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My Bottled Right

I have always been very particular about casting my vote. Ever since I turned eighteen, I have taken pride in being a part, however miniscule, of the world's largest democracy. I have squelched through mud and dung to get to the local school and on reaching there,stood for hours in rain or shine to cast my vote. I may be far from a political analyst, but I try to keep myself informed about the political situation to be able to vote intelligently.

So imagine my surprise and indignance when one fine morning, I discover that my family's name has disappeared off the electoral rolls. We would never have known of this had we not gone to enquire the reason for not receiving our Electoral Photo Identity Cards ( EPIC ) yet. The Village Headman was apologetic ( and somewhat drunk), as he proceeded to tell us that a certain official has bungled up, that there were many more similar complaints and that the officer in question had already been suspended. It took him some time to figure out that the suspension of the officer didn't interest us; getting our names back on the electoral rolls definitely did.

I looked it up online and found out that since the final electoral rolls were already out, the Election Commission was not processing any more applications for the next two months, until after the General Elections were over. I left a query on their website, with no hopes of ever getting a reply. The Headman assured us that after two months, he'd personally make sure our applications are processed and our names included in the next list.

To say that this was a crushing disappointment is an understatement. The whole nation had already gone beserk over RaGa vs NaMo, with AAP and the ever-evolving Third Front spicing up the entire election drama. I had watched interviews, speeches, debates and was really looking forward to vote in the General Elections. Sure, I had cast my vote on many occasions previously, but then, there is nothing really like the General Elections, and I wished to be a part of the entire process.

It was nothing short of divine intervention after a few days when an article in the newspaper caught my eye. The Election Commission was holding on the spot registration camps in 9 lakh polling booths across the country in a final sweeping effort to give the people left out of electoral rolls a chance to register themselves before the elections.

My father gathered all our relevant documents, all duly attested and photocopied and made his way to our polling booth.

There was the red tape, of course. A lot of shifting tables, and a whole pile of forms to fill. That pile had to be photocopied again, and the shifting from one table to another resumed. It took him about three hours to finally get to the final table, where the Headman sat with the local schoolmaster,who was incharge of the entire process.

They spoke to my father about how hot the weather is, and how difficult it is for them to sort out the piles of paperwork. They dropped hints as to how they are responsible for making sure these papers get to the right authorities in time, giving them the power to determine whether you get to vote or not in the next elections. They stressed upon the fact that this was a one day camp, a last chance for people like us.

Getting their drift, my father offered them money ...for  "a cup of tea", of course. The men promptly turned the offer down, assuring my father that they don't take bribes, especially not from a retired Colonel from the Indian Army like him. All they wanted, they said, was a bottle or two of whiskey. The work would be done for sure, and they would make sure that the papers reach the correct offices in time.

The rest happened all too swiftly. The documents were signed in a jiffy and stamped and a receipt issued in no time. My father came back home disgruntled, angry and disgusted.

I don't know whether I will vote in the upcoming elections any more. Maybe the responsible part of me will convince me to take the walk to the polling booth in a couple of months' time, pushing this unpleasant episode aside. But it will take me some time to recover from the fact that in a country where corruption is so deep rooted and bribery has become an acceptable mode to get things done, even our right to vote comes with a price tag...and just a bottle of liquor is all it's worth.

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