Election Day Musing: My Keemti Vote
Having just completed my duty, or shall we say my right, by casting my vote, a few observations and thoughts came to mind.
The walk to the polling booth is something I take almost every few days, so I was not expecting anything eventful to happen. But I was in for a surprise. Unknown people were greeting me and smiling. One particular person, whom I had neither met nor seen before, actually called out my name and said, “Mahimkar saheb, 4 number lakshat theva.” I noticed regular shopkeepers and party workers standing in groups, and it was not difficult to guess their affiliations.
Another thing I noticed was a white band across the road with “200 meters” written on it. Closer to the center, it read “100 meters”. When I had seen this a few days earlier, I had not known what it was for, but today it became clear. Strangely, I noticed one more thing—the streets were extra clean, as if one day’s clean roads would influence our decision! The center itself had standard security measures, and overall good discipline was maintained. There was even a first-aid desk, managed by a lady. I did wonder, though, whether she was trained in rendering first aid.
I was half expecting to bump into neighbours and friends, and among the otherwise familiar faces, sure enough, the lady standing in front of me was from the opposite building. A courageous woman in her fifties, she had given up a well-paying job to pursue what she really liked—archaeology. Since this involved field trips, her job did not allow it, so she chose to leave.
Today I got the feeling that political parties have a complex network and keep a detailed tab on residents in the area. One candidate, when he came to our house, already knew that our neighbour on the floor above had bought a new flat (incidentally, Harsha Bhogle’s flat), and was asking if he had shifted. The news was not public, but they knew. I am not sure whether this is comforting or risky, as nothing seems to be private. My vegetable vendor has his van parked just outside a party office, and I strongly suspect he acts as both a front and security for the local leader. Today, his wife was running the shop while he was busy meeting and greeting voters.
I realized that elections being held after eight years make this a hard-fought one. The campaigning was intense, not only with vans moving around but also with candidates going door to door. They arrive with an entire troupe—first a worker rings the bell, and then the candidate emerges from behind with folded hands and a wide smile. The workers do the talking while he maintains his posture. I think they have a script ready, because it is repeated in a rehearsed manner. They are aware that they have just a 15–30 second window to make their pitch. One of them ended with, “Amhala visru naka” (don’t forget us). My wife quipped from behind, “Tumhi jhinkun alyawar, amhala visru naka” (after you win, don’t forget us!). They seemed prepared for this too, as he replied, “Amhala nivdun ana, amhi ahotach tumchya sathi” (make us win, and we will always be there for you).
I don’t know if this happens to everyone, but for me, whatever I hear last tends to stay with me and influence my decision. The same seemed true of the campaigning—almost getting carried away by the last candidate who made his pitch. It is said that the same tactic was used with Hitler, whose generals ensured they were the last to present their views.
For civic elections, I feel that more than the party, it is the corporator or councilor we elect that matters. He is our local representative. For our Ward 217, for instance, there are fewer than 60,000 voters, which means there is at least a theoretical possibility of reaching out to him to resolve local issues. Whether we actually do so is another matter, but the thought remains at the back of the mind. Our last corporator’s term ended in 2022, and since there were no elections after that, the BMC was run by the Municipal Commissioner, who also took on the role of Administrator. With no political party involved, it was for us to decide whether we were better or worse off during these years.
One final thought struck me. In English, we “cast” or “give” our vote, but in Hindi or Marathi we donate our vote—we do "matdaan." It is not a “polling booth” but a "Matadaan Kendra". The difference subtly changes how one thinks, where one extends oneself beyond merely performing a duty. Similarly, in local languages we often hear the phrase “keemti vote”, but never “costly vote”. These linguistic nuances quietly influence our thinking.
So, having given the daan of my keemti vote, I will wait and see whether our candidates fulfil their promise and truly remain there for us.
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