Why I Pressed the Broom Button

Dear Arvind,

I write to you to extend my congratulations, and also, I must admit, to gloat a little on my part in your revolution. For the last two years, I have been pressing ‘Like’ on every Facebook post about you with a brief interruption from January to May last year when I started to press ‘Like’ on every post about Narendra Modi.

I feel I must convey to you my prescience and joy at having made you win. I first saw something in you when you, along with Anna Hazare, started the India Against Corruption movement and were sitting on fast number two or three, I forget which. Even then, when I saw you relentlessly whisper into Anna’s ear, I knew you were someone destined for greater things because my father used to tell me the only way to get ahead in life in Delhi is by getting hold of an important man’s ear. I did my best to support the movement back then. I even considered visiting the venue, but it appeared crowded on TV. When the Government ordered a lathi charge to disperse the crowd, some of my friends and I were so upset that we organised a candle-light vigil at the ground outside our housing society.

I apologise for not being an active part of the revolution that made you Chief Minister for the first time. I wasn’t able to vote then. My driver—he always answers to that name—came late to work that day, because, he said, he had gone to cast his vote for your party (our party now). By then it was afternoon and I promised myself to do it in the next election (I was thinking five years but you surprised me). To be honest, it might have been a good thing because my family has always voted BJP and that could have been the button I pressed.

I was excited when you formed the government and puzzled when you quit—who turns his back on power? When everyone was calling you a bhagoda, I might also have repeated it. You know how it is, one has to fit in a group. Also, no offence to you, but a man who runs away is a coward, no? A courageous man will stay to fight and also have a friend with a gun licence.

I found you sincere this time when you apologised because, as my teacher taught me, only a brave man can apologise. Your appearance reminded me of a genial uncle who always felt cold. And in matters of sartorial choices, what options did we have anyway? Better you in your muffler and Monte Carlo sweater than a woman who wears sneakers with kurta pyjamas, and takes orders from a man who wears his name multiple times over a suit. (Was DLF Emporio so far away that he couldn’t get Armani written?)

As the election neared, everyone was telling me that you were going to weed out corruption and create a system of complete honesty. And then I started telling the same thing to other people. Some said Kejriwal promises free water and electricity, as if that was something to hold against you. Why should anyone have a problem with free things? Isn’t that why we vote?

The whole exercise of elections, if you think about it, is actually quite an effort. You have to travel all the way to a distant booth, stand in a long queue with God knows who all, and use your intellect to vote for someone who won’t even win. The poor always manage to get their candidates to win. This time it’s different.

This time I voted.

It was quite chilly and I had an art exhibition followed by a Yo Yo Honey Singh show to attend. But I made sure the driver showed up for work and waited for me.

Sincerely,
Your fellow Aam Aadmi

About The Author

Lhendup G Bhutia

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