By Robert Clements
How the Opposition Can Win..!
In my very fertile imagination, I can see the scene as clearly as if I were sitting right there in the front row, sipping chai and watching the drama unfold. A grand hall in the capital has been booked, dusted, decorated and prepared with great solemnity. The opposition parties have gathered inside it once again after yet another electoral defeat. They have come together with a sense of purpose that would make even a wedding planner proud.
They have gathered to do the impossible.
They want to work out how to beat the juggernaut that has flattened them repeatedly, rolled over them smoothly, and even reversed for good measure. The air is thick with frustration, hope, ambition and the smell of samosas that have gone cold while speeches have gone hot.
A senior leader clears his throat. It is a long, meaningful, throat-clearing exercise. All eyes turn to him. He adjusts his shawl with the gravitas of a Supreme Court judge and strokes his chin thoughtfully. Finally, he speaks in a tone that suggests the fate of the nation depends on his next words. “Rahul must get married.”
There is silence. Not the silence of agreement. Not the silence of awe. It is the silence of hundreds of political minds trying to figure out whether the suggestion came from an election strategy book or a matrimonial column. Someone at the back begins to whisper about possible honeymoon destinations and whether this too will require a coalition.
Before anyone can object, another leader jumps up with excitement. “And Mamata must change her rubber chappals. We need proper footwear symbolism.” The room nods gravely. Footwear symbolism suddenly sounds like an ancient political science principle they had all forgotten to study. One leader even scribbles the words in his notebook as if this could be the breakthrough the nation has been waiting for.
With those two brilliant suggestions the hall comes alive. Ideas begin to fly like confetti at a political wedding. Someone suggests a new slogan. Someone else wants a new mascot. One proposes a national argument competition in which every opposition leader competes to see who can interrupt the other with the most passion. Another proposes a nationwide fasting campaign to gain sympathy. A third says fasting never works unless cameras are present.
In a far corner, a few leaders have begun snoring gently. They claim to be meditating. Their parties proudly explain that they are uniting their energies with the universe. One gentleman snores so loudly the universe may file a noise pollution complaint.
It is at this chaotic moment that a young voice rises from the back of the hall. A youngster in jeans and a simple kurta. His hand is raised politely as though he is still in school. Everyone looks at him with mild irritation. This is not the moment for bright ideas from people who still believe in logic.
He speaks. “Why not do what the ruling party is doing? Put money into the bank accounts of every voter.”
The room freezes. The silence is now of a different kind. Chair backs straighten. Shawls are adjusted. Eyebrows rise like the stock market after a good budget speech. Someone drops a biscuit. Another catches it out of habit.
An elderly leader blinks slowly. “But where will we get the money?” He speaks as though the youngster has suggested they purchase their own private island.
“The ruling party takes it from the government coffers,” the youngster replies calmly, as though explaining simple addition to a group that has never passed kindergarten mathematics.
A murmur travels across the room. People nod with the dawning understanding of those who have finally found the last piece of a puzzle they have been rotating upside-down for years. Wisdom has descended upon the room like sunlight through dusty windows.
“So,” the youngster continues in a voice that now sounds less like a suggestion and more like a prophecy. “Give every voter a promissory vote. Not for ten thousand. Not for twenty thousand. Promise them a lakh each. And tell them they can encash it only when we the opposition come to power.”
The reaction is immediate. The hall erupts. Cheering bounces off the walls. Leaders slap one another on the back so hard that one gentleman’s shawl falls off. A few leaders burst into spontaneous dance, movements that will later be described as energetic even if not rhythmic. Hope fills the room like monsoon rain.
It is the loudest cheer the opposition has produced in years, and the sound travels all the way to the ruling party headquarters. There, worried aides wonder what new scheme is brewing across town. They huddle together like students before a surprise exam.
Also worried are taxpayers who now realise that their hard-earned money, already stretched thinner than a government explanation, may soon be heading directly into the pockets of every voter in the country. They imagine opening their bank apps one morning and seeing their balance drop faster than their faith in political promises.And now every party wants to join the same game. The legal bribery game. The who-will-outpromise-whom game. The great Indian electoral gift festival. Democracy has rarely felt so entertaining. Or so expensive. Or so wonderfully imaginative. In the midst of all this excitement, the nation waits and watches. Will the opposition win with imagination or lose with enthusiasm? Will promissory votes replace manifestos? Will footwear symbolism defeat chappal economics? Will a wedding be planned before the next election?
Nobody knows. But one thing is certain. If political parties put as much creativity into governance as they do into brainstorming sessions, India would be the most innovative country on earth.
Until then, we the people will watch this comedy unfold, popcorn in hand, wondering what the next brilliant idea will be…!
You can request for Bob’s Banter by Robert Clements as a daily column on your whatsapp by sending him your name and phone number on [email protected] .
