Caste a vote- From the mouth of a Story Teller

2004, April. Somewhere in a corner cubicle of an esteemed organization:

Abhishek ! Do you want to vote? Do you have the eligibility?

It was 2 pm and just when the office chores seemed to become boring, this question excited me. I turned around. It was my Manager who rather looked damn straight.

Why? I said, then realizing that I had to answer the question. I quickly added; Of course, I am 22 and I do have the eligibility.

Do you want to vote? He asked me again. I raised my eyebrows, Here is the guy who never allowed deviations from work and a certified stickler for timeliness, asking me if I am intrested to leave office to caste a vote. I still deliberately sounded confusing "Do we have the polling booth in our office premises? I wanted to pun this line but failed miserably.

No..if you are intrested you may go cast your vote. My Manager replied. However, you please finish your work. He was quick to add that too. The man is asking me if I have the interest to caste the vote! How ridiculuous? Its my bloody birth right to vote. Now, the last thing I wanted to do was wring his neck and throw him out.

Sure, I'd finish my reports and leave. I said this as if I had a choice. But I was happy though, for the first time I felt like a CITIZEN! I am going to vote!! I rose from my seat.

So... Abhishek who are you going to vote for? My colleagues asked me. Do I need to tell you that? Its either shame on me or the government. I have got the voting rights 4 uears ago But I haven't casted the vote till now. I remembered years ago, my dad's friend warned me never reveal about your vote. I threw this back at them feeling conceited about it. I knew I was just an ordinary guy without any powers, however I just wanted them to make me feel important. Afterall, I am going to vote for the first time. I rose from my seat. So long buddies! I am going to vote. I sounded as if I am going to Rashtrapati Bhawan to take an oath of President of India.

I pulled my bike and started off. It was hot summer afternoon and my bike seat felt like a tandoori. Anything for my first vote. I thought. On my way through deserted road, I saw those colorful banners, policemen showing their presence, RAF personnel sipping tea under a shade, the noise from my engine made me nervous. I sometimes felt as if my vote will decide the election!

"UNIVERSAL ADULT FRANCHISE"...During my school days, I never was able to remember these 3 little but powerful words! However, it didn't take me long to realize that the meaning of these 3 words can be so simple, but yet so powerful. "Right to vote after the age of 18 years". Democracy is for the people, of the people and by the people, I got a bonus mark in every civics paper where I quoted this line.

Maa.. where is my voters ID card? Abhi..you are back..I told you its a holiday today. Little my mom thinks office the way office is meant to be. However, only I knew the reality, else we all do! She managed to find my voters card and was happy to see her son being a part of democracy of this great nation!

I marched towards the polling booth which was put up very close to my home. I glanced at a group of policemen who sat on a wooden bench with their weapons pointing towards the sky. I do not know wht they must have felt after looking at me. I never wanted them to feel that its my maiden voting session. I Somehow thought will paint a rosy picture at the booth. I had anticipated a big queue at the polling booth. Surprisingly, it was deserted. Perhaps the citizens of my colony had already casted their respective votes in the morning.

I entered an old room with walls full of cracks and a dusty flooring. There was a tubelight too but I was confident that it will not work. The ceiling fan made noise as it rotated slowly trying to provide soothing relief for the officials who were present in that room. A man wearing big glasses, was seated across a table. He looked up and said. Aapka ID card dijiye"

The photograph on my voters card was pathetic and somehow I tried my best to convince myself that the photo resembled me. I was embarrassed to give the ID card to him. He then browsed through a paper that had a lengthy list. I wondered how many names it contained..probably some people must have alredy left this world and even their names existed in that list! That's bureaucracy
for you!

I stood there impatiently. Aapko mera naam mila list mein? Abhishek hai mera naam. I asked in a low tone. Haan ..Yeh raha...aapke pitaji kahan hai unhonne nahi daala vote? I was pleasantly surprised when the man asked about my dad. I never thought they'd care about people who did not vote yet. I said " Mere Dad Mumbai mein rehte hain. I muttered. Accha accha...teek hai koi baat nahi. He then marked my name in that list to confirm my attendance. I wondered if that shoddy little paper would be a substantiate evidence of my existence. He then shouted my name to the person sitting next to him as if I was the criminal brought in the courtroom. His voice was deafning.

