Campaign Diary

by Manvendra Singh

  The meeting at Rama was heart-warming, and I was even given a touching farewell in verse. These are Charan villages, home of the traditional Rajasthani bards, whose literary expression is through verse rather than prose. The Fatehgarh meeting, held at the side of National Highway 15, was forced on me, though I didn’t think it was necessary. As I left, Chandan Singh called from Tejmalta to ask if Basya was part of my constituency, as he did not see any sign of a campaign there. Eugh!

  May 2009

  1 May 2009

  It looked really dull and gloomy outside when I drew open the curtains in the morning. But that was not on account of any clouds; rather, it was a heavy dust haze. This is a common phenomenon at this time of the year, but today’s was the first one of the season. Although a dust haze lowers the temperature a bit, it also impedes mobility. Moreover, with all the dust outdoors, an audience is hard to come by.

  Today’s round was a routine recap of familiar villages, but some meetings had been cancelled. The reason given was rather convoluted—that my visit to the Muslim villages here would send the local Muslim spiritual leadership into a hyperactive mode. Since these villages in any case wanted to vote for me, there should not be any meetings there, otherwise Ghazi Fakir, Pir Pagaro’s main representative in the area, would exert more pressure on the villagers than they could bear. Sounds completely ridiculous in a situation of electoral politics where contact with the voters needs to be maximized.

  Anyway, I now turned my attention and energies to the upcoming programmes this evening in Jaisalmer and Barmer, where Hema Malini was coming, and I wanted to ensure good public meetings. I had wanted Hema Malini for the nomination-day rally but had not succeeded because the schedules were drawn up by the programme coordinators in Delhi. Data would also be free from his Darjeeling campaign from today, and he was expected to accompany her. But with the dust haze, I did wonder how the aircraft would be able to land in Jaisalmer.

  It was even dustier when we got into Pithla, which is not very far from Jaisalmer. It was amusing to see an ingenious water-feed for birds in a tree here: a helmet hanging from a branch. The elders here, being clan members of my mother’s, had been complaining about my infrequent visits to Pithla, and, of course, that matter came up in the usual half-jocular way. After that, they all expressed a clear commitment: ‘After all, you are family, and we would not dream of opposing you.’

  Today was my first visit to yet another spectacular temple in the Jaisalmer district. The location of Nabh Dungar matched—if it did not surpass—that of Kala Dungar. It entailed yet another drive through a lunar landscape, but the successive turns in the road did not give any hint of the temple we were approaching, as do Temre Rai or Kala Dungar, for example. And then suddenly, it was there in all its glory. There was a bunch of chinkaras grazing on the rocky slopes as we negotiated the steep climb. I wondered what nourishment they could possibly find on such slopes, but such doubts don’t do justice to the hardy spirit of the chinkara. I lit a jyot at the temple, which is unique in having a statue of many gods carved on to one stone, unlike any I’d seen before. There was nobody around to tell us how such a statue came to be made for a place as remote as this.

  There was enough time before the night-time rally for me to head back to the hotel and have a wash. Then I had a hard time trying to tie my safa. Sometimes it is just difficult to tie, while at other times it seems the easiest thing in the world. Clearly I was having a bad-safa day!

  The visibility was still poor, thanks to the dust haze, and when we reached the gates of the air force station, the senior sentry informed us that the plane carrying Hema Malini had been refused permission to land by the local Air Traffic Control (ATC). But as we turned back, a message arrived from Barmer saying that they had left by road and would be here well in time for the meeting.

  I decided to receive Hema Malini and her entourage outside the city and escort them to the meeting venue, and we did not have too long a wait before they arrived, all looking completely exhausted. I was touched by Hema Malini’s willingness to come all the way to this border area in the desert for the campaign because, logistically, it is extremely taxing. My children had travelled along with her, and it was wonderful to see them after so long. Hamir certainly looked taller, as did Harshini. She seemed to have filled out, too. School food must suit her, I told her. This did not dissuade her from following the routine she has made for occasions when we meet after a long while. After the initial hug, the first word is always ‘godi’. And sure enough, she made straight for my lap. I told her it would not be long before she would be too heavy, even with her lithe build, to sit in my lap.

