Story of my first vote- Part 2

We went inside as the queue proceeded. Uncle cast his vote and left the place. And then, came my turn (again). I went to the same desk. I saw, the presiding officer was sitting in the polling officer’s place, while his own seat was vacant.

“Did you bring those documents?” he asked.

I presented him the pass book and PAN card.

“Please sit in that chair,” he said, pointing at a semi-broken chair. “The first polling officer has gone to take his meal. So I have to take his place for the time being.”

Trust me, I literally wanted to punch the fellow.

Anyways, I took the seat. The persons in the queue stared at this odd-ball. I looked around. The officers were supplied food packets along with coffee now. An old lady was on her way to vote.

And then, as I looked the other side I heard the voice of the lady- “This machine is not working.”

The officers jumped to see what had happened. I wondered what could have happened to the machine all of a sudden. Will I, at all, be able to cast my vote? Strange thoughts came in me. The number of people living in this area is huge. What if the machine’s memory is full? This is, after all, a sarkari machine. What is the guarantee that it will work again?

Later what we found was that the second polling officer had forgotten to press the ‘ballot’ button in the other machine, without which this machine wouldn’t function. The lady was so much in temper that the presiding officer himself went and pressed the button. He didn’t wait for the required officer, who actually was busy undoing his food packet.

The first polling officer finally came. The presiding officer called me. He checked my PAN card and Pass book photo and other details. He then begged apology the other voters that they had to wait. It would take a long(er) time for me.

I was then given an application form and told to fill in the blanks with what the fellow said. I obeyed him like a small child.  After I signed it, the lean fellow with the handycam was called and was asked to take my picture. I stood like a hero- a hero who is tired of fighting (as my face must have reflected). After that, details from my PAN and Pass Book were recorded on a different place. I was told to sign there as well.

And then, I was told to put my thumb impression. Never in my life had I expected this. I knew it was meant for either the illiterates or the criminals (as they show on TV). I guess, the criminal part was for me. Firstly, my name was in suspected list, and secondly, by now everybody must have known I am not illiterate.

I initially put my right thumb in the stamp pad- a mistake any literate would do. They corrected me. One of them himself put my left thumb on the pad and then on the paper. As I saw my own thumb-print on the paper it irritated me like anything!

The same fellow then told me to show him my index finger. He then put the voting ink on my nail. I can’t describe by words how much contented I felt. As if I had received a reply from my love after years of wait!

After that, things went smoothly. The ballot button was pressed. “Go, cast your vote now,” the presiding officer said, with a tone as if he was telling me to come out of the prison as my punishment was over.

I cast my vote. My mission was accomplished! I had a long wish to see the voting machine in real. But now when I got the chance, I could not spend time even to see the names of the other candidates. The other voters, who were still waiting, would kill me.

As I was about to leave the room, there came a plethora of ‘sorry’s and ‘please-do-not-mind’s from those officers. I was quite glad. Whatever they did, they were bound to do it. As I was leaving the place a fellow in the queue asked me- “How was your first vote?”

My answer was just one line- “Very memorable”

Story of my first vote- Part 1

They say- the first college, the first booze and the first sex remain in our memory till our death. May be they are right. Can’t say. But what I can say, rather assure, is that if you are (un)lucky, your first vote is definitely going to be one of those everlasting memories. As it has happened with me.

The first time when you are going to vote, the feeling of being mature is much more than what you have, when you do other things legally meant for adults (don’t ask what). Same had happened with me. I woke up early though I had slept after 2 am. I finished the morning chores as fast as possible, took my purse containing my EPIC, and came out of my house.

On my way to the booth, that was not more than 100 metres away from my place, I halted at aunt’s place. They were getting ready for this purpose.

“Where is your slip?” aunt asked.

“I did not get,” I said.

The slip was to contain details like my serial number, Part No., etc. I didn't have it. I was quite worried. How would I vote now?

Anyways, I got the details on phone by texting my EPIC No. to a number given by them. The details came in the form of reply.

Relief!

I, however, didn't know that this relief was temporary. Problems were yet to come.

