Meghnad S - Parliamental

To Sohini, my life editor

Contents

Ay Raghav, ye ikde. Come here, take a selfie with us!

Two men draped in the colours of the Rashtrawadi Janata Manch bright saffron headbands and flags of the same hue, with a closed-fist symbol had been trying to take a selfie for the past ten minutes.

What yaa! You mustve taken thirty pics and youre still not satisfied? asked Guy Number One, clearly irritated.

Guy Number Two looked at him seriously and responded, Thats why I am calling Raghav! You see how fair-skinned he is? Itll give good contrast in the picture. We need to make this good enough to get tweeted by the official party! Oi Raghav! Come.

Ye ikde: Come here. A Marathi term usually used by mothers to summon their kids angrily. Ye ikde and do your homework, Cheeku!

Raghav reluctantly walked towards the two party workers whose names he didnt know. They were just two among the hundred other karyakartas he had been working with for the past three weeks. This entire blob of humanity was now eagerly waiting for their newly elected member of Parliament to emerge from his residence. It was time for the victory rally. As the party leader had instructed them a short while ago over video, PAINT THE TOWN SAFFRON! Scream! Shout! Tell everyone! Dont let anyone in the town take their afternoon naps! RJM is BACK and were not going anywhere!

Guy Number Two judged the latest selfie with a scrunched-up face. Raghav, who was also draped in the same party gear as these two gentlemen, looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes and he had grown a light stubble on his face something his mom absolutely hated. She said it made him look like his dad.

Tag me also, okay? said Guy Number One. Whats your Twitter handle, Raghav? Ill share this in the party WhatsApp group so that they can post it. Youll get a lot of followers! Tell tell.

@Arnavinator, mumbled Raghav.

What?

@A-R-N-A-V-I-N-A-T-O-R.

Whos Arnav?

My dad.

Karyakartas: Political party workers who are swept away by the belief that a particular political leader will be their salvation.

Your dad?

Yes. My dead fucking dad.

Guy Number One looked awkwardly at the selfie. Erm okay then. Sending it to the party group.

Srikar stepped out of his house, shading his eyes from the harsh sunlight. Feeling the bile rise again, he rushed back inside to the closest washroom and projectile-vomited into the pot.

Rohini stormed in, shaking her head. Aah fuck. Ugh. Again, Srikar? Again?

Srikar just stared into the pot, feeling a bit dizzy.

I told you. I said you wont be able to handle all this but you didnt listen only. Now look what has happened. You actually won! Who wouldve thought youd win, huh? Not me. Even you didnt think youd have a chance! I was praying to Ganpati Bappa so youd lose, but even God is not on our side.

Shut up, Rohini. For the hundredth time I am just nervous, Srikar told his wife, while staring at the half-digested khichdi in the pot. I think Ill just skip the rally. Why do I have to do a victory rally anyway?

The phone in Rohinis hand chimed. She unlocked it, looked at the screen for a moment, frowned and turned it towards Srikar.

Thats why, she said. For these idiots.

The screen showed an image of three young karyakartas draped in the party colours, two of them making a V sign and smiling widely. The third one just looked bored. It had been tweeted from the partys official handle.

Hey, isnt that the neighbours kid? The sad-looking one? asked Srikar.

Rohini looked at the photo again. Oh yes. Thats Raghav Or uh @Arnavinator on Twitter. She let out a chuckle. Kid has a dark sense of humour using his dads name like that.

Srikar chuckled back. Well, his dad did suck. You know I hated him. Actually, a lot of people did.

He better be grateful for what we did for him and his family, Rohini muttered sharply under her breath.

It didnt seem like Srikar had heard her. With a giant sigh, he got up and walked outside, closely followed by her. The guards opened the front gates, drums started beating, karyakartas lost their shit and started dancing wildly, gulaal was thrown in the air and a few motorcycles randomly hit their accelerators on the spot for no particular reason, creating a deafening ugly engine sound.

Shouts of Prabhu Srikaramar rahe! Long live Prabhu Srikar! went up.

Srikar looked around amidst the chaos and started feeling pukish again. Oh shit. Not again. Not here, he thought, panicking as the journalists started clicking photographs wildly.

SHIT SHIT SHIT

Gulaal: Dry powdered colour used during the festival of Holi or political rallies, often by men as an excuse to touch the girl they like or the political leader they support, respectively.

Amar rahe: A chant wishing someone to remain immortal. Like a god, but without the powers.

A body suddenly appeared right in front of him. The fresh bout of khichdi-puke fell onto it.

The person held Srikars shoulders to steady him and said in a shaky voice, Uhh congratulations sir?

Srikar looked up at Raghav, whose shirt was spotted with vomit, shaking and extremely shocked.

Dont react. Walk away calmly into my house, he whispered. Its okay. You just saved me from a disaster. Give me your headband.

Raghav quickly took off his saffron headband and handed it over. Thank you, said Srikar, coughing and wiping away flecks of khichdi from the corner of his mouth.

Raghav nodded and shakily walked away towards Srikars house, trying really hard not to reveal his puke-covered front to anyone. Srikar, meanwhile, was engulfed by a crowd of journalists shoving microphones in his face and clicking pictures. A cascade of questions was hurled at him. Srikarji, how do you feel Are you surprised that you won Are you shocked Did Moreyji call to congratulate you?

Hey Deva. Hey Ganesha. What have you done, Srikar? whispered Rohini into his ear.

I dont know. Im so very screwed, blurted out Srikar.

Raghav walked through the front gates of Srikars mansion without a glitch. The security guards were busy trying to keep the journalists away from their boss. Srikar will probably have to expand his security team now that hes a member of Parliament, thought Raghav.

Instead of going into the house, the front door of which was wide open, he took a detour and entered the side lawns. He moved towards the boundary wall, scaled it and jumped across into his house. Compared to Srikars two-storeyed mansion, freshly whitewashed, Raghavs house was a single-storeyed two BHK, yellowing, paint cracking away with abandon.

Arre deva! What is this, Raghav? exclaimed his mother the moment he stepped into the house. She was watching a national news channel, which was showing the scenes outside Srikars house. An excited news anchor was shouting, this is an unexpected victory which has caught all the political pandits by surprise! Prabhu Srikar was the least likely candidate to win, according to exit polls, and now RJM has made a comeback in the city of Nagpur Given the recent scandals that hit the party, nobody would have imagined a situation like this

Raghav shook his head.

Maa, you do know that you can just step outside and watch all this nonsense with your own eyes, right?

But this is on a national news channel! Look! You can see our house too! See!

In the background, you could spot a coconut tree. You can see our tree. Not the house.