  The rally was at Gandhi Chowk in Jaisalmer, which was the perfect venue, what with the fort as the backdrop, and the beautiful arched windows and doorways all around giving it the feel of an amphitheatre. It was chock-a-block when we got there, for the popularity of the movie Sholay (which brought Hema Malini enduring stardom) goes across generations. The energy was all that I could have asked for, and the local media kept on making thumbs-up gestures through the meeting. I did not sit on the stage as Data was there, but had to make an appearance when it was announced on the mike that I was perched on the steps but that tradition prevented me from sitting alongside my father.

  I learnt later that during the morning there had been a tragic SU-30 crash near Rajmathai, formerly in my constituency but now, post-delimitation, in Jodhpur. (This was the first SU-30 accident, and this news would reverberate for some time to come.)

  2 May 2009

  Today was my birthday, but nobody, including me, remembered. This being my birthday according to the Indian calendar, it is not always easy to keep track of it. Most times it is Mama who remembers, obviously, and then Chitra. But this is peak election time, and everybody is too preoccupied. It was back to the Barmer side this morning with a large meeting at Langera followed by an impromptu stop at Balera where a wedding baraat had arrrived. Balera has an unusual bawri (stepwell) tucked away in the hillside. It is reputed to be very old. What makes it unique is that it is inside the hill, while most bawris are on flat and level land.

  It was a short stop, and then a quick run to Radwa. The landscape here is fascinating, with the villages tucked into the hills along the slopes. And at the bottom are undulating sand flows, rising to dune height. Radwa is so close to Barmer town—its inhabitants usually commute to Barmer for work and all their other needs—that it gets hardly any political attention. An ex-serviceman runs the party here and it shows in the efficient manner in which the meetings are organized, with chairs, tables, small flags and all the other paraphernalia that goes with a campaign stop.

  Some of the most important land in the village used to be held under the tutelage of Kubad Mata, the presiding deity of these villages. For some reason, it passed into the charge of the forest department and, since then, it has been a long battle to wrest back control. It was also an important grazing area for the villagers, although most of it involved steep hill climbs. Belief being what it is, they want the land back. And I have been doing a bit of letter writing for them, the end result being that the ball has been thrown as far as Lucknow, for some central body to determine the ownership question. Next up was Rani, another village of commuters, but politically and administratively more active than all the other nearby villages. A number of the inhabitants are highly educated, reasonably well employed (many are schoolteachers) and highly political. It is a starkly divided village, and vocal too. So when a meeting here passes peacefully, as today’s meeting did, it is always a relief.

  At the next meeting, at Ali ka Tala, I got the usual chiding about my ‘going past our village but not stopping to look us up’, and after that we stopped for lunch in the shadiest spot we could find, but it was not enough to give us any relief from the heat. By the time we reached Hathi Tala, I had a headache creeping up. The meeting was held in the sprawling shade of a large khejdi tree. At least here I had an uninterrupted flow of the breeze.

  By the time
we reached Bhuniya, my headache had become fairly irritating. Must have been fatigue setting in. The only antidote that I could think of was to drink a lot of water, but there was not much improvement. I was truly surprised by the size of the meeting at our next stop, Bamnor. This was the first time I would have a meeting here without the guardianship of the most famous syed politico in the district. Related to the syeds of Alamsar, the Bamnor one is the most active politically. He had been close to me through the years, but I did sense a distance once the Assembly elections were over and a Congress government came to power in Rajasthan. Change of guard, change of heart, I guess. I had dropped in at his place sometime back but he was not there. I had been assured over the phone that he was committed to me but I did not get a sense of that today at the meeting. He was well and truly absent! We began the meeting with a visit to the dargah, to which he had never taken me. There were many calls throughout the meeting to end the syed’s monopoly in the panchayat, for he has been elected sarpanch on a continuing basis, but it is not easy to break a monopoly.

