When I got back home, Chitra gave me a report on where they had been. The women, too, are touring fairly heavily and their feedback is positive. I was once again under pressure to call Hindu Singh, Hari Singh and Dashrath, three important BJP figures in the border areas of Shiv Assembly constituency, to convince them to work for the election, since they’re in a sulk about something. I am pretty fed up with these pressure calls from people, which essentially ask me to ingratiate myself with people. I have made one attempt with each and none of them has responded, so let them sod off! Even if it means I will lose, I am not going to call them again.
23 April 2009
This is a mug’s game—people bombarding me with calls for money, asking for vehicles here and there, and then ending with the line: ‘Mahol kharab ho jaayega. ’ This can mean anything from the mood will get spoiled, to the environment will turn against us. It is meant to scare the candidate into instant action and distribution of all treasures. Plenty of con artists show up at election time, but I do not recall this kind of pressure last time—perhaps because there weren’t so many mobile phones.
Shivnath and his TV crew came over during breakfast as he wanted an interview before I left for my rounds. Some of those who saw the interview chided me for still sticking to porridge at breakfast, since they thought I should have moved on to other breakfast foods on leaving Mayo College. Told them I love porridge and cannot think of starting my day without it.
Today’s round was in the geographical heart of the Guda Mallani Assembly segment. The social composition of this area is such that it always seems to favour the Congress, and the BJP has never won here, neither during general elections nor the state Asssembly ones. So our expectations here are always limited, and our aim is just to minimize the damage. The Nokhda and Nimbal Kot meetings were organized by Daula Ram who, as always, put his heart into it. Both meetings, predictably, were sparsely attended and with a prevailing air of resignation. The discussions veered around to the pipeline being placed by Cairn India for transporting the huge finds of oil in the Thar desert. The Adel meeting was organized by Sri Ram Gaud, and he was far more cheerful than I had seen him in a long while. That was entirely due to the fact that his arch rival in the BJP had departed for the Congress during the Assembly elections, leaving Sri Ram the sole flag bearer for us.
The gatherings at Dholanada and Mangle ki Beri were large, but the size of the meetings does not seem to make any difference to the final result. Goliya Jaitmal had a fair crowd too, but what really took the cake was Maalpura, as there was absolutely nobody there! There must have been some communication gap, for earlier there used to be some party workers at least. We waited in a fairly under-used math, where the lady who was running the show kept on with a steady stream of questions. Sweet old thing, she asked about everything but politics, of which she knew nothing. What intrigued me about her was that she was dressed exactly as if she were male, as is the custom in the order she belongs to. There was nothing much else to do, so I told Hukum Singh to drive on the national highway on our way back to Barmer, as we would make faster time that way.
Shafi and his Ramsar team landed up at night, without notice. I was eating dinner then and felt bad to tell them to come back in the morning, but my sense of propriety did not allow me to meet them wearing my night suit. I checked my mail to find an invitation from the International Institute for Strategic Studies for the annual Shangri-La Dialogue. Sounded very tempting, but all I could tell them at this stage was that I had an election to contest. I was fast asleep after an exhausting day when V. K. Bajaj, a pollster, called very late to say the trends were not very positive. I could only tell him that it is close to midnight, so please let me sleep. There is nothing I can do about it.
24 April 2009
I would not have thought it necessary but it seems there is another round of Chohtan to be done. The whole campaign had, in fact, begun with Chohtan way back in January. Politically and socially, Chohtan is the trickiest of all the Assembly segments. It has the most socially challenging politics, in terms of caste and community and, in many ways, demands a trapeze act. Winning or doing well in this segment in order to make inroads into the Congress votes is a must, but wooing those who traditionally support the Congress could also alienate the traditional BJP voters. Over the years, I have made more rounds of Chohtan than of any other segment. I always enjoy travelling through it, for each journey is a learning experience. What took me by surprise were the levels of energy, enthusiasm and zeal through the day, from the first meeting at Konra to the last one at Salariya. It reminded me of 2004. I was pleasantly surprised by it and told them so. I also told them that the journey had begun from here, and that it had been a lonely one when it began. In the beginning, very few had joined, so much so that there was loud speculation about my moving to Jodhpur or Jalore to contest from there. I told them I had come to do politics in Barmer, for Barmer, and would not think of moving anywhere else.