Aap is taraf aayiye. The man sitting next to him finally opened his mouth. When I looked at him I never thought he'd speak. The voting process now began to speed up. I wasnt aware whet else I have to undergo. This man looked at me and asked my to give my hand as if its an engagement ceremony and he'd present me a ring! However, I knew he'd mark my finger with some solution that would remain for 2-3 days. I was excited because I wanted to show my proof of voting to people who never had this Privilege. This little solution does the trick of identification or may be emancipation!

Hmm... Now whats next? I asked myself.. Abhi aap wahan jaaiye aur vote kariye. He said timidly. I saw a very familiar customized compartment built with cloth and iron stand. I saw this in many movies and the ay had actually arrived when I had to go there to caste my vote. There was a voting machine that read 'Assembly elections and Parliament elections. I had read about voting machines in newspapers and how politicians tamper these machines for rigging purpose. For strange reasons, I remembered TN Seshan, once the Chief Election commissioner of India. I thought maybe if that man was in power this would never have happend.

I looked at the voting machine..and I knew who to vote for. I didn't even bother to look at the other "CONTESTANTS". As soon as I pressed the button against the political party name, it gave a loud beep like a burglar alarm!! I then had to caste my vote for the prime minister's seat. While I was doing this process, I thought how tensed those contestants will be and if they realized that I had voted for them, how would they react? Will I be attacked from the other contestants for whom I didn't vote for? I discarded all these when I reazlied that I was exercising my rights as a citizen.

It was finally done. My quest was over! I had casted a vote for the first time. I felt as if I had done a great service to mankind!

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

Sangeet Theatre- Farewell to my movie Den

I remember, the first time I saw Sangeet theatre. It was the summer of 1989 when I was travelling in a bus with my Maa. We were going towards Secunderabad Railway station. The bus halted at a place and the bus conductor shouted 'Sangeet' for the benefit of those who'd want to get down. I looked right, and there stood this theatre painted with blue border. I looked up, tried to figure out the name of the theatre, the alphabets which were assorted to form an arc. I looked around and Saw the poster of the film SCARFACE, Al pacino holding a gun and the painted bullets gushing out of it! I presumed the name of the film to be SURFACE. I lived with that assumption for sometime.

Two years later 'Home Alone' arrived in town. My memory tells me this was my first movie in Sangeet. I looked at the Sangeet theatre from outside and wondered, Where on earth is the screen? Which side? Athough, my curiosity was never exposed to anyone. As a kid, I admired Macaulay Culkin, for his guts and intelligence.

Sangeet has always been a special place for the yuppies of Secunderabad. And it all started in early 90s. English movie fever caught up soon. And of course, Watching an English movie was a privilege then. With The most common dress code meant for this ocassion was blue jeans teamed up with T shirt-. To be brand specific, Kaizas or Buffalo Jeans and the T shirt? well! we all knew fido- dido, the character of lehar 7-up that created waves across school and college goers of society. It did just the right thing.

Over years Sangeet had occupied a special place among the Secunderabad fraternity. The colloquial discussions made inside the theatre near the snacks, included the active use of the word 'ya' instead of 'yes'. Urbanization had reached a vantage point. yards away from the theatre, stood 'Fantasy' the premium multi cuisine eatery shack. Popularly known for its tall chairs and Fantasy champagne and fantasy burger, it had eveything that could cater those 15 somethings! However, they were expensive... very expensive priced between Rs 15-25!!!!! ( inflation during early 1990s)

And then there was guy called Sai, the fella at the parking lot who SECRETLY arranged tickets for us. During ticket crisis, the sight of Sai made us feel at ease. Limping across those parked vehicles, he used to vanish and show up after 10 minutes with those bright tickets in hand! Like a Houdini!

