The Chameleon In Red

The Game of who makes a bigger public nuisance is on !

Loudly and proudly we celebrate many festivals. Up in the north the skirt clad Rajisthani men dance to 'dol bajje dol', pretty damsels watch the moon through a sieve, Bengali's burns down effigies and the whole of the Hindi heartland gets soaked in colors. When you travel down to the Dravidan homeland, the festivals vary much. My Tamil brethren enjoy a week of Pongal while we Malayalees or your beloved Mallu's have the Onam. But there is one festival which is celebrated throughout the length and breadth of the country with equal vigor. A festival of many faces often celebrated once in five years. The elections. Presently the little patch of reclaimed sea bed called Kerala is suffering from one such occasion.

A sight that occurs once in five years

 The elections for the local bodies have kicked off in the state with half the districts got their index fingers painted and the rest waiting to do so in a couple days. The campaign as always was a noisy affair. They blocked the roads and blared the loudspeakers.  We even had our homes invaded by hordes of candidates with a smile that would make the dentist in me cringe. You should at least have brushed off the stains from the teeth before dedicating yourself into public service. To my relief the campaign season is now over, so is that of the smiling marauders whom hopefully I will see only after five years.

This election is important to me. Not because I care which of these clowns get a five year opportunity to loot us but this will be the first time I will be voting. I am a 30 year old joker in a country where anyone with a voters ID above the age of 18 can vote. In my defense, I was busy studying out of station and never felt it worthy enough to take a leave to come home and vote. May be I am after all an advocate of totalitarianism. This time, I am settled at my home town, have free time and got no valid excuse to convince myself not to vote and hence, here I am as a law abiding citizen about to perform his fundamental duty.

But there is one little problem. Even though I have never voted, I am deeply political in nature. Like every other Mallu, I have a strong opinion on everything under and over the sun. My family since three generations back is die heart communists. So much hardcore that my grandfather was one of the first party members back in the day communists were considered as enemies of the state. My father is one among the final members of true communists who was forced to hide during the emergency and till date considers Marx as a God (Oh the blasphemy). I am sure somewhere in my house he has a secret lair where he worships Che Guvera and Lenin. And yes, do not mention the word Poland to him.

The Communist 'Party

Myself being an ardent reader from my childhood had devoured The motorcycle diaries, Mother, War and peace, old issues of the Soviet Union magazine etc back in my school life and grew up with wild ideas of socialism, equality, secularism and of course revolution. Like my father and his father before him, I saw my share of strikes, marches, sit ins, public address etc in my college life. I was a dedicated member of the Red League.

Then life happened. The communist party withered and died in most of the states and only left with a shadow of the former glory in Kerala and Tripura. The great leaders in Kerala who inspired the public like EMS, EK Naynar passed on to the Communist heaven if there is one. The last true comrade VS have been shelved only to be unleashed at time of elections. 

The political landscape all over the nation changed. Fed up with rampant corruption and minority appeasement of the congress lead coalition, the people turned to the right wing BJP and their charismatic leader Narendra Modi. The echoes of this change rippled even down south where the once super secular land was showing signs of increasing religious polarization. In a certain northern district only the green flag flutters and only the secular green party with a religious name wins. In central Travencore the shadow of the cross decides the political wind. With the two minorities vote bastion in hand the respective political class always found a way into the corridors of power and to be fair, they served their communities well.

Things went well until the majority realized that they are being taken for a ride; I being a member of the majority was aghast. What stung the most was not the action by the Congress party and its minority backed allies in robbing us of what we deserved but the betrayal of the communist party which we loved so much. They were supposed to be the guardians of secularism, they were supposed to balance the act, and they had to take care of the masses who voted them into power irrespective of our religious orientation. It was then I understood that secularism is a one way street and unless you are a vote bank, no one gives a fuck about you. Communism is dead and all that remains is an aura of the past. It was then I along with thousand others shifted our allegiance to the saffron. I battled my ex comrades with the same fervor that I once fought the fanatics. I became the man whom I once opposed. 

Fading Red, Surging Saffron

All this went well with me but not so with my Dad. He was least impressed with my new found zeal for Nationalism or the saffron surge that drowned the electorate. On the day of the elections as we walked towards the polling booth he handled over my ID card and told me, 'Remember who you are, remember your legacy, remember the history'. As I got my name verified and my finger painted, my mind rolled over and over. Dad being Red is his choice and so is myself being Saffron. I will vote for the Lotus. But since the time of independence and free voting, my family has always voted for the Hammer & Sickle and I will be the first person to break a tradition as old as this country. The crimson that flows in my veins is the same that flutters over my head, but the soil that I stand on shares the saffron that I hold so close to my heart. I looked at the electronic voting machine and there were over ten different names and symbols. Slowly they blurred out and all I could see was the Lotus and the Hammer-Sickle. My finger extended, an ominous beep was heard and as I walked out the returning officer gave me nod, the sentry at the door gave a quick smile and still the sea in me rolled on and on.