Dear reader, as someone reading a humour column in a newspaper on a Wednesday – I assume you are a well-read and curious individual. You might have followed many elections, a veritable psephologist who predicts vote shares like IPL scores. But there’s one kind of election that could baffle Prashant Bhushan and bamboozle Prashant Kishor. An intricate web of promises, accusations, benefits and campaigns that are spicier than the general elections. Where neighbourhood uncles transform into Chanakyas, and the parking lot becomes the Kurukshetra: The Annual Apartment Elections! Every noticeboard becomes a battleground, every flat a constituency. It’s the only election where the real winner is the guy who quietly deletes the WhatsApp group the moment the results are announced.
Just like democracy is needed in a modern country, apartment elections are needed to stop people from wielding absolute power. Like that uncle whose children in the US bought him three flats in the same building. There’s an Arvind Kejriwal in every apartment who might be a tenant but is fighting against corruption in Deepavali funds. Some pet owners believe their pets should be treated like human children. Those without pets want those pets far away from their human children. And finally, there are people like me who feed the stray dogs and earn the hatred of all the above candidates.
While national politicians promise flyovers, SEZs, and freebies, apartment netas promise to lift repairs, 24*7 water, and a complete ban on children playing cricket within the apartment premises. Just as young voters in India avoid voting, the apartment’s younger crowd are too cool (or too temporary) to vote. National campaigns feature rallies and online propaganda; in the apartment, we have secret lobby meets, whisper networks in the parking lot, and passive-aggressive pamphlets. When the uncle who’s ignored you all year suddenly offers you a laddoo ‘just like that’, you know the polls are near.
If national elections are fought over inflation, unemployment, and border security, apartment elections are fought over water timings, cleaning up dog poop, and whether the terrace can be used for yoga and badminton. Older people complain that youngsters drink too much on Fridays, dance too much on Saturdays, and breathe too much on Sundays. Young folks complain about restrictions – they can’t bring over friends, partners, and friendly partners. If the National elections are overseen by the Election Commission, apartment elections are overseen by watchman Ramesh – who is doubling tripling quadrupling up as returning officer, moral police, and exit poll expert, whispering results to the milkman.
And then there’s the holy battlefield – the apartment WhatsApp group. Politicians become active once every five years. But apartment politicians have to maintain their image throughout the year. The apartment WhatsApp group (mostly archived and muted through the year) is a smorgasbord of complaints, cultural debates, and good morning pictures with roses in every colour imaginable to Leonardo da Vinci. This is where names are called out, accusations are hurled, and true personalities are revealed.
I wonder if apartments in China have elections! But in every apartment in India, a shaky, beta version of Indian democracy thrives. And just like the national elections, nobody really cares about the results. Because no matter who wins – the lift still won’t work, the water will stop right when you’re in the second charnanam of an Ilaiyaraaja song in the shower. And the dogs will poop on the uncles who were complaining about the bachelor tenant’s girlfriend staying over for too long. For, as the popular phrase goes: apartment democracy is a system of ‘stop the people, mock the people, buy the people’.
(The writer’s views are personal)