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An acute attack of decibilitis

Indians are amongst the noisiest people in the world. I live in Bandra, which claims to be a posh Bombay suburb. Yet, it is impossible to sleep at a decent hour since the two marriage halls nearby blare out loud music. Noisy bands add to the mayhem. The open space in front of our building is always taken up by organisers of exhibitions, religious discourses and circuses -- all of which result in high decibel levels.

But there is some relief on the election front. Though the 12^th Lok Sabha elections are less than a fortnight away, there is hardly any 'poll noise'. The candidates do not drive around in jeeps, blaring music and their poll promises through loudspeakers. There are no late-late night meetings. Crackers are not burst to welcome senior party leaders. Poll time, in Bombay at least, is very quiet.

We have to thank the Election Commission for this blessed state of affairs. Particularly former election commissioner T N Seshan. It was during his tenure that an element of discipline was brought into poll campaigning. Walls were not defaced, communal approaches in election speeches were stopped and, most important, the noise levels appreciably lowered. The current elections may not solve our political problems, but they will not be as noisy as they used to be.

For someone like me, who has been following election campaigning since the first Lok Sabha polls, this is a significant achievement. We were in Fort Cochin at the time of the 1952 polls. The Congress had no real opposition and, as was expected, swept the polls.

But, in Kerala, the situation was a bit different. The Marxists were quite strong in the state and their campaign was both aggressive and noisy. Red flags, the hammer and sickle symbol, workers' processions, loud sloganeering… we witnessed it all. Women marched shoulder to shoulder with men. Every street corner witnessed impassioned political speeches. Satirical songs were common. One of the candidates was symbolised by the 'bull'. The Marxists invented a song asking him to throw a rope around the neck of the bull and drag it away from the town, since he would not get any votes there.

There was plenty of noise during elections. Arguments were often heated, but there was hardly any violence. The Congress and the Leftists were major contestants and they really attacked each other. But once the heat and dust of the campaigning for the day was over, the rival groups often sat together for some arrack or steaming cups of tea.

The Marxists were certain they would be able to usher in a revolution, at least in Kerala, if not in the entire country. They were able to do this some years later, when the party captured power in the state and formed the ministry headed by EMS Namboodiripad. As a youthful supporter of the Left Front, I was quite thrilled by this remarkable checking the all powerful Congress.

But then, elections in the Indian democracy are organised at all levels, At the schools and colleges I attended, elections were held to choose monitors, class representatives and members of the students' union. In those days, these issues were decided on merit and not on the political affiliations of the candidates. In fact, political parties kept away from educational institutions.

College elections were expensive affairs, even in those days. Candidates had large groups of followers and often had to treat them to tiffin, coffee or tea and cigarettes. In many cases, the one who spent most lavishly was victorious in the polls.

Though I never contested an election throughout my academic career, I was a willing campaigner for several of my friends. Occasionally, there were complaints about my leader being rather stingy and restricting his entertainment to the cheapest of snacks, whereas his rivals had no qualms about ordering expensive dishes like badam halwa, wheat halwa and masala dosas for their friends.

The college elections had another welcome aspect. They gave us an opportunity to talk to the girl students. Normally, the sexes were segregated in those days and there was hardly any worthwhile communication. But. on the eve of the college polls, we could approach the girls on the pretext of asking them to vote for a particular candidate.

The girls, as ladies' representatives, had their own places in the unions. These were contested mainly by the boldest girls, who did not mind mingling with the boys. I was thrilled when one of the prettier-looking candidates for the LR's post asked me to campaign for her. For about a week, I canvassed actively, distributing handbills and preparing leaflets and banners. Mind you, all this without the normal tea and snacks consideration. Well, she lost by a narrow margin and burst into tears into tears as soon as the results were announced. For some reason, I felt guilty and avoided her for a long time.

Though normally sympathetic towards the underdog, I was never attracted to trade union politics at work. Particularly at newspapers offices. The journalists not only covered local and national polls, but also organised elections for various journalists unions' and contested them fiercely. Once a journalist won these elections and became a member of the union, he ceased to be a journalist and did not bother about the work he was supposed to do. This was something I could not understand. The unionists never took pride in their work and were not concerned if their paper came to be associated with shoddy performance.

Often, I wonder at the fuss made over such elections. Men and women who contest the elections to get into the managing committees of housing societies behave as though they are in the fray for the Lok Sabha polls from major constituencies! Their campaigns focus on abusing the members of the existing managing committees and accusing them of all sorts of corrupt practices. This process is repeated every year. The accusers of one year become the targets of attack the following year!

I don't think I ever contested any kind of election in my life. Except once. When, after the death of an existing member of the managing committee of the South Indian Society of Ahmedabad, some friends nominated me to fill in his place till the next elections. Foolishly, I agreed. Within a few days, the society organised a cultural programme and decided to bring out a souvenir. I had to sell tickets for the show and collect advertisements for the publication. I could do neither. The committee politely suggested that I be replaced by a more forceful, pushy lady. And I was both happy and relieved.