  There was a roadside meeting at Bachdau, and after that at Sanawada in a Meghwal dhani, and then we headed towards Barmer, with two more meetings to attend. By the time we got to Garal, where the meeting was a short one, it was fairly dark, and somebody decided to switch on the tractor headlights to illuminate the meeting. We finally got to Mahabar, which is so close to Barmer that the town lights can be easily seen from any corner of the village. The meeting was held near the Pabuji temple, and it was well attended as this was a large village. I was so tired that I promptly turned down a request for the customary post-meeting chat or food. The proximity to Barmer was the clincher, I think.

  On the way back, a schoolteacher very active in untouchability issues called to say that he wanted to meet, and I told him that I was still out. It was not a lie. And then Dungar Singh, a young lawyer and loyalist, was waiting at home when I got back, for I had committed to going with him to a Vankal Mata temple. I had completely forgotten about it. I promised to visit it with him the next day, excusing myself as I was grubby and exhausted from the day’s campaign.

  When I walked into the shower, for the first time since the campaign began I felt like having a thorough massage. The headache, however, vanished after the shower, and I felt much better. By then, Chitra and her cousins were waiting for dinner. Pinkie Jija kept pressuring me to request Rahul Gandhi to cancel his rally the next day. ‘You know him,’ she kept saying, ‘so please tell him not to come here and spoil our campaign.’ I just smiled it away, knowing fully well that I could not possibly do that. Chinkie Jija pinched my cheeks, as though I were a child—it was a belated birthday pinch, she said.

  3 May 2009

  As per my promise to Dungar Singh last night, I did the Vankal Mata visit with him. I had not known it was tucked away in a house that was itself on a tucked-away road. By the time we left the temple, the town unit workers were calling constantly, complaining that the padyatra that had been planned was getting delayed. But before that I had to visit yet another wedding feast with Surendra Singh, a youth-wing activist. He had been insistent and had even used Chitra’s influence with me. I finally joined the workers at the edge of the town, where the road goes on to Gehu and Lunu, for the padyatra. There was much fanfare there, with a small wedding band as accompaniment.

  It was too hot to walk, but there was no choice in the matter. And it was a long walk, through side alleys and bigger lanes, all the time raising both hands clasped together, since I cannot bring myself to wave like most politicians—I just find waving to be so un-Indian. But after a while, the constant raising of clasped hands does get rather monotonous and tiring. There were various stops at small temples, then at the shops and homes of leading townspeople. All with the workers’ chorus of: ‘Remember polling day.’ By the time the first stage of the padyatra was over, I was told by an accompanying friend who had come from outside that we had walked twelve kilometres. I was impressed! For someone who had never walked much—leave alone such a distance—I found the going rather good. Of course, the credit goes entirely to adrenalin. But nevertheless, it was great to stretch the legs. After all these days of driving it was wonderful to feel the ground continuously under my feet, even though I had to frequently take off my shoes.

  The first stage ended with a visit to a Rajpurohit wedding feast, where I got to taste some smashing kairi-gunda. It is a seasonal vegetable dish, and great for the heat, and so good after all these days of bland food. But I did not have much, as home food at Barmer town beckoned. Back home, I dozed off with the windows open to a hot and breezy afternoon. It was a real luxury to have a nap. By the time I woke up and started to prepare for the next bit of the padyatra, the local ETV channel chap had arrived. With the camera running, he asked me about Rahul Gandhi’s rally and then added that Rahul did not touch on any local issues. How was I to answer that? I fudged the answer, something like ‘There isn’t much happening in the state anyway.’

  The padyatra through the town resumed again in the late afternoon. This time it was on the other side of the railway line. I am constantly amazed at how bad civic amenities can be. I had attended a couple of the local municipal-body meetings and never found a larger development vision among the councillors. Came back home to have dinner with Chitra. Before going to bed, I watched the goals from yesterday’s Liverpool game against Newcastle United. Chitra remarked: ‘You would never wait up for me this late!’

