngster in jeans and a simple kurta. His hand is raised politely. Everyone looks at him with mild irritation, the sort usually reserved for people who remind them of school.
He speaks. “Why not do what the ruling party is doing. Put money into the bank accounts of every voter.”
The room freezes. Chair backs straighten. Eyebrows rise. Someone drops a biscuit.
“But where will we get the money?” an elderly leader asks, as if the youngster has suggested they buy a private island.
“The ruling party takes the money from the government coffers,” the youngster replies calmly.
There is a murmur. A sigh of understanding flows across the hall. Wisdom has dawned. Enlightenment has arrived in the form of a simple answer. “So,” the youngster continues in a voice that now sounds like a prophecy. “Give every voter a promissory vote. Not for ten thousand. Not for twenty thousand. Promise them a lakh each. And tell them they can encash it only when we the opposition come to power!”
Suddenly the hall erupts. Cheering echoes through the corridors. Leaders slap one another on the back. Some even dance with renewed hope. It is the loudest cheer the opposition has produced in years and it carries all the way to the ruling party headquarters.
The ruling party is suddenly worried.
Also worried, are taxpayers who realise their hard-earned money will soon flow into the pockets of voters.
And now every party wants to join the same ‘legal bribery’ game.
Democracy has rarely felt so entertaining. Or so expensive…!
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