Cotton Votes
Five year old Mahesh was euphoric—the poll bugles, the jingles, the loud speakers, never ending cavalcade of election cars, free meals with dishes that he only dreamt of. He was fascinated. It gave him a feeling of a big festival, something that he had not witnessed in the six years of his existence. This was even bigger than Diwali which in a way is always a low key affair in his part of the world. Diwali for him kept getting darker with every passing year. After Mahesh was born, his father sold off his bullock so that the family could celebrate their first Diwali with Mahesh in a way that it was celebrated by you and me. From there on the next three Diwalis he ate only some dry chapattis and played with the only lamp that had kept lighting their evenings for the past many years. But worst was still in store. Last Diwali his father committed suicide. He was burdened with debt that he couldn’t repay and the cotton he grew added more to the mounting woes. His father was tired seeing Mahesh every Diwali without doing anything that could bring smile on his son’s face. So unable to make a difference to his life the poor farmer reached his acomodador (giving up point) and succumbed to the pressure of farming that is common to the soil of Vidarbha.
That was another year. The boy is too small to comprehend what has happened to his father. He still believes his ‘baba’ will come back one day, for now his ‘baba’ is on a journey to meet god. A lot of farmers in Vidarbha have embarked on such a journey from where they never arrive.
However, the boy is living in the present enjoying every moment of the election hysteria he is seeing around him and in his village. Millions have been spent in campaigning and in a battle of one-upmanship, every candidate is doling out more than the other so that they maximize their chances for a victory and then make back the money (even more) spent on the whole campaign and in securing a candidature for himself/herself. Even more will exchange hands in an attempt to form a stable government with the correct arithmetic. All that money spent in a span of a month could well be enough to at least bring a million farmers out of the debt trap they are often caught in. But that is a different story.
Election is a festival of our democracy and every politician is bound to celebrate it in style even if a life is lost every 8 hours. It’s an official figure according to government website – three deaths in a day in Vidarbha.
Like our media even Mahesh knows only Kalavati Tai who lives in a nearby lane. And why not she is now rich and has more money and compensation and more donations are still pouring in. Of the plenty TAIs in the neighborhood, Mahesh only remembers Kalavati, a widow who has become the face of Vidarbha’s agricultural crisis prevalent in every nook and corner of this suicide land. Thanks to Rahul Gandhi, his words are magical with powers to transform the lives of every name that he takes, as the congressmen come here in plenty and go away giving in plenty. However, they have closed their eyes to the 40,000 widows the region has nurtured since 1995. I think we need 40,000 or more Rahul Gandhis so that the plight of the land is brought to an end. All the national channels and leading publications are full of stories about Kalavati. Do a google search on her and one can spend hours counting the links. But why this hype around her. Are there no more genuine case studies to focus on or is Rahul’s manifestation of Kalavati the only thing left worthwhile. Her publicity has made her a star. She wanted to contest elections but pulled back at the last moment sighting poor health as a reason. Was it a threat of not getting pending monetary help or her son-in-law threatened to hang himself forced her to step back? Why did she initially decide to contest elections? Was it under pressure or was the dream to see herself at the helm of affairs in her district acted as the fodder? If an opportunity arrives we often tend to grab it without thinking of the consequences. This is a general human tendency. What value addition she would have provided had she contested and won? Perhaps someone else in the disguise of Kalavati would have controlled the proceedings and again the same story of Vidarbha would have been repeated. These are mere speculations but worth giving a mind.
Mahesh is having dinner, again the same dry chappatis that he has been used to for years. Even then he is still excited. He gently asks his mother out of curiosity, “Are you going to vote”. Her reply is no as she is fed up of the system which does nothing for people like them. But he insists she should. All that he has seen in the past one month has left a deep impression on him. He had never seen anything like this before. He is overjoyed and wants his mother to be part of this democratic celebration so that the 30 good days that has brought smile on his face gets a good end. And the end is his mother casting her vote. But at what cost? None of the candidates showed up to her when she was going through the worst, not even when she had lost her husband. There was no help, no ears, no government, no netas. She continued living in misery. So why should she vote now? Whom should she vote for? The reality behind their faces is the same. They have no caste, no creed. They come only once in five years when they want their votes. Suddenly another widow, a friend of hers, arrives and informs her that if they cast their vote in favour of Tukaram Baghmare they will get Rs. 10,000. However, she was denied of any compensation even when her husband committed suicide. She couldn’t prove that her husband committed suicide and bureaucratic hurdles made things worse for her. She was not educated enough or had male members in her family to prove her husband’s death as suicide. They even blamed her that her husband gave up his life not because of the burden of debt but because of her constant tirade against him for his poverty. She nearly passed out recalling the horrific days of the past. But finally she decided that she would cast her vote – Rs 10,000 was a big amount and at least could ensure good education for her child. And this decision would also in a way bring smile on Mahesh’s face.
Next day all the women and men came out to vote. Was it because of their believe that this time the candidate will make a difference to their lives or was it because 10,000 is a big amount for poor farmers like them to refuse? Whether it was the case of hope or lust they came out in numbers to cast their ballot. Long queue at the polling station left the babus frowning – “arey chai pine ka bhi waqt nhi milta...itne saare aa gye hai...jaise inki zindagi badal jayegi”. The farmers and their families kept waiting for their turn looking at each other and thinking which one of them will be alive to do the same thing after 5 years. Will the new government really make an effort to change their fate or will they keep dying in installments keeping up the tradition of death farming? Will the cotton votes have an impact for a new beginning? Hope should never die. Someone has rightly said the darkest hour of the night is just before the dawn. Has the hour yet come? What is the acomodador of the men in white? This we will leave it to time.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
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