By Bobo Khuraijam
We thought we would sleep over the cacophony of the noise of democracy looming large over the Manipur horizon. Honestly, we intended to use the opportunity to take a break from the muse. Those who nurture the habit of overlooking things would claim that the democratic holler has dwindled down this time. Let them swallow their word, without chewing it, and let them suffer from indigestion. And who says that the participation of women is very less comparing with the opposite gender. We are ready to admit that their participation as candidate is low in every sense. But we shall not buy the aphorism, however cheap it may be that there is low participation of the female gender in election. Who carries the athenpot with the marching band? Not to mention that the band plays the “Sana Leibak Manipur, Manipur…” which is not less than an anthem in Manipur, keeping aside the debate whether it is sana or not! The band gives you a false euphoric feeling that the candidate has all of a sudden become patriotic. Fit enough to decorate the house walls with their framed pictures along with other celebrated ones. Offer them JCBs full of garlands and burn incense sticks with fumes heavier than the fume of the ‘Eighteen June Assembly’. Or for that matter, darker than the fumes of the funeral pyre: of the un-named and un-known souls who got sprayed by the bullets of the belts and boots.
ANEMIC REVIVAL: of the Commission has created seismic ripples this time. This is what everybody seems to be saying. We know, the candidates and their armies are not happy. In fact, now, they must be praying not for their victory. They must be praying for Commission members to be roasted in hell (if there is any) when they stop breathing forever. They have become the unsympathetic demolition man, of the dreams that the candidates nurture. Some of them dream to continue with their sojourn to the Cheiraoching foothill, some, to sit on the new chairs with the fresh smell of rubber paints. Besides, there are so many dreams they dream, which others do not dare to dream. For us, in the Leipung, the Commission is not less than a supernatural being, who can perform task, where everyone seems to have failed.
Was not there a time, a time when people screamed for the transfer of the police chief? Look, now it is done. Was not there a time, a time when nobody could not touch the don, Chandu, a sweet name to every boozer? Did you not smelled the ‘eight lakhs’ aroma that was destroyed by the dysfunctional department? They were kicked out from their slumber by the Commission. Was not there a time, a time when people used to stand on serpentine queues for a few drops of petrol or diesel near the oil pumps? Tell us, did you fill your tank from the ‘grey’ vendors, or from the stations? It is only after the godly intervention of the Commission that fuel was made available for the electioneering exercise. As far as fuel is concerned, we pray, there be election for the whole year round. It is unfortunate that cooking gas does not come under the purview of the Commission. To give a hint to them, they should sneak in to the residence of the candidates and find out the price of the LPG they use and more importantly: where from it is procured. But, here, flexing every single muscle that we have; we would throw a challenge. We bet, the Commission would be a loser in this regard. The challenge is that they should be able to collect just five hundred voter identity cards, which exactly corresponds with the authentic NAMES, ADDRESS and AGE of the voters. If they ever succeed, read carefully, we would stop musing for once and for all. We do not mean to obliterate the integrity of the Commission and its functioning by throwing this challenge. We feel that it is our rightful duty to pronounce, how hurt we are. Who on earth would not be hurt, to be given an identifying ‘appendage of democracy’ which is filled with errors? We agree that there were drives of rectifying the errors. No wonder, it ended with the same errors, hurting us even more. One would say that ours is an untimely complain. Sorry: we do not carry any baggage of regret.
RIGHT CANDIDATE: is the one we have been looking for. We easily found it. They are available and visible in abundance. Uncountable numbers of them are already here, and some of them are on the way to be here. They take out all kinds of works that the self-proclaimed social workers do. They take out school children to excursions. Digging community ponds is their unwritten duty. Distributing sewing machines is their effeminate hobby. Encouraging the youths by keeping them healthy with games and sports gear is their adventurous obligation. Distributing DTH gadgets to clubs and organisations is their televised ceremony. And lest we forget to mention one (no other social worker could match them), administering antidotes to snake bitten victims. You got it right. They are our men in olive green uniforms. We would certainly vote for them if they stand for an election. Is it high time for us to shout on the top of our voice, that there should be a re-thinking of amending the rules; of who should contest for election
within the murky premise of electoral democracy?
FOOTNOTE: there has been too many Villagers’ Defence Force working in the town. Young and energetic, many of them are seen in the mean streets of Imphal. At times, they are right over the face, pampering us with their learning. Leipung Ningthou calls it, “chinggaroida hi honbagi para tambiba loinana leipak ngaakhanba”.
