One of these days, if you ask me 'Hey, what's up?' and I say 'Nothing', I mean it. This post is just the kind of thing abject nothingness leads a man to do. Read on.
Now, if you were so unlucky as to not study at one of the many faculties of the once-famous-now-infamous The Maharaja Sayajirao University of Baroda, you probably know little more about its MSUSU (Maharaja Sayajirao University Student Union) polls than the page 2 of The Times of India tells you: images of fresh-out-of-a-mandir candidates flashing unsure smiles and V signs, reports of bust ups between the ever-warring factions BVP (Bhartiya Vidyarthi Parishad) and SUI (Students Union of India) and subsequent filing of FIR's at Sayajigunj police station. Then, prior to the election day, reports of heavy police bandobast at the volatile Science Faculty and a Vice Chancellor quote that goes 'Adequate measures have been taken to ensure a fair and safe election process across faculties', and then, post the E day, images of winners, now atop shoulders, again flashing unsure smiles and V signs amid mass frenzy (drums beating, gulal flying and all). There's also, invariably, a report somewhere on the same page about the losing party accusing the winning one of unspeakable electoral malpractices, appealing the VC for re-elections, and the students to sit on an indefinite dharna next day onwards.
Exhaustive and detailed, yes, but still only an outsider's account.
Following is a riveting, if not scholarly, insider account of the MSUSU polls as witnessed and experienced firsthand at a faculty with brilliant domes and smelly corridors; a faculty that has produced, in addition to countless engineering virtuosi and enormous revenue for T.I.M.E Baroda, the co-founder of USB, the chairman of National Innovation Council, and a future Man Booker.
Ah, The Faculty of Technology and Engineering. How I miss its brilliant domes and smelly corridors.
*wipes tears*
So, there are 5 posts on offer: University General Secretary (UGS), Vice President (VP. Reserved unreservedly for females), Faculty General Secretary (FGS), Faculty Representative (FR. 2 posts), and last and most certainly the least, Department Representative (DR).
It all starts in early August. The incumbent candidates have long since relinquished their apparent duties; they wander about lazily like an aam student, minus the pretending-to-be-busy swagger. In canteen, at Nescafe, or under the tree near Koko, huddled groups start talking about the elections looming large. Plenty think about contesting; few weather the potent storms of hesitation and self doubt, and come forth. There will be clandestine meetings with top brass of student outfits, prospects will be discussed, abilities (financial and otherwise) will be gauged, plan of action charted, and thus, alliances forged; except, at FTE, there's only one outfit: BVP.
Year after year, the BVP kicks anti-incumbency's arse to win the post of FGS, the supreme post at faculty level. Heck, there's no anti-incumbency at all, for the candidate of BVP becomes FGS unanimously, uncontested, year after year. Anyone with the temerity to contest for FGS at FTE on an SUI ticket is, in Don Corleone's parlance, taken care of. Such is the iron grip of BVP over FTE. It is, in a sense, the Maninagar of Narendra Modi, the Raebareli of Sonia Gandhi, the very Maharashtra Home Ministry of R. R Patil.
And rightly so, for legend has it that it was BVP that helped expedite the commissioning of a machine worth crores of rupees into some lab of the Mechanical Engineering Department for students' practicals and research work. If it had not been for BVP, the proposal would still be rotting in the mouth of the giant bureaucratic snail that is the MSU administration. This is just one example. Over the years, BVP has done many things for FTE that civilian student folk (you, that is) needn't know.
That's why, for all contesting for the posts at FTE, BVP it is.
Soon, it'll be time for the candidates to start preparing. Once the candidates submit duly filled nomination forms, they'll be assigned a unique number. This number is like symbols given to political parties. Then they'll call up their parents for a substantial fiscal stimulus, and once the money arrives, they'll line up at photo studios, clean shaven and serious looking, for close up shots that'll appear in their posters. They'll purchase numerous sim cards with free bulk messaging schemes. They'll prepare a huge database of students with their names and phone numbers. They'll register on way2sms and 160by2 websites. They'll swarm around Saffron Complex, placing massive printing orders for posters and handouts. They'll buy new, shiny clothes. They'll gather a bunch of cronies, and then, they'll start working on the most important thing of them all: the speech.
The scale of the preparations increases proportionally from DR to UGS.
