Exercising the rights to vote…

Abraham Lincoln once said,

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

A week before the day of voting, this is what I tell  my Superpartner after coming back from office, ‘I’m going to vote this time in Bangalore. Actually, pretty excited about it’. 5 years ago, this is what I asked my father, ‘I’m thinking whether to vote or not, what do you say?’ and this was my father’s reply, ‘If you think you have understood things enough to vote, please do, else I would say wait till the next elections’. This is what i tell my juniors in office, ‘these are rare opportunities – once in 5 years you see. All of us who keep doing those weekend calculations – (52*expected number of years that we will live) should be the first ones to cast a vote’. Being a country like ours where we still have a fourth of our population under the poverty line, it is pathetic to be spending (thinking of the kind of election related expenses) more than a time in 5 years. Political landscape for the first time seemed ‘interesting’ to me – a new party at a national level showing high hopes, the old timers talking of women empowerment, safety measures,  highways, flyovers and technological development which are some ‘fancy’ manifesto items to be heard of for common masses like us.

I’ve my voter card from another state – Rajasthan, but thanks to some of these drives which happened inside the MNC offices of Bangalore that we could shift our voter cards from one state to the other. As expected, the cards did not reach on time. Thanks to Internet, we could do a ctrl+f on our names in the respective ‘constitution assembly’ files and vote with the serial numbers and EPIC numbers listed down there. There was a joke on a popular radio channel where a man said ‘we are 4 in the family and none of us have apparently received a error-free voter card. My mother’s card has my wife’s photo, mine has my mother’s photo, the surname is incorrect in my father’s name and my wife’s voter card calls me as her father’. I laughed out loud on hearing the last bit of his sentence because i connected to it and in addition, the address on my e-card was partially incorrect too. As you can make out, there was a dearth of resources in the public departmen and such is their planning!

Maybe I’m growing, maybe i connect things a little better now (not as good as Cortana on the new WP8.1 ) but elections this time have been too different from what they were in yesteryears. There was awareness, there was some sort of a discipline, people all of a sudden seemed liberated and had realized their rights. The youth definitely is looking for a change. I saw a couple of voting booths while walking down to my voting station. There were young men and women helping voters like me. Young fellows in Reebok t-shirts, Levis Denims, Puma shoes, fast-track wrist-watches, well groomed. Thanks to the growing disposable income in the hands of India’s middle class, Brands and fashion is no longer an accessory to the Elite. It is for all. It was also delightful to see both men and women working on these booths. I remember, my friends from school whose mothers were Teachers and Principals telling me, ‘My mom has written a letter to the Election Commission stating she is ill and cannot make it for the election duties. You see, it is very dangerous to be standing on these booths for women’. Good to find that we have come out of the Gender discrimination.

Time for some reminiscences: Ma and Daddy walking inside the house with Ma’s standard question giggling, ‘Will you tell me whom did you vote for?’ and a roar of laughter from Daddy. Ma used to make amazing cold coffees. I walked down from the voting station, thinking about her, thinking a bit about the life I would have had if she was still around. I made cold coffee as the first thing – more milk (i’m heavily lactose tolerant ), more cream, more coffee but moderate sugar – the way I like the most.

An appeal to all the Non-Resident Indians who discuss politics on all social channels possible and all those groups in offices who discuss nothing but politics (but never vote!):

Kindly stop being too caring about the country and for Heaven’s sake, do not call the current public speakers ‘Idiots’ or some such names. They are better than you, courageous enough to stand up and talk. You don’t deserve to be discussing Politics. If you so much feel like, plan your visits to home nation around elections. Thinking the following way could make you plan better – Divide the amount of your return ticket by 5 (once in 5 years you see) and add it to the tax amount that you pay every year. It isn’t going to look too big, believe me.

I’m actually fed up seeing photographs of people on facebook in creme and white clothes with caps on their heads and flags in their hands, residing in the Americas and United Kingdom, speaking tons. Kindly vote because nothing else is going to serve the purpose.

My best friend’s wedding…

… Payel – yes, the post is dedicated to her.

Some of our common friend’s sing various songs for her – ones which have her name in them. As she is getting married tomorrow, the most appropriate song out of many (I think) is the below:

Specially dedicated to you, Payelia

The sad bit is that I’m not going to be part of her wedding and no matter how apologetic i feel about it, it is not going to bring down her anger on me. I deserve it right I guess. My father often tells me ‘Circumstances are more powerful than Men’ and I’m reminded of this quote every now and then.

Payel: I know you would look beautiful. I have cried atleast 5 number of times watching Shubho Drishti’s in Bengali weddings. I would be missing yours big time. It is one of the ‘best’ part of the wedding and was secretly looking so much forward to it. I think of myself as a dreamer and fantasizer and would be imagining you tomorrow with Radhaa-Krishna motif’s and that ‘perfect’ smile which always reminds me of your pure heart and kindness.  This is one of your “most” important days in life and I’m as happy as your Parents (just not any less) seeing you getting married.

An exceptional student, friend, daughter, sister and colleague that you have been, I’m sure you will be a marvellous wife and partner. Waiting to hear from you about the paintings F-i-L is gifting you and also looking forward to the poems you are being gifted. Feel blessed and enjoy a lot. Believe me, you are lucky!

I would be meeting you as soon as you are here. Loads of love and Best wishes.

No one ever wanted me…

I did not know that my happiness would be so short-lived. I was rummaging through all my old books and novels, for many reasons – sell a few, keep some forever and give away some to my best buddies. My hand landed on this file of my parents, my curious brain said they might be love letters exchanged between father and mother and I will be going up to them giggling. They turned out to be adoption letters, with my name on it, calling my parents as the adopters and my 2nd paternal uncle and aunt as my Real parents. So, my real parents never really wanted me. Perhaps they wanted to kill me by going for an abortion. Thinking in the Mathematical line, that seems more likely because i’m younger than the 4 daughters of the uncle and aunt.

Well… so, my mom never really conceived me, did she feel the same way holding me like she would have felt holding her own? Did she get irritated when I bugged her? Would things have been different if I was her actual child? On the other hand, how did my aunt feel when I went to her house offering sweets on my selection to a Medical college. Did she feel proud of her genes? For once, did she feel guilty for having given me away to someone else?

There are these times when I feel unwanted. The same thoughts never allow me getting closer to a man. What if he comes and tells me the following one day – ‘You are really intelligent, kind and generous. But I don’t feel like writing or talking to you any more. It is an unfair world and I hope you understand’.

When I smoke, I see that disgust in people’s eye, I see them not wanting me. I see hatred in their eyes. Why are some of us so deprived of love and affection? I know it was not distributed in proportions when the Almighty was dividing it. I don’t feel jealous when I see a 60 year old mother talking to her daughter and caressing her forehead. I just wonder what I might have felt? Would that have seemed like ‘heaven on Earth’?