Caste your vote: From the mouth of a storyteller

This story was originally written in 2004, based on my first experience casting my vote. With November 5th around the corner, and voting season in full swing, I thought it was the perfect time to share this tale of chaos, comedy, and lessons learned. Let’s just say, I am far more prepared and thoughtful now.

Prologue

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Pritha, happy birthday to you!"

"How do you feel today, Pritha?" asked my aunt. "Do you feel any older?"

"As old as I felt yesterday, jethima," I replied with a shrug, though I knew it wasn’t quite true.

Today is my eighteenth birthday. I am finally an adult! And if you are the baby of your household like me, you probably relate. Gone are the days when my sister could end all conversations with: " You’re still a kid." I am officially a grown-up, someone who can make choices. I now had the power to choose the government that would run the country with my vote!

It felt so important ! I was already counting down the days to the next election.

Four Years Later

Today is the day; Polling day in Hyderabad.

My mind was buzzing with political chatter: “orange brigade,” “saffronization,” “fanatic.”

Images of candidates pointing fingers at each other on TV and snippets of my parents’ discussions about some allegations against Dharmendra (Bollywood actor) swirled in my head. Not that I cared too much about the details.

But this was my moment—finally, my turn to cast a vote.

I woke up as early as 7:00 AM, much to my mom’s delight. Even helped her with morning chores. Why? Because I needed her to come with me. After all, it was my first time voting!

At the Polling Booth

It was 10:30 AM on a typical summer morning. Why are summers always so hot, I wondered. The polling station was at Guru Nanak High School—a place I knew well from my senior year from high school, evenings spent getting coached for EAMCET (Engineering and Medical Common Entrance Test).

The smell of the air was exactly how I remembered it from my school days: a strange mix of dust, washing powder, sweat, oil, and cheap cologne. The banyan tree in the corner stood just as it had years ago, a silent witness to my teenage gossip sessions with friends.

OOPS!

"I’m sorry!" I exclaimed after bumping into someone., stop day-dreaming Pritha.

"Watch where you’re going young lady?"

I looked up to see a stout, brown-skinned woman in a brown sari. A name badge on her shoulder read Radhika G.

I gave her a guilty smile.

She gave me a once-over, her scrutinizing gaze making me squirm.

"Are you here to vote?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Are you an adult?"

What? That heart-sinking question again. Did I not look like an adult?

"Yes, I am. I’m 22," I said, sounding defiant.

She squinted at me again. "Name?"

"Joyita... Joyita Mukherjee."

"Jyothi?"

"No, Joyita. J-O-Y-I-T-A." I already disliked this woman.

"OK, OK," she muttered sounding a bit irritated, flipping through sheets of paper. "Hmm… 621… Jyotika Mukherjee."

“You mean Joyita Mukherjee right?”

"Yes that. ID card?"

I handed her my voter ID, where my name was spelled correctly. She examined it closely, as if trying to determine whether I was really me.

After what felt like an eternity, she handed me a slip, and I joined the queue.

The line was painfully long. The scorching sun beat down on us, and the familiar smells around me seemed even stronger. A woman in front of me had slathered herself with so much oil that the scent made me nauseous.

I look around, and only saw tired moronic faces. i attempted at smiling at a lady, but she looked back at me with such contempt. Wonder why?

The Sun, the dust, the smells.... its so inconvenient to vote.

My mom, standing beside me, spoke in Bengali: "Whom are you planning to vote for?"

This was a continuation of what she had said earlier, wish I had paid attention, I think it was about promises.

"I don’t know, Ma. Let me think."

"Vote for the lotus symbol," she urged.

"Hmm," I replied distractedly, scanning the list of party symbols on the wall.

Honestly, I wasn’t very politically aware, I had not done my research. My excitement about voting was more about the act than the outcome.

It’s 11:00 am already, when will this be done, I am hungry. May be we can go to Minerva for lunch after this, I am craving Biryani. But the biryani at Minerva is not as good as Cafe Bahar. May be I should do a pick-up from there and eat at work, get ready for the call i have with the customer at 3. He is such a pain, escalating every time he hears the word no. But Deepa could’ve used better language, she has been so distracted off late, I should get coffee with her and catch-up. I also need to catch up with Amrita, may be tomorrow,

‘Independent candidate"‘,

“Huh?” Did I miss out on something important?

"What are you thinking about?" my mom asked.

"Nothing," I replied, stepping into the voting room.

Finally, my turn.

The room was tiny and stuffy, crammed with officials looking as if they’d rather be anywhere else but here. In two corners stood enclosed spaces., one read "Assembly election" and the other "parliament election". I get to caste two votes, this is fun.

A woman in the same brown sari sat at a table with an electronic machine, with a bored expression. She barely looked up as she motioned for me to come forward.

"ID card?"

"Slip number 621?"

"Yes," I replied, handing them over.

Beeeeep, the sound came from one of the enclosures, signaling that the previous voter’s ballot was cast.

The official looked at me and said, "Your name is already struck off."

"What? Who stole my votes? This is voter fraud!” I think that is a thing.

"Madam, nothing so dramatic. According to our records, you’re married and have moved to Mumbai."

"Excuse me?!" I stared at her, dumbfounded. "I’m not married. Who told you this?"

"Your parents," she said matter-of-factly.

"When?!"

"During verification in November."

"But I’m standing here, with my ID card, telling you I’m not married!"

"Sorry, ma’am, there’s nothing we can do. You’ll need to visit the head polling officer at the Institute of Engineering in Khairatabad."

Frustrated and realizing there was no point arguing, I gave up. I was hungry and had to be at work,

I stormed out of the polling booth, sharing the bizarre story with my mom.

At lunch, mom, dad and me had an animated discussion on voter fraud and how this is a systematic approach of opposition.

A couple hours later

Hahahaha!! I just connected the dots!! In November, I had been in Mumbai attending a friend’s wedding. My parents must have mentioned that to the verification officer, and somehow that had been interpreted as ‘my’ wedding.

There is always the next election. Who knows may be I’ll have another exciting “life update” waiting for me.

October 2024

I can only hope that voters this year bring more thoughtfulness and responsibility to the process than my 22-year-old self once did.