More than a week has passed, yet the populace remains incredulous, their disbelief palpable as they observe their Country pre and post election results. The entire nation, even factions of the opposition, with the exception of a few diligent grassroots psephologists, finds itself engulfed in profound shock. This astonishment is multifaceted: not only were the exit polls veered dramatically off course, irreparably damaging their credibility, but there is a collective bewilderment at how a government, fortified by the apparatus of media, enforcement agencies, audit bodies, corporate behemoths, and backed by seemingly inexhaustible financial resources, could falter and lose its majority. The once unassailable dominant party has stumbled. Why? I posit a few factors, glaringly evident upon a retrospective gaze over the past decade, that played equal and significant roles.
On the urban front, the focal point was a demographic largely disregarded as “andh bhakts”, sometimes with deep concern and other times in jest, by the other constituents of its family: the Uncles. These individuals, feeling a sense of unprecedented liberty, were able to propagate vitriol with impunity, unencumbered by the need to mask their prejudices behind the guise of inebriation. Having enjoyed a decade of freedom of expression, they eventually came to a realization: beyond the deluge of hateful propaganda on whatsapp forwards and idolatry of the Supreme Leader, there existed an unfulfilled void. This void, stemming from the prospects of their progeny, the seeds they had sown, failing to flourish; the erstwhile contentment now marred by the harsh reality of their children’s precarious job prospects. The Uncles, previously regarding the Supreme Leader as a champion of capitalism, found themselves at odds with the spectacle of his smiling face adorning ration bags distributed to over 800 million citizens—an antithesis to their erstwhile rhetoric of fiscal responsibility under the incumbent regime. For a decade, these uncles disparaged any dissent against the Supreme Leader as anti-nationalistic, rendering it inconceivable that they would deviate from their allegiance at the ballot box. Yet, conscience prevailed. Quietly, mindful of the future of their offspring, they cast their votes with clarity of purpose—a repudiation not only of succumbing to the propaganda machinery but also an endeavor towards rectification.
In rural hinterlands, the struggle ran deeper. It was a battle against the charade of devotion tethered to their electoral choices—a devotion once emblematic of purity, tranquility, and contentment, now tainted by hues of animosity, diversionary tactics, and victimhood narratives. Despite the persistence of daily hardships, the impoverished populace yearned to believe in the elixir they were coerced to imbibe. Hope remained their tether to sanity. However, the hope embodied by a slender red booklet—the Constitution of India—triumphed over the venomous diatribes of an “non-biological” Supreme Leader, escalating with each electoral phase. They rallied behind an alternative vision: a vision of unity from Kashmir to Kanyakumari, affording them the liberty to embrace it—a vision symbolizing “jodna” rather than “todna”. I remember Pehrawar, a village in the constituency of Rohtak, Haryana where during the period of canvassing I went without revealing my profession or political inclinations to find out the ground reality. A Dalit man sitting in the traditional dhoti on a charpai in his home, cautiously sized me up after asking my name and simply stated: “Samvidhan bachaana hai.” (“We have to save the Constitution.”) The choice for hope was unequivocal.
The convergence point of the urban and rural mindset unveils the last 10 years of Stockholm Syndrome. Defined by the Cleveland Clinic as “a coping mechanism in response to captivity or abuse, wherein individuals develop positive sentiments towards their captors or abusers over time,” it epitomizes the ethos of the past decade. Whispered conversations, laden with trepidation, permeated society, cognizant of the repercussions—whether through social media vilification orchestrated by paid acolytes or via institutional coercion. Simultaneously, a realization dawned collectively—a realization of the infinitesimal opportunity that lingered, prompting the silent voter to seize the moment. What could have transpired had the web of paid exit polls nexus not endeavored to sway the undecided voter and render the outcome a forgone conclusion? Alas, we shall not know. But, as one, after a decade of fear, the populace acknowledged the prescient assertion of the masses: “the emperor wears no clothes.”
Himanshu Chakravarty Sharma / मंच 