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”