About a couple of weeks from the E Day, it'll be time for campaigning in the classes. As the lecture goes on, one could see the candidates and their cronies peeping nervously through glass windows to see who is teaching; such pre-empting is important, for there are essentially three types of reactions of a lecturer to such interruption: relief, scorn and outright disapproval. Exactly 3 seconds later, much to the students' collective delight, the candidate will poke his head through a part-open door and ask the lecturer for permission. Upon a slight nod of the lecturer's head, he'll take the stage as 4 of his cronies dart towards the rows, each with a handful of small rectangular pieces of paper bearing the name, mobile number and election number of the candidate in shabby orange ink. They'll try and push those miniature handouts in every student's hand. Few of them will take it, few will take it only to fling it away right in front of the cronies, few will push their hands into their pockets and still others, who wish to kill off the remaining minutes of the lecture, will fashion tiny models of planes and boats out of the chits.
Meanwhile, the candidate is on the stage, where moments ago the lecturer stood. He has now either left the room or is staring out of some window, playing with a piece of chalk. The candidate prepares to deliver his speech. Any FTE student or graduate worth his salt will tell you that it is the speech that seals a candidate's fate; a confident forceful one is sure to manifest into votes, a fumbling one wouldn't even register.
'HELLO FRIENDS!' he'll shout. The class stares in silence. 'I SAID HELLO FRIENDS!' he'll try again. Still silence, and scattered chuckles. 'Myself Dhagash Desai, I am contesting...for the post of FR...from BVP panel. My number 4, number 4...SO FRIENDS! Please what for me, thanks' - goes the average speech of an FR candidate; for a couple of posts, there are laughably many in the fray. Hence their efforts half-hearted, the student reaction cold.
Business begins when the biggie's arrive on the campus; those in running for the posts of UGS and VP. First ones to come will be the candidates from the Independent Students Union Organization (ISUO). These blokes, apparently without affiliations with any national political party, are like the 'Others' in a state or central election; they hardly get any votes besides their own.
Next will be the guys from SUI. They will walk into classes quietly, deliver short, succinct speeches and get the hell out of the campus.
It's FTE boss, they don't have an option.
Then, it'll be time for the stars to descend on the campus - the BVP candidates for UGS and VP.
If in the dead of the afternoon, somewhere near Dandia Bazaar, you hear loud drums and louder slogans, know that the BVP candidates have arrived at FTE. They come in large numbers, amid great fanfare. Led by the FGS in waiting, their big numbers swell into classes, and the UGS and VP hopefuls deliver their well-rehearsed speeches. Once both are done, the FGS takes over - inevitably the best orator.
His will be an impassioned speech appealing every single student to come on election day, vote for BVP and thus honour the legendary 'techo spirit', just like batches upon batches of seniors have done before them. He'll then proceed to give a lengthy, illustrative explanation on the correct method of voting: 'Once you have put the stamp, be very sure that you fold your slip vertically. Do it horizontally, and your precious vote will be discarded'. All the while doing the said maneuver on a dummy slip of paper held over his head, looking like an air-hostess. He'll end with another warning. 'Those SUI buggers have a reputation of fielding dummy candidates whose names are quite similar to those of our BVP candidates. A cowardly strategy to confuse the voters and eat into the votes meant for our genuine candidates. That's why I ask you to memorize the numbers, don't forget: UGS 2, VP 2'.
In accordance with the rules, the campaigning stops 48 hours prior to the E Day, and after a fortnight of frantic activity, the campus wears a dull, forlorn look. There are posters of candidates in fluorescent orange and green, occupying every single inch of available space on the walls of the classrooms, canteen, stairways, and toilets alike. And, on the ground, lay scattered thousands of those small rectangular chits in orange print, adding generously to the sweeper's woes. Every corner of the campus screams elections, but there's no noise.
Nevertheless, the wily candidates make good use of the two days by continuing their promotions on electronic media. The phone will receive texts upon texts from different candidates at all hours making last ditch efforts to garner as many votes as possible.
But the beauty of elections is that it all boils down to the one day, the one moment when a voter is alone at the ballot, with his voting slips and a swastik stamp. No amount of cajoling, prodding or arm twisting can either affect or change the vote he chooses to cast here.
The Election Day at FTE, one of those rare days when the Sanjay Drawing Stores is open, but the faculty gates are closed, is a special day indeed, and deserves a lengthy mention.
But the post is already too long, no?