Maulvi Saleh Mohammed was with me through the day. He reminded the people that when I had come in January for the campaign, I looked as though I had come from Kabul or Kashmir. ‘And now look at his colour, how dark he has become in the last four months.’ He made me blush every time he said it, and he said it often enough.
The Congress was playing its usual tricks. At the Mithe ka Tala meeting, fairly large numbers had gathered near the venue. During the programme, there was a commotion and, when I inquired later, somebody pointed to a donkey that had BJP flags tied to its ears! Then, there was a false complaint about the meeting at Gohad ka Tala, after which there was a police presence at each meeting. There would always be some official or the other all day, at all my meetings, with the official videography team. It was unnerving in the beginning but after a while I learnt to ignore them.
At Bawri, I was joined by a sweet-looking Delhi journalist who had called to say she would be coming to Barmer. She had obviously done her homework, for her questions went deep into local politics as well. At Swarupe ka Tala, the meeting, as always, was held under the enormous neem tree that I remembered from my first election. We were now a mere stone’s throw away from the Pakistan border. The Nehru Yuva Mandal here is the most active of all the associations in the district.
The senior Pir Sehlau accompanied me for half the day, since a number of his followers are in this area. He does not speak much over the mike but, at the end of each meeting, he would offer duas, and after a while I wondered what the Delhi journalist must think about my campaign that has dargahs and duas as an integral part of it. Allah Bachaya joined us late in the afternoon, and I was very happy to see him after a long time. As the sarpanch, he has been targeted by some people since the Harpaliya stone-throwing incident. I had to tell one of the officials that Allah Bachaya lives up to his name and would not harm anyone. Luckily, he is still a free man.
We ended the day with a very charming meeting at Salariya, which is the panchayat to which Maulvi Saleh Mohammed belongs. It is largely a Koli village, and it is a desperately poor and introverted community. The Kolis, in fact, are the poorest amongst the Scheduled Castes, and straddle the Rajasthan, Gujarat and Sindh borders. So poor that Maulvi Saleh Mohammed and I had joined hands to have a small temple constructed for them. It had been their primary demand when I had asked them earlier what they needed. So now, it was being labelled as the MP–Maulvi temple. I did not mind the label.
It was not a very long drive to Chohtan, where I was to stay at Roop Singh’s farmhouse. I had stayed there earlier, and sleeping out under the stars makes for a brilliant sleep. I had another one like that tonight.
25 April 2009
The term ‘fresh as a daisy’ was coined for nights like this, and the sleep they give us. I was awake and ready to leave a long time before the Delhi journalist returned from Barmer. I asked her if she had ever slept under the stars in the desert. She had not and said she could have kicked herself for missing out on the opportunity. She was to accompany me for half the day and then return via B
armer.
The first meeting was at Alamsar and on the way she asked about Chitra’s rounds and their impact. I told her that in 2004, Chitra’s campaign had made page-one news in Rajasthan, something which I had never managed. She laughed when I added that that was natural, since Chitra is prettier. After the Alamsar meeting, Mithan Shah’s mother blessed me warmly, moving her palms over my head and face. His is the most prominent of all the syed families in my constituency, and their blessings are considered very auspicious.
The mood now really does seem different, more positive, compared to what it had been when I began, for Dhanau was a huge gathering, just outside the Devi temple. I went to pay my respects there before joining the meeting. During the meeting, a dervish came and sat by my side, and kept on tugging at my sleeve for some money. He began to cry when I got into the Scorpio without giving him any. I felt bad seeing him cry like that. Over the years, I have always given him something, but this being election time, and complaints flying thick and fast over every little sneeze as a violation of the code of conduct, the last thing I wanted was another controversy.