I left them to get ready and went to the booth. A huge crowd. Two separate pairs of queues. I stood on one of the gents’ queues. Thank Heavens. It didn't take me much time to know that the queue was for the fellows who had different Part Number. I had initially thought them to be like the queues of Railway ticket-counter, where the principle is- “choose the queue which is shortest”. First-time voter.

I went and stood on the second queue. Soon there were men behind me. I could see the ladies come and cast their vote and go home in minutes, while our queue didn't make progress even a bit. We later heard that they were allowing one man to vote after every four ladies! Made me recall that admission-day at MM college.

We waited and waited. People from our queue went aside and smoked beedis, after properly examining the faces of the ones who were ahead of them lest they couldn't determine their position in the queue later. Twenty minutes passed and we didn't proceed a bit. Thanks to the organizers that our queue was beside the wall that helped us rest our backs.

And then, my uncle and aunt came there. Uncle joined our queue, while aunt went forward, and returned after five minutes with inked finger. Our queue had proceeded a feet by then.

After around forty-five minutes, I was near the poll-room. I could hear the beeping sound of the voting-machine. An excitement ran within me. I was soon to give my first vote.

And fifteen minutes later, I was inside the room, still in the queue. I saw the officials who had been assigned respective duties. A tall man in his late fifties was supplying them with coffees and food packets. A lean fellow was busy capturing the scene in a handy-cam.

My attention then fell on the machine kept on the table. It was grey in colour. I literally got very excited. But then I asked myself how could the voting machine be kept in open? Then I realized it was the machine meant for the polling officer. The machine was not properly visible and the constable standing beside me didn't allow me to leave the queue. I looked at the fellow and his tall antique gun. I wondered if he would at all be able to do anything with it in case any unfair incident took place. By the time he would aim it, the intruders would have done their task. I then prayed nothing as such takes place. The reason is obvious.

My turn finally came. I went to the presiding officer and the first polling officer and presented my EPIC before them. I also showed them the SMS. The first polling officer took a bunch of papers and searched my name there. I could see stars made with blue ink beside my name. I couldn't understand what they meant. The two fellows looked at each other. The presiding officer then turned to me. “Do you have any other document?” he asked.

“Yes sir. I have my college ID Card.”

“Does it contain your photo?”

“Yes sir.”

I passed it to him. He and the other fellow noticed the details minutely. They looked at each other again, and then to a third fellow sitting alone holding a similar list of voters.

“When did you get your EPIC done?” I was asked by the same fellow.

“Last year, during this time.”

“Have you voted earlier?”

“No sir. This is my first time.”

The fellow made a face as if to announce I was given a death sentence. “I am sorry. I do not know why, but your name is in the suspected list.”

I was puzzled. “What should I have to do sir?” I asked.

The other voters were waiting. The fellow told the constable to allow the next two people. The other fellow dealt with them, while this fellow turned to me.

“Do you have your bank’s Pass Book?”

“Yes sir. At home.”

“Does it contain your photo?”

“Yes sir.”

“Anything else? Driving license; PAN card?”

“PAN card.”

“Fine. Please bring the Pass Book and the PAN card. Do not worry. We would allow you to vote,” the fellow said with a face as if he was trying to do some favour.

So I had to go back home and come back again- all for getting the permission to press the blue button. I was angry. But my eagerness to see how the voting machine really looks like made me do all this without hesitation. I came out of the room and passed by the queue. My uncle was still there. He noticed me. Smiled. So did the others who knew me. They knew I had cast my vote.

After five minutes I was back there. The same people looked at me again. Each with a what-is-he-gonna-do-here-again glance. Some of them even tried to look at my finger. They must have assumed I have come with an intention to re-vote.

I passed by the long queue. My uncle, by now, was near the room’s entrance. It seems in my absence, somebody had protested against this four-women-one-man system. Now they were allowing one man and one woman, alternately.

I had no intention to join the queue again. But the entrance to the room was so congested that I had to become a part of it at that point. Thanks to the other voters who didn't protest my ‘sudden joining in the middle’.

(to be continued)