As we neared the last roundabout before Barmer, I saw Alhanna, the Detani sarpanch. Shafi picked him up and brought him home, and we had a long chat about helping those who had helped him and other matters. He looked uncomfortable—he may have sincerely wanted to help, but was clearly under pressure from Amin Khan to toe the line.
18 April 2009
Today is first day, first show after my official nomination. It being the middle of the wedding season, there are no meetings planned for the day—at any rate no public meetings with party flags. Even if we had decided to, it would not have been worth the effort since people are busy with various wedding feasts. The place to connect with crowds of people is at the wedding lunches, and that is where we headed.
The first halt was Gohda, a long drive from Barmer. It was not a wedding but a Prajapat nyat since somebody had passed away, and a Ganga bhoj was a good occasion to call the Prajapat community together. The dhani was swarming with people when we reached there. The sarpanch said to me that more people had landed up than expected as they had announced that I was coming. Sweet of him to say so, even if it was not entirely true. I was surprised to see the number of police there. After we were seated, Ratan Singh and the rest of the Chohtan team landed up. During the speeches, somebody from Palanpur spoke as well, exhorting the community to vote BJP. I restricted my speech to cultural values and the importance of events like this that bind us together.
Since I was already in the area it would be worthwhile to attend another such community function, so we went to Sawlasi for a Rabari wedding feast. The police were here as well, and it unnerved me. This had not happened in the previous elections. Moreover, they then came up to ask me where I would be going, and kept tailing me. I wondered if it was because of complaints about a child marriage and somebody looking for an opportunity to trap me at one of these events. I never figured out what the motive was. From Sawlasi, we made a brief halt at a Rajput event as I did not want any murmuring among the Rajputs that I was not attending their functions but only those of the other communities. Some people keep a mental register of such things, and why should I give them any fuel? I bade goodbye to the Chohtan team here and headed for Demba.
Maulvi Saleh Mohammed had told me to come alone, and without any party fanfare, for he had called the senior Pir of Luni Sharif in Kutch, and if news of this got out, people would throng his little village and disturb the Pir. There are a lot of followers of Luni Sharif in Barmer district, and the gentle Pir commands considerable respect. As we drove in, I saw a posh-looking Škoda with Gujarat number plates, which I presumed was the Pir’s. We sat under a thatched roof that made for a most comfortable spot in this heat. The Pir remarked that this was the traditional and natural air conditioning and it did, indeed, feel that way. He was very kind and sincere in his words and blessings. Maulvi Saleh Mohammed wanted photographs to be taken so as to make a story for the media; and, predictably, so many people crowded into the frame that I wondered if the photo would show anything at all. After the Pir left for Kutch, we retired to the maulvi’s madrasa office, where I made a pig of myself with the mangoes. They were just so delicious that I could not stop after just one. My morning Accu Weather check had told me that it would be a very hot day, so I put on the air conditioner when we left Demba.
There was another wedding event to attend before we could call it a day, and this took us all the way to Sihani, off the Barmer–Munabao road. It was mid-afternoon by the time we reached, and most of the guests had retired owing to the heat, while those who stayed sitting around were too exhausted to make much conversation. The groom’s party had come from Udaipur, and one of the buses had got its tyres stuck in the sand when the driver tried to reverse, giving rise to many jibes about outsiders not knowing how to drive on sand.
On the way back to Barmer, I got a call from somebody in Jodhpur, speaking in an aggressive tone about my not getting back to them. Some days earlier, the local bureau chief of a statewide Hindi daily had called to offer rates for a news package. I had heard him out and then given him my standard reply about asking the party office in Jaipur and then getting back to him. I had not, and now his senior was calling from Jodhpur to ask what had happened about their offer. I once again gave him my rehearsed reply. He snapped at me for not seizing his offer before hanging up. He then stopped all election coverage connected to me. When I got to the election office, we discussed this matter and the unanimous resolution was not to pay even a rupee for buying news space. I had been a journalist long enough to know something about media ethics. There would certainly not be any compromise on that account.
9 April 2009
Today is the third day without my morning kick-starter, café crème, but I seem to be managing quite well without it. My first programme was a temple dedication function at Sarwadi, and I reached well before the given time to find all the well-known local holy men already seated. Tulsa Ramji Bapji was, of course, centre stage, for he holds the most senior place in the Rajpurohit community, and the temple had been constructed from funds collected by their expatriate members. There was a big attendance from outside the district as well. I excused myself before the function was over as I had a long drive today and managed to do so without inviting any snide comments. Mama and Dimpu came there after I left and I was told later that their visit was very well received, especially by Tulsa Ramji Bapji.
Amra Ramji, the former MLA, was accompanying me now, but I did not tell him about the Majiwala programme as they did not want him there—the entire village had gone against him in the last two Assembly elections, largely because there was a candidate from their own community, the Prajapat. So I told him to go on ahead and that I would catch up with him. I turned into Majiwala and was welcomed with great warmth. This had once been a part of the Jasol panchayat, panchayat, besides which there was an older connection as well—they had been the main potters and rug makers for the family during the days of feudal rule, and now they chided me affectionately: ‘You ignore your own village, you take us for granted,’ and so on. But I left with many blessings from them.