The meeting at Burhan ka Tala was spirited, and the mood seemed to have rubbed off on Maulvi Taj Mohammed for he gave a wickedly tongue-in-cheek kind of speech, suggesting how neglected this village is. This was the village of Abdul Hadi, one of the senior-most Congress politicians of the district, who had been an MLA many times. ‘Why does this village have no secondary school?’ the Maulvi asked, and then answered, ‘There is no secondary school because he doesn’t want educated voters.’ He continued in this vein.
Chitra called as soon as we left Sawa and said that Ishwar Singh, my father’s maternal uncle, was going to meet Hindu Singh, one of the local BJP leaders who was avoiding campaigning for me, and that they would call me from there. I really thought it was a waste of time but kept my views to myself.
It was back to Sonari once again because L. R. Bishnoi wanted to make a big event of it, and the last time we were here it had not been much of a show. This time it was full of Bishnoi gusto. Chitra was supposed to have been present as well and, for that reason, a lot of women were present. A twenty-something mother with a most graceful neck was particularly noticeable among them.
It was with some trepidation that I reached Gangasra, for there is a person in the village who does not seem to like me, and he has interrupted my meetings in the past with inane arguments. Last time I bumped into him, there were complaints about water, even though some handpumps had been installed and were working successfully. He wanted the system under his control, whereas I pushed for community sharing. So I was happy when the meeting passed peacefully and warmly.
That was also the case at Phagaliya, where the sarpanch had collared me the last time I went. No sanctions, no funds, and so on, he had complained. In the presence of everybody then sitting in the panchayat hall, I had phoned the gram sewak to let them know all that had been sanctioned. He kept quiet after that and was reserved today as well. But the others present—and they were a fair number—gave a positive direction to the meeting.
At the Panoriya gathering, I was happy to see a good balance among the communities present at the venue, for Panoriya tends to get dominated by a couple of them, Bishnois and Rajputs. At Sihania people were waiting near Pir Pagaro’s dargah, and I went to pay my respects there first. I had promised to help with the renovation of the dargah after the elections, and I was reminded of that pledge by Waris. He always greets me by saying ‘Jai mataji’, which I find remarkable in this era.
The way to Bherudi took us through some dirt tracks along which lay very pretty Bishnoi dhanis. The impact of the Bishnoi tradition of protecting wildlife became apparent when my driver had to stop the Scorpio as a gazelle crossed the road in a most casual manner—it was not in the least scared by the vehicles. Maulvi Taj Mohammed had reached Bamarla before me and was in full swing when I got there. It was the last meeting of the day, and under a darkened sky. I could smell the fresh sangris hanging from the khejdi tree above us. There was a good gathering but I was worried by the presence of a number of people who had crossed the limits of their alcohol tolerance.
When I lay in bed at the farmhouse outside Chohtan, the sky was dark and then I remembered that today was amavasya. I was away from home and so would miss the delicacies cooked for today, especially the galwani, a local sweet made out of melted jaggery, flour and fragrant seasonings. Today was also the birthday of Kismet, my first friend from Welham Prep School, and I had forgotten to wish him. He was also contesting an election, near the Nepal border, and from a different party and must have been fast asleep—it was very late when I turned in.
26 April 2009
I woke up after a dream about horse riding. I had gone through a period in my life when I was obsessed about horses and riding. Before sunrise and after classes, I would be on the riding trails. But even after that phase had passed I would occasionally dream about horses. Last night I had dreamed of horses after a very long time. Today was also the last day of my Chohtan rounds.
Today’s rounds were in villages north of the Chohtan hilltop, the most prominent hill feature within a hundred kilometres. I recalled a text message from a friend, sent from Tibet, which had said: ‘In front of me the Potala, and behind me the Tsangpo’, or some such thing. I had turned green with envy then, and today, many years later, I sent my response: ‘Before me, the Chohtan hilltop, and beyond that, the Radcliffe Line’. Nobody in their right mind would equate one with the other, but I still got a kick from the whole exercise.
