The Vote

Today, I tiptoed through the land of those awaiting death,
and found on my path a bag full of pink papers
and a compass.
Papers with symbols…
Papers which decided the future of democracy,
lay abandoned, on the path which led to the land of those awaiting death.
I hung the bag on my shoulder,
heavy with responsibility,
(What if I met its owner on my path?)
and walked in pursuit of those who awaited death.

North
I met shrunken Sybils immobile, staring sightless into the distance,
and old men who listened futilely to songs of silence.
There were others who lay twisted in bed
waiting to be disentangled in death,
and not to forget the ones who sleepwalked in circles of forgetfulness
in broad daylight.
I explained to them my purpose
and received in return, tight-lipped glares and scornful laughter
as if, the country didn’t matter to them
as if, they had forgotten who they were
and where they were.
Forgetfulness is dangerous I thought
And noted it down in my memory…

East
I reached a land pregnant with water;
so I removed my shoes and waded
towards a house fenced by the river.
The old man there was seated on the veranda
As if he had expected my arrival.
I explained my purpose
And for a while he remained silent,
then spilled the litany of unfulfilled promises.
Promises to lift them from this soaking land
assured every five years, he said, to him and the people around.
He fell silent again and then asked me who I was?
Baffled I reiterated to myself, forgetfulness is dangerous,
a sign that you are awaiting death
and noted it down in my memory.

South
Here the old had defined leanings
to the right or the left or the middle path.
Excited and loyal they snatched the pink paper from my hand,
and after a second or two confessed,
that they had forgotten the symbols!
Forgetfulness is dangerous I thought,
it is the sign of death approaching
and noted it down in my memory…

West
I knocked on doors which no one answered.
Maybe the old there were dispatched
to their next son’s home or a hospital to wait their turn.
There were also those who were safely locked in
by children or grandchildren
lest they be snatched by death,
the ones who stared at me through grilled windows,
smiling as if I was death himself!
At last I met an old grandmother
In her nineties
Who asked me if I knew her?
I said “yes”, smiling, embarrassed, half- flushed, by my own lie.
Hearing my reply, she said she was willing to do her part for democracy.
As I left she asked me once again if I knew her,
and I simply smiled.
Forgetfulness is dangerous I thought
a sure trail that one has to tread to meet death
and noted it down in my memory…

Leaning to one side, maintaining the balance,
I walked ahead carrying the bag on my shoulder
with a hope of reaching the point I started
or at least seeing the person in charge of the leaden luggage.
The compass suddenly stopped,
and I realized, I had forgotten the track to where I began.
I dropped the bag bewildered…