The Accu Weather prognosis for today was even hotter than yesterday—marked in bright red, it read 49°C, and since there was now a long stretch of road before we got to the next wedding feast, I had Hukum Singh switch on the air conditioner. We caught up with Amra Ramji at the Guda Mallani highway roundabout, and I was pleasantly surprised to find Sawla Ram, once an aspirant for the BJP ticket from Guda Mallani, as well. I did not expect him to come back from Bangalore, where he had a computer business, to help me during the campaign.
I knew we were headed for a major function among the Kalbi community, but that still did not prepare me for the show put up by Dana Ram at his farmhouse near Lunwa. It was huge, and I wondered at the tremendous task involved in transporting all those materials from so far, to a distantly located farmhouse. I was seated next to Shikarpura Bapji, who heads the Kalbi community temple trust in the Jodhpur district. They hold him in the same esteem in which the Rajpurohits regard Tulsa Ramji Bapji, the head of their community trust in Asotra Brahmdam.
As we left the farmhouse, more such programmes got added to the list: ‘Since you are already here you might as well . . .’ was the standard opening line. They were all in the vicinity, so we hopped over to the Rajpurohits’ dhani for their Bhopaji’s function. He was the first bhopa, a priest-singer, I had come across in the Rajpurohit community. After a short stop, it was over to the Rawna Rajput dhani and then the last bit was Sindhaswa. What struck me about today’s rounds from one wedding to another was the fact that there were safas for us at every event. Politics has perniciously influenced what once was a singular cultural statement, a meaningful gesture. I had to tell them that today the only VIP is the groom, and he alone should be given a safa.
We stopped at Guda Mallani on the way back, for the village Dosi family had a wedding to celebrate as well. I did not stay long, barely touching the sweets offered. From here, it was straight to Balotra for the wedding recep
tion of a local BJP councillor. When I saw the two factions still keeping at a distance from each other, even physically, I realized that the dispute between them, which I thought had been settled, was still unresolved.
Back home, it was too late in the night to call Harshini, and just as well, for I learnt later that she cried while speaking with Chitra. She would have made me, too, miserable. As Hamir’s email did when he wrote that he had registered with some other football clubs and I was to confirm for him. Silly fellow!
20 April 2009
I feel strange today since, for a change, I am not running around like a headless chicken, as normally happens to a candidate during elections. There was nothing much slated for today so I thought I would tie up with Ibrahim Sameja for a visit to the Bibi Mitha Dargah outside the old village of Gagariya. I told Murad about it when I went to his house, but Murad does not trust Ibrahim Sameja, so I left it at that, and we decided to go to the dargah on our own. Election time is like the silly season in Formula One, with all kinds of gossip and suspicions about changing loyalties.
We left for the dargah in Murad’s Scorpio and once we got there, I realized that since it is located on a hilltop, we would need a four-wheel drive to reach it. Somebody brought a jeep, but so many people got into it that it got bogged down. I thought it would be better to walk up, which is what should have been done in the first place. It is a stunning location, always very breezy. Since today was Monday, the saint’s auspicious day, there were many people there, including a fair number of women, as I told Chitra, who was to come here later. It was a pleasing ziarat. We had told Ramzan, the former sarpanch, we would be dropping in at his house on the way back, and that was where we had lunch.
I came back to our home in Barmer and found I suddenly had so much time to kill that it unnerved me. Was I going wrong somewhere, I kept asking myself. But I had been at it since January and had covered virtually the whole constituency at least once. Was there election fatigue among the party workers, since we had been at it for the last few months? Or were they simply fed up with me? I did not find an answer to my doubts.
Kheema Ram Bhopaji, renowned for seeing the future in his dreams, had asked me to visit him after filing my nomination papers, for he expected to have had a dream by then. Since there was plenty of time today, I thought it better to get it over with. He opened the proceedings by remarking that I was a believer. I told him, yes, and that I begin my day with prayers. He took out what he had written from his dream and said, more will come later but in the meantime things are going well. He then asked about a person in the family whose name begins with ‘Bh’. I said my brother’s does—it is Bhupendra—to which he said that my brother will be an MP in the next elections. I laughed as my brother does not have any such plans. We again went to Kheema Ram’s dhani, and it was a delight to see his children. Looking at them, I thought about Hamir and Harshini in boarding school. Two young boys came over and said that their father had requested me to visit them as well. I agreed and drove through the sands to Ran Singh’s dhani, where the impressive size of his house, in the middle of the sands, surprised me.
