Centuries back lived a king, in a large palace decorated with gold, silver, diamonds and rubies. The sun always rose in the east and the moon settled in the west, his people were happy, the grass grows green in my kingdom he used to say, the milk flows like the river, my cobblers are prosperous, my carpenter the best in the business. He was not wrong; in fact he boasted a little less, his empire had the best universities, the best Bazaars and the best artists. Such prosperity, such joy, the ministers all well read, well acclaimed, the masters of their subject. The king was revered; he was the lord of the land. The incredibly curious king read books, and experimented ideas, and one day in spite being advice against, he decided to inquire if his people desire to choose their King. The well read ministers said, "it’s not of much use, there's no reason why people would say yes." The king went on with the experiment, the people asked why this exercise when all is so well, we are happy, the king is good, and the God's are happy.
So came the scheduled day, and across the empire, under every Neem tree sat a box waiting for the secret yes and no, it was a festival of sorts, juices sold around the neem tree, people came voted and once they had voted the village headman's men took a note to make sure that no one votes twice. The King, his minister, their army, their sevaks and the plebeians all voted, one vote for all. The sun as always rested in the west and the day was called. The wish of the people would be counted tomorrow announced the king's courtier and the lights of the empire steadily went off for the night. When the cock bellowed early morning, the diligent officers of the kings collected the boxes, tumbled out the paper and started the counts of yes and no. The ballot was a secret, but the result was public, why should they choose their King when all is so good as it is? So as the sun rose higher in the sky and the sevaks started swaying their fans in the grand and largess common's court, came out the minister with the results of the count, he moved towards the king, the king asked him to stop and said "I will listen to the result along with everyone, do not come to me to whisper into my ears." The minister winked and addressed the crowd. He said "in the secret expression of their opinions a larger number of our citizens desire that they choose their King."
The court went silent, the gathered crowd stunned and the King stared into the vacuum, the minister continued "but obviously this does not mean that the King shall be chosen and the laws on the succession of a king and his retirement remain as they were." The King got up, with a signal of hand asked the minister to stop and said "in fifteen days from now we will have an election for the king, those who wish to be the king can participate." days later the boxes were again under the Neem tree, the juices were again sold and the sun again went to rest in the west, the next morning marked with the bellowing cock and the officer's went to work. This afternoon there were even more people at the common's court, none knew what to expect, the minister came out with a pause stood before the public, didn’t think of whispering into the King's ears on this occasion, and addressed an expectant crowd "The first elections to elect the King in our state concluded with the counting of the vote and the citizens of the state have decided that our king shall continue to be the King."
A long story cut short "In a prosperous empire, people wanted their king to be elected by voting, once given a chance they elected the king again."
Years later in a more descriptive land in a much more intriguing space, amidst the elections in the states we saw a revolution of sorts in the confines of a place that either fittingly or ironically has a name that invokes magic and surrealism, and on the urban roads of the land , Facebook and twitter came to life condemning anything corrupt in the country, '"this is the day nation waited for" declared a few and why not the educated affluent has once and for ever risen off his comfortable couch. No doubt it was a momentous occasion, the Laptop carrying technocrat had come down to the Mecca of protests, with chocolate in one hand, placard on the other, he marched from the roads to the chaatwaalah who enjoyed the sudden increase in sales. It was festive and the nation was bubbling, finally the tipping point was reached. The politician was nailed, the system was defeated, and when a little girl on my television screen proudly danced adorning a banner that claimed "Mera Neta Chor H" (my leader, he is a burglar!), many smelled a simmering revolution, but alas the conformist me, who was always inspired by the story of the democrat king was threatened by the gayety in voice of the newsreader who seemed to be in an inexplicable hurry, the only explanation I could think of was that she too had a bottled "Nimbu Paani" waiting for her to call off her fast, a fast of "uninterrupted and uninterruptable" babbling(as mani shankar aiyar being a politician was not allowed a say I borrowed his phrase as a part of mutual understanding).
The revolution seemed complete, the ideals were all laid down and the rich, the influential with all their erudition swore that they would root out the Neta who is the perpetuator of all evil that this land has ever seen. The candles burned and flamed the anger, the anger inflamed and the flames grew larger, the photographers huddled and swarmed, scrabbling over one another head they caught the moment, and in the photographers' fire some cynicist (cynics does not suffice to the grossness of their cynicism) saw a faith catching a flame or two. When a faith was asked to be replaced like the clothes and the Kitchen stove, a few sorry figures stood up to question, but then questions for a faith that is only half a century old are irrelevant. As I have already conceded I am a sad conformist, and on the first sign or sniff of a revolution I start worrying, so I was one of the cynicist, and I asked a few questions.
What if the faith is not ancient, it has yet helped us stay what we are, unlike our north, west, south or east, our democracy has provided us a unique position. And somehow the Netas have had their share of role in the proliferation of the democracy, why denounce everyone? I asked, and none heard. In the cacophony of the carnival of rejection I remained a loud mouthed cynicist, and I was condemned to a corner where my question turned into empty arguments which interested none. But I continued the barge of question, who if not the Netaji, I stated. The sounds got bigger, I got smaller, am I a minority? None answered, is this democracy? None answered, Who represents me, The Swami, the Accharya, the Guru, the Maulvi, the activist of the dams, the candle Lights, or What? None answered. Why answer to the minority, why listen to the minority, this is a participatory, open, true democracy, who needs minority, you seem to say I suggested, yet none contested. Anyone against the idea is a bribe monger, anybody with any idea is a dampener. Did someone say something, did I hear something? Does it matter I am a minority, a thin cynicist minority.
Why did the people ask for the vote in state of the King? He was the unimpeachable, redoubtable. Why need voting? Years back I asked my father the same question. “We want to have a say. The commons wish to speak for themselves." I was told. But why not let the most educated, the perfectly right minded choose for the nation? They won’t harm the cause of the country? It’s not about the highly educated he said, it’s about the greater good, it’s about the greater good of the greater number. So, that childhood wisdom was terribly wrong, those without a metric pass certificate cannot judge the right and wrong. In fact they are bound to choose the bigger evil, I learnt. It’s not just enough to be educated but it is the educated facebookphile, tweeting plebian that sees a strange affliction with Jasmine and Tehrir-Square, who shall speak for the greater good of the greater number.
I always debated, and none checked my instincts, somebody should have. I asked "Why choose the king again, what’s the point in electing to elect if you elect the same person all over again?" And I got an answer again, "The king was the suitable man and given and option the people rarely choose the wrong man, they want to elect to feel empowered and to make sure that no wrong man come to the throne." Hey give them an option I said, I thought I have a way out, I thought I have hit the bulls eye, none answered, the Television screen went angry, the countenance of that shouting man went angry, and I was given a good education. The Nation votes on liquor, the voting population is a liquor addict, cash ridden mass that sways where the money is, they vote when they are quenched. But the governments are toppled, Mps, MLAs loose, by your logic, being more powerful and prosperous they should not, in fact why don’t you talk of caste now? None heard this time and that angry man on television smirked with contempt. Am I talking to the vacuum, where's that education minister who listens them all?
"But it’s my land and it needs a different medicine, you cannot decide on the dose without consulting me" I sort of barked. But we asked you they said, we are your representatives. I thanked God, they said something. But hey wait a minute, what did they say? What did you say? I asked. None replied, some commented, some shared, some forwarded but none replied.
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