Inside a Goan Polling Booth.

         12 April at 0545 hrs, at the River Navigation office, Betim. Unusual activity woke up the white cat curled up on the security guard’s chair. (Are there any other kind of guards? Yes, the decorative ones outside gated communities and office complexes. And those that entertain the Royals of England whist they’re changing.)

LDCs, UDCs and other government personnel from across the state who were posted here on election duty had disturbed it. Lights, people were (dis)mantling the electronic voting apparatus, reading printed instructions on how to install, start, close and clear it. The three rooms converted into booths had been swept in honour of the elections. Weeks ago. Someone shooed the cat away and sat on her chair. It jumped back and sat on the lap of the person now occupying the chair. Like a grabby-Goan politician, it wasn’t going to leave the kodell, kityein zhaaley tari.

            In each, the five persons present on ‘duty’ had either spent the night there or come well before dawn.

         The ‘mock poll’ to test the equipment began at 06:01:43. Polling agents (representing the political parties and individual candidates) who came late missed the opening and assembling of the EVMs, but were able to check whether the buttons and the equipment worked. Six dud-votes per candidate and eight punches for NOTA -- the equipment was working properly. Everyone including the Micro-Observer (an insurance company employee) gathered around as the Presiding Officer of the booth reset the EVM to zero and sealed the unit with four strips. Everyone signed where indicated. It would now be opened only on 16^th May.

         At 07:00:41 the first vote was cast. Across the sub-continent, several lakh EVMs would have beeped more or less simultaneously.

         Cell-phones were silent. But acquaintances from Gurgaon to Guwahati sent smses:

           “.. b crfl of ppl jamming buttons wid tiny bits of paper”,

           “..complain if u c any1 wearing colours/ emblems dat subtly advertise political affiliations,”

           “…don’t get intimidated by bullies,”

           and most important “..carry toilet paper, water and snacks.”

         Outside, a ‘shamiana’ gave shade to those patiently standing in three queues (one per booth). A broken branch had its jagged edges covered with the bottom half of a cut plastic bottle so no one would get injured. A couple of crows sharpened their beaks, hoping to share crumbs with the cat scouting in between hundreds of human legs. Across the road, above the Gurudwara gate, a banner stated there would be a kirtan to celebrate Baisakhi.

 Horribly sultry Saturday.

The walls of the booth-room were last painted around Liberation; wires trailed from loose sockets. Permanently open window-panes rested on rusty hinges. Haphazardly placed steel cupboards had crooked, bashed-inward doors. A peek within showed files, bundled papers, and ghosts of crawlies, witnesses to other elections.

           Booth Level Officers sat outside and dealt with administrative hassles. Voters were from Goa (of course!), Manipur, Assam, Bengal, Bihar, UP, Karnataka and Maharashtra. This was mini-India.

Several languages were being spoken simultaneously. All were freshly bathed and clad in ‘good’ clothes. Respect. 

                 Angootha chaaps had no problems using the EVM. More respect.

 The ballot may be secret, but we Indians love to share private personal information. Perfect strangers discussed amongst themselves the pros and cons of various possible Prime Ministerial candidates.

         The ‘gender queue system’ allowed a woman inside after three men.

The CISF and GP jawans sorted out the problems of the aged, the disabled and the chaotic traffic at the junction outside. Burqa-clad women revealed their faces for identification. Ignorant first-timers excitedly presented their slips, their identity cards, their fingers for marking and giggled at the trigger of the valuable beep. Did the 552 beeps through 12 hours give anyone a severe headache? None knows.

There were hiccups: election-card details didn’t match the ones on the slip. (The election card is the identity, the slip permits voting at a particular booth, depending on the postal address.) Some took a long time behind the cardboard screen, wondering whom to vote for, bunching up the queue outside. A few came without any identification; others had faces that didn’t resemble the photos on their cards/ list. The allergic-to-discipline junta was exceptionally well-behaved and considerate.

         For the numbers handled, there were few errors. Commendable.

          After lunch came the lull.

           Minutes before 18:00:00, the officials themselves voted, disconnected the EVM, sealed and dispatched it to a central strong-room and distributed the reports to all concerned.  

         Meticulously executed, peaceful jobs never make headlines.  Not even when the turnout is a record 79 %.

(Feedback: sheelajaywant@yahoo.co.in)