No beaming exit polls here, power went out in storm 18 months ago

‘‘I keep the room locked because children love sliding down the mustard pile,’’ says a tired Jagdish Singh Solanki. ‘‘The TV is redundant but I just can’t get myself to sell it. I live in hope, especially around poll time.’’

Solanki has lived in hope since a stormy night sometime in August 2002. As the winds swept through the narrow alleys of this village, on the fringes of dacoit territory, it brought down a few electricity poles. Since then, the light bulbs have never flickered back on in Silra.

Sitting 15-odd kilometres from National Highway 25, they see the lights come on every night in the neighbouring Fathepur, before lowering the wick of lanterns and surrounding themselves with darkness.

After almost two years of sitting endlessly on benches outside offices and pleading with their local leaders, Silra has given up. The tired villagers have decided that this time they will not trek down to any polling booth, brave the sun in long lines and cast their vote. This time, they will stay home, fanning themselves under a neem tree in their village square and reassure each other that their ‘‘symbolic gesture’’ will mean something to someone.

During the Assembly elections, they tried their luck by voting for an Independent candidate who continues to visit the village with ‘‘false promises’’. The new ones are sympathetic and promise ‘‘radical change’’.

‘‘It is election time after all,’’ says Nanhe Singh, trying to convince you that this time somebody will care. ‘‘Every leader who has come to us to ask for votes has been told that unless lights are restored here before polling day, they can count us out. We are waiting for the 25 poles to be fixed again.’’

On a hot and muggy April afternoon, the men of Silra are sitting under the huge Neem tree that provides the only and most sought after shade in the village. The women huddle in small groups on their doorsteps, fanning themselves with their pallus.

‘‘We spend all our time either in the fields or out here,’’ says Solanki. ‘‘Sleeping under fans that don’t work and reading under bulb holders is very difficult to cope with.’’

For the 150-odd families of Silra, no electricity has meant using diesel engines in their fields and dwindling crop production. For children used to studying under the dim glow of the bulb, it has meant going back to kerosene lamps. And for Bhagwati and Geeta it has meant being house bound the minute dusk falls and sleeping in fear at night.

Back on the highway, a big board guides you to the MP Rajya Vidyut Mandal. Line operator Murlidhar Chaturvedi sits under a slowly whirring fan, somewhat embarrassed.

‘‘Ironically, I belong to the same village,’’ he says. ‘‘I really don’t know what to tell anyone. All we need is 25 poles, a little wiring and maybe a couple of days to get the lights back on. There is always an explanation for not doing anything.’’

Additional executive enineer K R Tiwari offers one. From his home in Shivpuri, where he is spending the weekend with his family, he says: ‘‘The poles broke and before we could fix it, the wires were stolen. But now all the sanctions have been cleared. It will be done in 15 days.’’ Nobody in Silra believes him.