Ever wonder how Election smells? The long queue in the local Secondary School with the acrid odor of walls that have received a fresh coat of paint and the offensive stench of overflowing urinals that have been sought to be neutralized by the sprinkling of Election Commission ordained bleaching powder? That smell of an untimed Holi replete with all the scented gulal sprinkled on the winning candidate’s supporters? Or, that of a Diwali that does not promise the coming of the Goddess Laxhmi, but is accompanied with the abrasive smell of burst crackers and dashed hopes? That is, if you can sniff them out through the overwhelming and all-pervading stench of country liquor that fills the air even before you can say “dance of democracy”.
As we watch the Circus on Television, mesmerized like the foreign correspondents who have converged like flies on a dung heap to cover the show and unlike the “real” Indians who are going through the motions of electing the men and women who will steer them to a better tomorrow, ever wonder how it all smells? Before you screw your collective noses in disgust and cover them with your sanitized hands … think about it. The smells, that accompanies the biggest Democratic process in the history of mankind.
Look at the principal protagonists. The “tea boy” who grew up to be a self styled superman. Does he reek of Railway platforms and the dried blood of innocent minorities from riots past? What does his much hyped Gujarat Model smell like? Of Garba and Cash? What does his party smell of – sandalwood paste and vermilion Advani or port ‘n promises Adani?
On the other corner is Prince Charming himself. Does he reek of bespoke Khadi Kurta’s that are vintage Armani, Italian pasta and expensive perfume as is being made out to be? Does the stench of “minority appeasement” hit you even before you see him? Or does he smell of baby food, pointing at his political infancy as his opponents’ claim?
Coming to think about it, how would the Congress party, the centuries old institution that the young “Shehzada” is leading to war smell like? Is it an olfactory reminder of some old fort with “Archeological Survey of India” notices not to deface the walls or defecate in the premises written all over it? Does it come, as they claim on perfume bottles, with a “whiff of the Freedom struggle with strong undertones of Secular pluralism with just a dash of Gandhian non-violence”? Or does it tang, like something that you bought at the bargain basement which has clearly outlived its shelf life and has a putrid odor of corruption with key notes of dynasty, dysfunctional democracy and dysentery?
Speaking of Corruption – and it is the biggest rallying point this time around – what does it smell like? Does it, as we are led to believe, smell of freshly minted bank notes that are in 50 shades of black? Or does it smell of the seedy underbelly of society where the Hawala operators thrive and politicians cutting across party lines make merry? Does corruption come in smells of suitcases? Or does it smell of a place – Dubai, Mauritius, St. Kits, Cayman Islands, even Switzerland? But that is only the corruption of the financial kind: how does moral degradation – surely a worse kind of corruption – smell? Legislators watching pornography in the Assembly; or for that matter a crook of Yogic proportions peddling for pecuniary gain cheap “medicines” imported from China with labels of “Ayurveda”; or men of religion sexually assaulting young devotees, while not singing paeans to “Bharat Mata” – do they have a trademark smell? Or do they all smell the same, of debauchery and delinquency and damnation?
When I close my eyes and try to think of the Honourable Prime Minister who will move on after this Election, the smells of association are overwhelmingly academic. He was, and politics be damned, one of the most well read and scholarly minds to have occupied the high office of this great land of ours. But what will replace the smell of economic theory and the Nuclear Deal and economic liberalization and the FDI in retail that his light blue turban and “sound of silence” represented? Fellow illiterates, we could not comprehend the meaning of his silence, and you think our cowherds and tea boys and sundry other charlatans would have understood the meaning of his words even had he delivered a Sermon from the Mount of Sinai? Or, for that matter, identified the smell of Keynes, or Marshal or Adam Smith?
They say, “The rose’s smell is bitterness, to him that loved the rose”. But seriously what will replace the lingering smell? Will the smell of the fresh roses of liberalization and resurgence be replaced by the sulfuric odor associated with the Devil Incarnate of right wing belligerence? The stench of burning rubber, that, one naturally associates with, mindless fratricide? The gut wrenching, vomit inducing stink of political water finding its intellectual level in the Cow Belt, replete with the shit floating to the top with all its xenophobic and naked paranoia?
As the Electoral process heats up and the stakes become higher, the one “fragrance” that is becoming overwhelmingly common is that of propaganda, or of a pogrom, or a purge. It’s a rankling smell in Black and White reeking of racism and brutal bestiality – of Auschwitz, of the Schindler’s List, of the Dairy of Annie Frank, of the Holocaust, of Joseph Goebbels.
I say this because when “they” run out of logic and cannot defend their Castles made of cards on the foundation of lies posted on Facebook walls (liked and shared by fake followers) they get personal and do something they are good at: hit below the belt. From “Pseudo-Secular” to a “Family Retainer”; from a “JNU stooge fed on Russian dole” to a more direct “Commie Bastard” the expletives come thick and fast smelling of dirty Khaki knickers, dirtier minds and … paan masala that they spit all over the place.
And this makes me wish I was of canine origin, with the ability to sniff out the grains from the chaff. Imagine being a trained sniffer who is able to identify the dope and the one on a mission – to blow everything to smithereens. Oh, the fun of it all – of deliberately mistaking some of the obnoxious morons in the fray as lampposts and raising one’s foot in a bladder relieving salute of an Aam Admi!
But the ability to sniff, search and engage would disqualify me as a voter so I guess I will do with my much less evolved nose and keep poking it into reeking matters that are none of my business. But still go out and exercise my franchise. In times like these, every right smelling vote counts.
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