The decision to revamp this theatre into a swanky multiplex might sound to be a fair deail for the investors. However, go and ask the young generation of early 90s about Sangeet, most of them would go back to their past. We will never again see the same Sangeet theatre, with moss formed on the walls, pale yellow structure and the title SANGEET perched on top of it, with the blue sky over looking it.

Beethoven. Showdown in little Tokyo, Jurassic park, Free Willy...I lose count the number of movies I saw this theatre. But I will never forget what Sangeet theatre brought to this tinsel town of mine, its a monument that brought friends together, made us socialize despite our simple lifestyle. We were more happy with that 5 rupee chips packet, the seating style, arranging finances for the 25 rupee ticket, never bothered about parking. Each and every moment that transformed us.

Priceless indeed!

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

KAUSHIK- The Man of Masses

Hmm let me recollect...Yes, It was one fine summer evening in 1991..read on to know what happened..

Hey fatso! Try and climb up here! Babbu said these words and chuckled. Standing in front of us was a guy in Red shirt. He looked up angrily. My! Babbu had a nerve to say that! Because I wouldn't have dared to say that to a HUGE, but 11 year old boyish personality! What the fuck you mean? Haan? Roared the guy in Red shirt. Who is he? I asked Babbu.

Kaushik, the fatso! replied Babbu, and deliberately added an adjective after his name. The game that we were playing involved us to climb a wall and jump into the sand. Kaushik was plump boy and one would clearly think twice before speaking with him. Motu ko deewar par chadna nahi aata! Babbu mocked again. Next, I anticipated a fight between Kaushik and Babbu. Babbu was a
brat among our friends and I thought even if it creates a scene, I shouldn't be surprised. I was zapped again! Probably, Babbu thought Kaushik could never get hold of him. Babbu knew Kaushik as they studied in same school. And I was watching this mockery war from a safe distance. You rascal! How dare you? You think you can escape? Come down and I'd show you. Kaushik screamed.

The boiling point had reached in Kaushik. I was sure he would hammer Babbu's ass. And I too wanted Kaushik to teach him a lesson. Babbu was the certified brat of our colony and very notorious of getting himself into difficult situations. Somehow Kaushik managed to get hold of Babbu, kicked and shoved him into that sand and next gave him one tight slap that could ring a bell in the ears. He pushed him straight , held him by his neck and threw him on the sand. Seemed like a david and goliath fight, babbu was as helpless as he could be! I thought of course he'd be..how can a puny man stand against an elephant?

The scuffle quickly ended and forced Babbu to run. And, of course Kaushik became my hero. Finally there was someone who can settle scores very easily. I mustered some courage and approached Kaushik. He was dusting the sand that went into his shirt. Bravo! You did the right thing man! "Hey Shyam, don't you think he was too good?" Shyam, another friend of mine who was as dark as a crow nodded his head. His nod perhaps meant that it's normal for Kaushik. What that does Chaar khandol think of himself? He thinks I can't play this game or what? Eh! Kaushik muttered.

Chaar khandol - an offensive word, was a name given to anyone who wore spectacles. And it created many fights between the young boys of our colony. Guys wearing spectacles considered it as an insult at the mention of this word. Babbu was a bright chap in studies and spoke reasonably good English. But he was equally dim in his vision and unreasonable with his acts.

However, that was my first encounter with Kaushik. A burly lad who knew nothing about me earlier went ahead and became one of the finest friends I and we ever had. From a burly lad to the beardy man today, Kaushik still speaks about the good ol days.

The Dude is just right for anyone who wants to have a long lasting friendship. He breathes a new life into friendship. I have seen him grow over years and the way he connects to people is amazing! He was my savior on many occasions. And for the rest, he is always a popular hero or chieftain or a sheriff or wahetver words and traits you may want to associate for a leader. If there is one thing I'd like to steal from this chap, that would be his PR. He simply rocks. Whatever has been said or talked about him is not inadvertent.

There is a reason to write about this gentleman in my blog. Without any exaggeration, one day, I want to see him as the chief minister of the state! And so it shall be written and so it shall be done!

© All rights reserved with Abhishek Naini. No form of this may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.