Yes, so one last thought: With strict checking of college ID cards at the gate, students waiting in long queues to cast their vote, flying squads, and swivelling CCTV cameras, the Election Day is perhaps the most disciplined day at FTE in all year. Only the Lyngdoh Committee rules are flouted.
Now, if you were so unlucky as to not study at one of the many faculties of the once-famous-now-infamous The Maharaja Sayajirao University of Baroda, you probably know little more about its MSUSU (Maharaja Sayajirao University Student Union) polls than the page 2 of The Times of India tells you: images of fresh-out-of-a-mandir candidates flashing unsure smiles and V signs, reports of bust ups between the ever-warring factions BVP (Bhartiya Vidyarthi Parishad) and SUI (Students Union of India) and subsequent filing of FIR's at Sayajigunj police station. Then, prior to the election day, reports of heavy police bandobast at the volatile Science Faculty and a Vice Chancellor quote that goes 'Adequate measures have been taken to ensure a fair and safe election process across faculties', and then, post the E day, images of winners, now atop shoulders, again flashing unsure smiles and V signs amid mass frenzy (drums beating, gulal flying and all). There's also, invariably, a report somewhere on the same page about the losing party accusing the winning one of unspeakable electoral malpractices, appealing the VC for re-elections, and the students to sit on an indefinite dharna next day onwards.
Exhaustive and detailed, yes, but still only an outsider's account.
Following is a riveting, if not scholarly, insider account of the MSUSU polls as witnessed and experienced firsthand at a faculty with brilliant domes and smelly corridors; a faculty that has produced, in addition to countless engineering virtuosi and enormous revenue for T.I.M.E Baroda, the co-founder of USB, the chairman of National Innovation Council, and a future Man Booker.
Ah, The Faculty of Technology and Engineering. How I miss its brilliant domes and smelly corridors.
*wipes tears*
So, there are 5 posts on offer: University General Secretary (UGS), Vice President (VP. Reserved unreservedly for females), Faculty General Secretary (FGS), Faculty Representative (FR. 2 posts), and last and most certainly the least, Department Representative (DR).
It all starts in early August. The incumbent candidates have long since relinquished their apparent duties; they wander about lazily like an aam student, minus the pretending-to-be-busy swagger. In canteen, at Nescafe, or under the tree near Koko, huddled groups start talking about the elections looming large. Plenty think about contesting; few weather the potent storms of hesitation and self doubt, and come forth. There will be clandestine meetings with top brass of student outfits, prospects will be discussed, abilities (financial and otherwise) will be gauged, plan of action charted, and thus, alliances forged; except, at FTE, there's only one outfit: BVP.
Year after year, the BVP kicks anti-incumbency's arse to win the post of FGS, the supreme post at faculty level. Heck, there's no anti-incumbency at all, for the candidate of BVP becomes FGS unanimously, uncontested, year after year. Anyone with the temerity to contest for FGS at FTE on an SUI ticket is, in Don Corleone's parlance, taken care of. Such is the iron grip of BVP over FTE. It is, in a sense, the Maninagar of Narendra Modi, the Raebareli of Sonia Gandhi, the very Maharashtra Home Ministry of R. R Patil.
That's why, for all contesting for the posts at FTE, BVP it is.
Soon, it'll be time for the candidates to start preparing. Once the candidates submit duly filled nomination forms, they'll be assigned a unique number. This number is like symbols given to political parties. Then they'll call up their parents for a substantial fiscal stimulus, and once the money arrives, they'll line up at photo studios, clean shaven and serious looking, for close up shots that'll appear in their posters. They'll purchase numerous sim cards with free bulk messaging schemes. They'll prepare a huge database of students with their names and phone numbers. They'll register on way2sms and 160by2 websites. They'll swarm around Saffron Complex, placing massive printing orders for posters and handouts. They'll buy new, shiny clothes. They'll gather a bunch of cronies, and then, they'll start working on the most important thing of them all: the speech.
The scale of the preparations increases proportionally from DR to UGS.
