Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya…

Har fikr ko dhuyen mein udata chala gaya…

Remember Mohammad Rafi humming for Dev Anand in the film Hum Dono? The song was revisiting my mind since early yesterday morning when tubes began beaming how the fate of this state would be sealed this day – in the ruins or in the wrecks.

Does it matter, really? It does, perhaps, when you look at your child in his pre-teens and try to convince yourself that he is being raised up in an environment conducive for his growth as a human being, and not a human bomb, well, metaphorically.

Perhaps one of the dirtiest dances of democracy in the history of West Bengal came to an end on Sunday with the Trinamool Congress retaining power for the third term and the warring sides taking a break from spewing venom on each other.

The two sides – the incumbent Trinamool Congress and the 'outsider' BJP, though they would not club themselves as Hum Dono – have never been frugal in spitting toxins through the last several months. Each one has been baying for the blood of a friend, who's turned his coat, and became a foe. They clocked thousands of airmiles in these months only to warn and threaten their rivals. And, in the process, they dangled endless carrots to voters, the ostensible deciders of fate for these political leaders. It's easy to lure in votes by strewing promises before a starving populace a quarter of which still survives with a per-capita income of Rs 360 ($4.86) a month.

The high-octane polls in a land riddled with severe funds crunch have seen over Rs 100 crore being splurged on air travel for political chieftains whom we select to seal our fates. The rulers or the ruler-aspirants are draped in green or saffron or white, and they're at ease to change their shades, well, almost anytime. But the ruled remained in the red since the days of the Red and through the sweeping Green and the intimidating Saffron.

Facebook alone cornered Rs 3.74 crore from the political rivals on the battleground Bengal. Social media became the virtual rehearsal room for incessant campaigns and counter-campaigns, amplifying the development clonk of the politicos. The state was abuzz with the deafening slogans of a golden sunshine, eclipsing the second Lilliputian invasion of a microbe on an army of 133 crore Giants.

The toxins that some of the leaders of the world's largest democracy threw up over the last few months of campaign for the Bengal corner room would not choke you to death like coronavirus but sting you to sulk and seethe. Instead of prodding people not to breach the guidelines set for the pandemic, they indulged you to step out and crowd up in their show of might. At the end of every rally, you returned home with the looming fear of being counted among the over four lakhs being infected by the virus every day in this country.

We watched blithely through these months as the leaders belted out all sorts of expletives that rarely a political dais has staged. We saw how they went from professional attack to personal onslaughts. We witnessed both sides making vulgar gyrations, saying abusive skits, and displaying a pathetic absence of basic minimum respect that a human being deserves. Let's not talk about the rampant clashes that marred the eight-phase election process and claimed several lives. 

What did we fight for? The question keeps coming back to my mind. Is it for safeguarding my religious identity or is it for securing my economic future? It serves none, to be precise. Religion takes a backseat when finances are on the blaze. In a state that has seen industries melting down across regimes, nothing is dearer than a life of peace and security.

The triumph of Mamata Banerjee is commendable in the backdrop of defection by some of her trusted lieutenants. The drubbing of the fundamentalist forces could be comforting in a state that has rarely seen religious riots in the last several decades. But what about the future of an individual, of whatever religious belonging and of economic background?

Escape. That's the answer. Bengal cannot beckon its brains unless it cedes its tradition of political euphoria and focus on itself more constructively, instead of letting these leaders use its land for belching out the negatives they harbour.  

Mohammad Rafi keeps crooning.

Barbadiyon ka jasn mana ta chala gaya…

Har fikr ko dhuyen mein udata chala gaya…

The author is a journalist and writer based in Kolkata, India. The views expressed are personal.