 Wayside predictions, places that surface only during elections, royal outings and offbeat campaigns. The street-smart psephologists Double Role Finding Bahraich, post pollsA slice of electionsNext in line1857 The Forgotten Year “But it is all about gunmen. I don’t have any. I just have a bagful of conversations I hear at the stall and the wisdom I gather, but that is not enough to win elections, I have realised,” he says. Poi may have not got the votes, but on the road his stall would win hands down. It is one where the most voluble conversations, loud arguments and opinions are voiced and challenged each day, and especially at election time. The phrase “adda” and its accompanying culture is something the Bengalis might want to patent. But UP can proudly (with some competition from Bihar) lay claim to it as well. If you fling a Banarasi patta, it is almost certain to land on a psephologist or at least a political analyst. Outsiders can come to this state with as much contempt for caste-based politics as they want, but UPites would patiently welcome all outsiders and draw them into their own worlds, equations, voter swings and projections—often more reliable than the complex equations that flash on TV screens. In the capital Lucknow, the legendary Indian Coffee House has seen many debates, often over tasteless cups of coffee. Especially in the decades when it was UP where most of the prime ministers and home ministers came from. Located in the heart of Hazratganj, the Coffee House has seen many men while away evenings, arguing and debating with the conviction that as voters they have the power to change the future of India. But far away from the capital, in small bazaars, villages or towns with just a few thousand people, there is still that live wire sensation you get as you try and strike up a conversation. Once the fact that you are a “press reporter” is established, even in the dry heat of a late afternoon, the crowd slowly swells, each person giving his take on the definitive truth about UP and what would happen and yet never revealing who they would vote for. They try and play the independent observer, eager to help you understand their land. Waiting with a group of proud old Congressmen for their ummedwaarji (candidate) opposite a masjid in Ghazipur’s main market, the conversation strays into realism much more frequently that you would expect it to. The supporters speak of the distance that had crept in between them and the party leadership over years. But they add, “Ab hum hain naa, yahan hain, Rahulji bhi aayenge yahan shaayad 28 ko, aur tab bahut fark padega (But we are here now. Rahulji will probably come here on April 28 and then things will be different).” ‘Addas’ are places to look for wisdom. Says Mahendra, an aggressive BJP backer whom we met at a chai stall, about his party; “Bhavnaatmank sawaalon ka jab rajnitik jawaab dhoondha jaata hai, then there will be problems. Now that very approach is creating problems for the party I support. They are suddenly wishy-washy about upper castes after creating initial expectations of being committed to them and Hindus.” In UP, the electorate’s relationship with politics is different from that in other parts of the country. None of the dry and boring cynicism of the posh metro colonies can be witnessed here. It is refined, sophisticated and an astute response to the moment of reckoning every five years. Perhaps in its tea stalls, where the tea can often taste stronger than vodka shots, its barber saloons, and paan ki dukaans, an otherwise unempowered or impoverished Indian feels important, sought after, and able to make a difference. Radhey Shyam, his wife and three children run the Radhey Shyam tea stall that was set up in 1996. A chana seller Ravi Shanker Mishra was there on a hot afternoon and theorised all about the Congress’s strategy of “keeping India poor, but happy.” Mishra is a regular at the tea stall when not selling chana. He also told us his big secret—that he has studied only till Class VIII and that he buys paper from the scrap dealer in kilos for making pudiyas for the chana. ‘‘But you know, I read magazines and cut out some articles. That is how I hope to help my children later.” Amartya Sen’s Argumentative and Articulate Indian is hard at work in UP’s addas, and brewing not just theories, but in his own way, plotting for a better tomorrow. Said another quick-wit we encountered, “We don’t have power at all during the day. It just comes from 10 pm till the morning. Those in government think that by not giving us power (electricity), we would be troubled and turn into nikammas (good for nothings). But you see, all of us come out of our homes as the heat is unbearable, and end up talking to each other for hours—maybe something good will come out of just that talking.”
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