About a couple of weeks from the E Day, it'll be time for campaigning in the classes. As the lecture goes on, one could see the candidates and their cronies peeping nervously through glass windows to see who is teaching; such pre-empting is important, for there are essentially three types of reactions of a lecturer to such interruption: relief, scorn and outright disapproval. Exactly 3 seconds later, much to the students' collective delight, the candidate will poke his head through a part-open door and ask the lecturer for permission. Upon a slight nod of the lecturer's head, he'll take the stage as 4 of his cronies dart towards the rows, each with a handful of small rectangular pieces of paper bearing the name, mobile number and election number of the candidate in shabby orange ink. They'll try and push those miniature handouts in every student's hand. Few of them will take it, few will take it only to fling it away right in front of the cronies, few will push their hands into their pockets and still others, who wish to kill off the remaining minutes of the lecture, will fashion tiny models of planes and boats out of the chits.
Meanwhile, the candidate is on the stage, where moments ago the lecturer stood. He has now either left the room or is staring out of some window, playing with a piece of chalk. The candidate prepares to deliver his speech. Any FTE student or graduate worth his salt will tell you that it is the speech that seals a candidate's fate; a confident forceful one is sure to manifest into votes, a fumbling one wouldn't even register.
'HELLO FRIENDS!' he'll shout. The class stares in silence. 'I SAID HELLO FRIENDS!' he'll try again. Still silence, and scattered chuckles. 'Myself Dhagash Desai, I am contesting...for the post of FR...from BVP panel. My number 4, number 4...SO FRIENDS! Please what for me, thanks' - goes the average speech of an FR candidate; for a couple of posts, there are laughably many in the fray. Hence their efforts half-hearted, the student reaction cold.
Business begins when the biggie's arrive on the campus; those in running for the posts of UGS and VP. First ones to come will be the candidates from the Independent Students Union Organization (ISUO). These blokes, apparently without affiliations with any national political party, are like the 'Others' in a state or central election; they hardly get any votes besides their own.
Next will be the guys from SUI. They will walk into classes quietly, deliver short, succinct speeches and get the hell out of the campus.
It's FTE boss, they don't have an option.
Then, it'll be time for the stars to descend on the campus - the BVP candidates for UGS and VP.
If in the dead of the afternoon, somewhere near Dandia Bazaar, you hear loud drums and louder slogans, know that the BVP candidates have arrived at FTE. They come in large numbers, amid great fanfare. Led by the FGS in waiting, their big numbers swell into classes, and the UGS and VP hopefuls deliver their well-rehearsed speeches. Once both are done, the FGS takes over - inevitably the best orator.
His will be an impassioned speech appealing every single student to come on election day, vote for BVP and thus honour the legendary 'techo spirit', just like batches upon batches of seniors have done before them. He'll then proceed to give a lengthy, illustrative explanation on the correct method of voting: 'Once you have put the stamp, be very sure that you fold your slip vertically. Do it horizontally, and your precious vote will be discarded'. All the while doing the said maneuver on a dummy slip of paper held over his head, looking like an air-hostess. He'll end with another warning. 'Those SUI buggers have a reputation of fielding dummy candidates whose names are quite similar to those of our BVP candidates. A cowardly strategy to confuse the voters and eat into the votes meant for our genuine candidates. That's why I ask you to memorize the numbers, don't forget: UGS 2, VP 2'.
In accordance with the rules, the campaigning stops 48 hours prior to the E Day, and after a fortnight of frantic activity, the campus wears a dull, forlorn look. There are posters of candidates in fluorescent orange and green, occupying every single inch of available space on the walls of the classrooms, canteen, stairways, and toilets alike. And, on the ground, lay scattered thousands of those small rectangular chits in orange print, adding generously to the sweeper's woes. Every corner of the campus screams elections, but there's no noise.
Nevertheless, the wily candidates make good use of the two days by continuing their promotions on electronic media. The phone will receive texts upon texts from different candidates at all hours making last ditch efforts to garner as many votes as possible.
But the beauty of elections is that it all boils down to the one day, the one moment when a voter is alone at the ballot, with his voting slips and a swastik stamp. No amount of cajoling, prodding or arm twisting can either affect or change the vote he chooses to cast here.
The Election Day at FTE, one of those rare days when the Sanjay Drawing Stores is open, but the faculty gates are closed, is a special day indeed, and deserves a lengthy mention.
But the post is already too long, no?
Yes, so one last thought: With strict checking of college ID cards at the gate, students waiting in long queues to cast their vote, flying squads, and swivelling CCTV cameras, the Election Day is perhaps the most disciplined day at FTE in all year. Only the Lyngdoh Committee rules are flouted.