  4 May 2009

  The first person I saw on leaving the house this morning was Om Prakash, a local wheeler-dealer, once again asking for money. He has been after me for days to fund some independent candidate, and I have been fobbing him off. He even went a little ballistic when I told him on the phone that I would talk to the candidate myself—he wanted to be the money courier in this matter. Incredible how blatant people can be! In the tent was Hamira Prajapat, a self-projected community influential, with his astonishing demands, which included a certain number of municipal plots as well. And during the day, Gattu Bana, my Barmer confidant, called to say that some others were harassing with similar demands. All this money business makes me rather sick.

  The first stop was at Kalyanpur, a long drive from Barmer, almost to the eastern end of the district. The meeting at Kalyanpur was lukewarm, to say the least—not surprising as politics cannot compete with weddings, and the wedding season is in swing. Although it was early, I had to eat here, as Daula Ram’s cousin was getting married. (Daula Ram is the local sarpanch-pati—his wife is the sarpanch of this panchayat.) I came to regret it later when I reached Bagawas where there was another major wedding function, for the kairi-gunda on offer smelled absolutely divine, but I was too full to eat again.

  There was an interesting meeting at Mool ki Dhani. Interesting, because the sarpanch who had given me much grief earlier was at the meeting. That was the day I had fallen sick with my stress acids acting up. I thought the sarpanch would take off again, but this time he was completely quiet, as if immersed in his own thoughts. I came to learn later that he had refused the safa at the Congress meeting. This was a relief, for it meant that his grouse did not go too deep. There was a strong breeze blowing during the meeting, and that made everything quite dusty. And by the time we got to Kalawatsar it was both hot and dusty. They are still very grateful for the tube well that has been dug for the village, and it is referred to every time somebody from the village meets me. And I always remember the call I made to thank the bureaucrat for the tube well. His son picked up the phone to say that his father had passed away the night before. That was more than a year ago but I still get a chill whenever I recall that incident. I told them about it today and about my regret at not having made that call earlier.

  Nevri must have the highest per capita population of cows, and every time a meeting has been held here, there is always a large number of cows within sight. I asked the young sarpanch about the mining controversy—a large number of mining leases seemed to have been given for the area surr
ounding the village. And the same area functions as catchment for water reservoirs that sustain scores of villages. Last time I was here, I had told them if they stayed united nothing would happen to the land. Since then, the sarpanch told me, there has been a status quo and I hope it stays that way.

  The last meeting was at Tirsinghdi where, despite the darkness, a fair number of people were waiting. They have a wonderful water reservoir near the village that I had visited the last time. Some of the Nevri catchment area serves Tirsinghdi as well. It was very still and hot—despite night having fallen—by the time we finished the day’s rounds. When I reached Anandpur it was nearing ten, and there was no sign of Data. It was well past his bedtime, and he was still out campaigning for my election. I checked my emails before going to bed and was pleasantly surprised to get one from Hamir wishing me luck. This is the first good luck email he has sent me; he had sent one to Data long before there was any question of his contesting Darjeeling. I was very touched.

  5 May 2009

  Today is the last day of the campaign, when the 5 p. m. rule set by the Election Commission comes into force. After this, all campaigning must come to a stop. I do not feel as good about the election organization as I had in 2004. The main campaign office, for starters, has not been as efficient as it had been the last time, nor have things been as well planned and organized . . . But I do not suppose democracy can work with clinical efficiency, not in India, anyway. There are constant demands for missing materials, vehicles, voters, and so on. For somebody so obsessed with booth-level organization, as I was the last time, I have not been able to do anything about it this time. Anyway, I thought to myself that the last election seemed so much better organized and I seemed more in control then. This time the demands never ended, probably for reasons out of my control. It was disappointing to learn that there would be no new polling booths, nor the changes that we had suggested. Some villages are going to get short-changed as a result of this, with Bhada being the best example. They have a school in the middle of the village, and a large enough population, but the polling booth has been shifted to a dhani nearby. It is difficult to understand how such decisions come to be taken.