Virgin voter

My daughter Arundhati turned 18 last year. This will be her first election. She now has the vote, and it means a lot to her. I didn''t think it would.
And I''m overjoyed that it does. Even though her final exams are just a couple of days away, she had been taking time off every morning to read the newspapers and follow the run-up. She has also been monitoring the coverage on all the news channels.
Each time we discuss the elections, I have to remind myself not to give the game away.In Arundhati''s young and inexperienced eyes, I see hope, optimism, excitement, anticipation. She really and truly believes that her vote counts.
She desperately wants it to. "Are you sure my name is on the electoral rolls?" she asked this morning. I said, somewhat carelessly, "No, not sure but I''ll check." My response disappointed her.
Please pay attention, make sure it is, I really want to vote, she said. Her enthusiasm shamed me. Once again I told myself to camouflage my own cynicism, to keep the hardened, mocking edge out of my voice, to feign the same level of interest and involvement as her.
This much, she is owed. Not just by me as her mother, but by society at large.
Yet, left to myself, I wonder what and how much I should tell this trusting young Indian? Should I tell her the horrible truth and risk disenchanting her for life? Or should I be discreet, diplomatic, even a little deceitful?
When she discusses potential candidates or even asks about the commitment of various parties and leaders, should I share with her what I''ve known for years? I think not. I dare not.
Let her (and others like her) find out for themselves that democracy has its own peculiar logic — at least, here in India. Let me not disappoint her with stories that can scar and disillusion a young, eager mind.
Let her continue to believe that most of these rascals who one only sees during the election time, may promise her the Earth, moon and Mars too. But will give her nothing in return for her trust. Let her hang on to the faith she has in the system. Let me not wisen her up to the realities of corruption, hatred, divisiveness, duplicity.
No,I cannot do that to her or to any other first-time voter. For I know what it was for me that first year when I proudly took my place in a snaking queue, feeling important, oh, so important.
I was convinced that mine would be the make-or-break vote that would decide the fate of the rogue who had been conning this particular constituency for so many years. Who had sold us all down the tube several times over.
Who had grown richer and richer with hush-money he had extracted from the slum-dwellers whose huts he had legitimised for a hefty price.
I had felt powerful and strong as I had cast my virgin vote after a very careful consideration of all the issues. What a sweet and gullible fool I had been.
Ah well, that was a long time ago. I''m still a bit of a fool when it comes to believing in the power of my vote. Sweet and gullible I no longer am, obviously.
In young Arundhati''s shining eyes, I see myself at 18. I can recall the the magic of that moment. Strange, for I know better. You know how these things work. I know an honest vote is worth very little in an environment where price-tags are frequently attached to the ballot-paper. So what?
I shall continue to support Arundhati''s enthusiasm. And accompany her on the D-Day. I shall stand proudly with a brand-new voter — and not let my mouth twist into a knowing, sceptical smile.
You know why? Because I still believe in India. And its people. I want, above all, for Arundhati to share that belief. When she casts her vote for the first time, I want her to remember that empowering moment forever, and hold her head high as an Indian.