GOWDAS OF THE STUMP

“I’ve fought 13 elections and won 11. I know the mood of the people. We have a clear edge in these 89 constituencies,” says Deve Gowda, soon after campaigning concluded for the first of three phases. He sounds unusually confident on the phone. The voice matches the image—an equally unusual Gowda beaming from ear to ear on his party’s poll posters. Not the familiar resigned look, hesitant half-sentences and syllables on snooze mode. This first lot of constituencies is his stronghold. Is the seasoned player managing perceptions that should count in the next two polling phases?

“No, I say. Our party has made clear inroads into the northern districts as well. I’ve seen during my state-wide campaign how people reciprocate.”
To what?

“To our manifesto. It is crystal clear. Only doable promises. Not like the BJP and Congress that have promised free power. And our former CM introduced many innovative programmes despite his tenure being cut short by murky politicking by the Congress and BJP. He happens to be my son. Still I must say ‘the boy’ did a lot in 20 months and people know it.”
Sure.

Earlier in the day, people waited dutifully for some four hours for ‘the boy’. The gathering, a couple of thousands strong, sat back in plastic chairs under a huge shamiana that shielded them from the sun that was climbing. They had access to bottles of mineral water and refreshments from an adjoining eatery. And they had music.

Devotional melodies that extolled the virtues of the Gowda clan—which the songs aver is no one-man show. There is the paternal Senior Gowda, once PM, younger son Kumaraswamy, ex-CM, and elder brother Revanna, the key PWD minister in the last cabinet.

Encomiums are evenly attributed. The song writer vouches for the humble farmer family’s credo: Karmanye vadikaraste, ma bhaleshu kathachana… (Do your duty with no thought of reward). Straight out of the Bhagwad Gita, a secular googly bowled at the BJP. Which is a bunch of back stabbers who trampled and tore Divine Gowda’s posters after the last power shift fell through, reminds a speaker.

Amidst much music and still waiting for the boy’s arrival, speeches pop up like commercial breaks on FM radio. A surprise speaker is a London-based eye surgeon, Dr Madhusoodan, the son of former MLA Sidhappa. The tall, youngish doctor has come ‘all the way’ to his home district to open its eyes to the best choice. The only choice. Perhaps thanks to Googling, he seems to have a far more extended memory than the rest of the speakers, who, apart from a snide one on the hi-tech S.M. Krishna (the rival Gowda), were harping on the recent big brother betrayals. The doctor recalls Rajiv Gandhi’s ‘banana era’. “Yeh banana hai; woh banana hai.” He goes all the way back to Gandhiji’s assassination, the RSS role in it and dismisses BJP’s mandir promise as a “post-dated cheque from a failing political party that is bound to bounce.” He concludes with a flourish, “Test captains like Dravid bring no trophies. It is Kumaraswamy’s T20 team that will win like Dhoni’s.”

The script is in place. The special effects are done. Where’s the hero? He just has to turn up for the happy ending.

Meanwhile the bijli goes off, then comes back. The sadak is in a bad shape so Kumaranna is hele-hopping. People sip mineral pani and wait for the speck in the sky. Which finally appears over the Nandi Hills and lands on an engineering college ground. Hi-tech education has its uses.

Kumaraswamy is welcomed with a mega garland fit for the Bamian Buddha. Soon enough he is helped out of this floral girdle by local bigwigs who have scrambled on to the dais. They form a cheek-by-jowl arc behind him as he begins to speak. He recaps what was heard in the past couple of hours. A straight sober delivery, contained gestures, no feisty aerobics, a meek wave of the hand, and tentative finger pointing… Can’t tell with whom you’ll have to work post-poll.

Yet he must throw in a little masala. After all, it is an election speech. “Who are these big guys of national politics? Congress chief Indira Gandhi in her hard days post-Emergency didn’t go to Uttar Pradesh. She came here to Chikmagalur to find her way back into Parliament. And the BJP? Venkaiah Naidu says the Janata Dal is dead and all it has are the four pall bearers. Deve Gowda is alive and kicking. How hard Naidu will soon know.”

Kumaraswamy doesn’t have to pause for effect. The crowd cheers him on. “A captive crowd,” whispers my pro-Congress driver and quickly adds, “Every party manages crowds. Only film star Ambareesh draws a real one.” Mobilised or not, the gathering here looks the sort that can even fool the exit pollster. Mostly well-clad—men in bush shirts and trousers, women in neatly pressed saris or embroidered burkhas—they are too polite and orderly to reveal their mind. Chikbalapur, their new district constituted by the last Kumaraswamy government, is right between Hyderabad and Bangalore, both developmental nodes. These people have evidently felt the pull. The place has vineyards, some industry and an engineering college. Where a humble farmer’s son can land in style.