The fourth season

I remember us being taught in the kinder-garden that there are 3 seasons viz: summer, winter and rainy… But of late I have realized there are four, at least as far as Goa is concerned. And no, it’s not about the climatic vagaries that the globe is subjected to. It’s more to do with the political juggernaut in the state. Yes, you guessed it right… the fourth season is the election season which has virtually become an annual or at best biannual phenomenon in this tiny state.

Just like the rainy season which is eagerly awaited by the population of Goa; the election season too is keenly looked up to by the masses of the Goa. And more of analogy with the rainy season wherein the rain pours and rivulets small and big flow, in the election months, it’s the money that pours and beer that flows. And for that matter I can’t restrict myself in noting many more similarities that season of ballots has with the rainy season.

As in the rains, wherein with the silver drops falling from the heaven bring about a welcome change in the landscape of the earth, so do the elections. With the first showers as the new leaves shoot up from every tree, just like that one could see the plastic flags in different colours dotting the scenery once the elections are announced. Just like the moss that grows on the walls and the trees, so do the banners and the posters with more often some ugly faces of some snobbish politician line to grab their share.

Just like the frogs who come out of hibernation to their most active selves when the rains pounds the mother earth, the politicians too come out of the self imposed dormancy and get seen amongst the public or the “Aam Aadmi” as they prefer to call it. And throughout the season they are always on the toes; right from the time the election-notifications are out when they hob-knob from one party-office to the other seeking the pass to howl, yell or shout in the legislative den on the hilltop across Mandovi. And finally, those who succeed in getting the proverbial go-ahead from the party office and the others who don’t, get on the electioneering bandwagon, tirelessly canvassing for them. They hop from every to the other nook campaigning. They cover every other tiny hutment to the biggest bungalow in their constituency highlighting what they have accomplished, if at all they have. They can be seen running from pillar to post usually accompanied by an army of toadies. For the more affluent ones choose to move in a procession on top on their convertibles, the majority prefer to follow the Gandhian way (may be just to strike a chord with the lesser privileged). This game of hopping just takes a innings break after the ballots only to begin with new vigor once the results are out. Here though the scale is low but the stakes are high, as the loosing tadpoles makes way for the winner frogs to move on to the next level of hopping viz: party-hopping. For that time the winning contestants quiet literally weigh their weight in gold for switching their loyalties; it’s an irony that they aren’t loyal in first place. More so, if a winning candidate is not affiliated to any party then s/he can quote any number that comes to their mouth and I doubt whether they won’t be paid that.

And there are others who seek to benefit from the electioneering indirectly. For the good-old farmer who look up to the skies only to get happy with the slightest glimpse of the dark clouds at the horizon; there are people (usually the idle jobless sloth) who desperately wait for the ballots just to hitch-hike on the campaign trail and fill their pockets with some green bills in the process. In fact the campaign time is the most early awaited times for such lazy asses as it proves to be a virtually all-expenses paid holidays for them. All that is expected of them is either crowd around the candidate or lest scream their vocal chords out sitting on top campaign wagon. It’s a money-spinner for most of them as they pocket dissent amount that might make a daily-wager go green of envy. Top it up with the “CHICKEN” and “SORO” (beer in Konkani). Even, the campaigner slightly up and above in the hierarchy tend to make hay as the campaigning moves on; needless to say the higher you are in the campaign team, the more is your takeaway. These people who tag themselves as “campaign manager” and move about with clutter of papers (slowly the laptops are replacing the files) and they being in charge of dispensing of the funds do make it sure they are the biggest beneficiaries needless of the outcome of the results.

With rains, start the season of the migration of flocks of birds. And how can the election season defy this analogy. For the electioneering is not complete without the influx of migrants who off late have turned into kingmakers election after election. They have been the faithful vote-banks for these netas and virtually the passport to the assembly. No wonder if you miss your name in the election rolls amongst tons of these migrant flocks.

Such is the vibrant fourth season…