21 April 2009
Today, again, nothing was planned, so I decided to do some ‘checking rounds’. This way I get to meet key players in the various sectors and see how they have planned things. I first went to Sedwa where there was another wedding programme, then to Kundanpura to meet the key players at Haji Dost Mohammed’s house. He has taken control of the campaign in this area to prove a point to his one-time friend Abdul Hadi. I had asked Lal Singh, a loyalist rather than a party worker, to be present as well. I told them they were investing more energy at this stage than anyone else in the constituency, and I did not want them to lose steam by the end of the campaign, so they should take things a little easier.
From here, it was a non-stop drive to Kanod and we had the air conditioning on again. AccuWeather predictions for the days ahead are even worse. Kanod is functioning as headquarters for the Baytu Assembly segment, which is expected to be the worst sector for us. The caste break-up being what it is, and with voting expected along castelines, we didn’have much of a chance in this Assembly segment. Nevertheless, the party workers were all primed up.
I came back to the party office to find a team of young boys who had come from Pune. They live there for work or education but belong to Barmer. I heard them out as they explained about some big leader who had sent them. And when they asked for money for expenses, I got up with a smile and said, ‘Do your work.’ They did not expect such a reaction for they remained seated, in silence. As I neared the exit door, some of the local workers began to complain about the absence of coverage in the Hindi daily. ‘We are working so hard but they are not carrying our stories,’ they said. I told them that I had been asked for money and I had not given it. There was general approval about the stand I had taken.
I got home to find that two of Chitra’s cousins had joined us. They had seen the last election as well, and knew some of the women around here. It was nice of them to come over to help.
22 April 2009
As the campaign has picked up, so have the demands for money from various quarters. The greed is growing day by day. Some are quite blatant about it, while others couch it in terms of chai-paani expenditure. Today, a Bahujan Samaj Party team came to see me at home as I was preparing to leave for the day. They began by saying how unhappy they were about the BSP candidate and that they wanted to help me. Their team is active in three tehsils, and they asked for Rs 10 lakh per tehsil. Join the club, I thought. I wanted to laugh but kept a straight face and said, ‘Let me see.’ Do they really think I’m such a sucker?
We began the day’s rounds with a long drive down National Highway 15 to Koliana, near Ranasar. There was a wedding to attend among the Muslims there. The final drive to the dhani was tricky as it involved going up a steep sand dune. L. R. Bishnoi was once again with me while we did the villages around the Dhorimanna area on both sides of the highway. When I told him that a team from the NDTV channel would be joining us for the day, he got even more charged up. Shivnath, the NDTV journalist, had called to say that he wanted to spend a day with me and would drive down from Jodhpur. I gave him directions to Dhorimanna and we met up there. He was completely awed by the terrain—the arid landscape, the sand dunes, the acacia, animals grazing, gazelles roaming without fear of being hunted and the vibrant colour of the clothes all seemed to have done the trick on him. Maga Ram Nain, once a sarpanch and now a local strongman, had taken over the responsibility for some of the meetings and he did a good job of it. In Loharwa, his village, we were first taken to the Shani temple, the first one I had been to in Barmer. Somebody from his family had gone out and had been a success at business, and in gratitude had made this temple, the upkeep of which now was the responsibility of Maga Ram Nain. It was a lively meeting and Maga Ram Nain kept to his standard line about India having had only two prime ministers who understood the Indian village scene—Charan Singh and Atal Bihari Vajpayee. After the meeting, Shivnath wanted a village walkabout shoot, and he asked questions as we walked along the road, with curious children jostling to be in the frame. I felt strange speaking in English after so long. At times, I had to search for what should have been easy words and phrases, but they were stuck way back in the recesses of the mind. Had it really only been six weeks since I started campaigning? I had been so immersed in the district and its politics that contact with my other life had virtually vanished. It really felt like I was on a long trek in a remote part of the world where hardly anyone from the urban world could reach me. I felt lonely all of a sudden. Seemed like I was running on autopilot, and adrenalin.
We ended up in Udasar, by which time night had fallen. It was not a large meeting but still big enough to be called respectable. Hanumana Ram is the local sarpanch and I like him a lot, but he was not at the meeting as he belongs to the Congress. He has handled all my previous meetings but only because they were not at election time. On the drive back to Barmer
, Shambhu Dan, sarpanch of a prominent Jaisalmer village and a BJP activist, called to say that Harish Chowdhury, the Congress candidate, had had a good round of meetings in the Basya area, so we would have to make another round there. I did not quite buy the logic, for rounds cannot be repeated again and again since the area is so large. But then he is a sarpanch so I need to pay greater attention to what he says.
I checked out the final list of candidates for my constituency, as today was the last day of withdrawals. Just as I had expected, Lakshman Singh, who had filed his nomination as an independent candidate, had not withdrawn his candidature. Disappointing, and worrisome, too. Even though he is not a significant political figure, it was obvious that someone had set him up, and then it is a trick played on the electronic voting machine as well. Many voters get confused with candidates bearing the same surname. This is the oldest trick in Indian elections, whereby opponents get candidates with similar-sounding names to file applications, and the votes get distributed rather than consolidated. His brother is a corrupt panchayat secretary. But not much can be done about it now.
Campaign Diary Page 14