Just like the paar villages in the Ramsar area of the Shiv Assembly segment, the Chohtan belt has a large number of villages that are called either tala or gaffan. The former indicates a source of water and the latter derives from the burial site of someone prominent of the area. Today’s round would cover all the gaffan villages and the rest of the tala villages. Allah Noor, the junior Sehlau Pir, was with me throughout the gaffan villages, as these are connected to their dargah. And at every meeting, he would tell them about how I had helped in his visa case, and how the family was indebted to me. His wife and child had been stranded in Pakistan for many years, as she was unable to get an Indian visa. I had intervened with some compassionate officials and they had helped out. Now, his wife and son lived in their picturesque dhani.
My Scorpio had a breakdown near Kelnor and I had to switch to another vehicle. It was the kind of breakdown we all dread—one that involves a loud noise in a desolate place. It was also 45°C in the shade. I told Hukum Singh to check what it was and take the Scorpio back as far as he could and as slowly as he could. At Navatala, we were packed into somebody’s courtyard that was just bursting with people of all ages, and suddenly a dancer began moving without music, in the middle of the crowd. As the people parted, the dancer’s tempo increased and the pink ghaghra kept moving in a perfectly circular motion. Then I noticed the faint moustache and realized the dancer was male.
At Dedusar, Pratap Singh became very emotional and told the people that he and Roop Singh were together today on this platform and that everyone else should be united as well. Roop Singh is the person with whom I stay in the Chohtan area and, though closely related, he and Pratap Singh are at daggers drawn. In fact, their family squabbles are the subject of conversation all over the district. The Bawri brothers, too, were present. They too are engaged in a running battle with each other but were together for my meetings. It made me wonder why I should continue to be pestered to call up such-and-such a person who was sulking, when those who were feuding were now united in supporting me.
At Mate ka Tala, it seemed as if my dream had come true for waiting outside the village was a dressed-up horse and a contingent of people that included Maulvi Taj Mohammed. I rode the horse to the meeting venue, and opened my speech by asking them whether they had questions about my character, and so on. When they emphatically said that I do not fib, I began to tell them about my horse dream that morning. That added an extra charge to the atmosphere. Meanwhil
e, Hukum Singh had brought the Scorpio, with a minor repair job done. I checked my phone in the glove compartment and saw there were 105 missed calls.
At Barmer, I went looking for Saudan Singh, the national General Secretary of the BJP who had come on a checking visit. I had been given the room number of a hotel that is located in two separate buildings in the town. Foolishly, I had failed to confirm which one he had checked into and, in the process, woke up a very sleepy East European who must have been on the hunt for oil all day. I found Saudan Singh at the main hotel in the city centre. He has a smiling, pleasant face, and was very warm even at the late hour when I met up with him. He told me there were good reports about Barmer, but he wanted to check for himself. By the time I got home, I was too tired to check the score of the Liverpool match at Hull City.
27 April 2009
I woke up at five this morning. I did not need to get up so early, but my eyes would not stay shut, and the first of the bird chirpings had begun. Even before washing my face I checked on the Liverpool score at Hull City. It gave me such a thrill that I planned to see the goals in the highlights programme later this evening.
Today is Akha Teej in local parlance or Akhshay Tritiya as it is called nationally. Tomorrow’s newspapers will certainly carry a child-marriage photo from some district of Rajasthan or Madhya Pradesh. The Jodhpur papers will even have a photograph of some old men holding an opium ceremony, and the Barmer ones will have similar stories about old men sitting around a heap of grain and looking for clues about the monsoon. It is an important and most auspicious day and the greetings for Akha Teej continue for three days. It was for this reason that the Baytu team had the opening of their election office fixed for today. I was under pressure from Murad and others to visit Negarda first, but I stuck to the office inauguration at Kanod.
Campaign Diary Page 15