Chapter 9 #2
Amaal hissed in a deep breath. “Ok, here’s what I have been doing with our JMC frontrunners lately.
I am not changing their choice of clothing.
Most of them are anyway into the kurta and jeans fashion.
Which is perfect for the field. All I am doing is getting them to alter the fits, get their hemlines tailored well, pick better colours that A.
Are summer-appropriate and B. Complement the KDP blue scarf that they inevitably wear when they go campaigning. ”
Samar sat there silently, staring at her.
“Say something.”
“What do you want me to say? Good job.”
Patience. Rome was not built in a day. Amaal gave him a tight smile.
“I am asking you to start taking note of how you dress, at least when you go for public events or interviews. Stubble is good, but maintaining it is paramount. Or go clean-shaven. Or keep a proper beard. Anything in between is unkempt. A sin for public life.”
“Ok.”
“What are you planning to wear tomorrow?”
“I’ll wear the white T-shirt since you have a problem with the black.”
Amaal covered her eyes with her hand. “Oh god, I did not mean I have a pro… ok. Wear a formal pair of black pants and a light blue shirt. Like Atharva.”
“I don’t have a blue shirt.”
“Then which colours do you have?”
“White, black, grey, red.”
Her eyes bugged. “Red?”
“Adil’s gift.”
She burst out laughing, digging the heels of her hands into her eyes. This was a circus. This entire founding member team was a circus.
“What’s next?” His curt voice brought her to a stop. Amaal rubbed her palms up and down her face and set her hands flat down on her desk.
“Wear a white shirt and black pants. Formal. You are not only ex-military and party founder but also a doctor. We need to bring out all those personalities. What you are wearing right now screams…” she paused.
“Screams what?”
“Nothing.”
His dark eyes bore into hers. And Amaal turned her gaze away.
“Anyway, let’s talk questions. Did you go through the list I sent you?”
“Yes.”
“Want to run through your answers?”
“Ok.”
“Umm… can I give feedback without offending you?”
He nodded.
“Samar,” she sat forward, joining her hands in front of her chest earnestly. “You have a very heavy voice and it does wonders when you talk, especially without a mic. That is bass and grounding and very, very reassuring to listen to. But you talk like you are reading out a script.”
“I am given scripts to mug up.”
“Yes, but your audience doesn’t need to know that.”
“I am not a speeches kind of a leader.”
“I know. And I don’t ask you to be the speeches kind of a leader. But when you talk, in addition to getting your point across, you must also evoke a feeling in your listener. Like right now, as I am talking to you, I am evoking anger inside you that how dare she talk so condescendingly low to me?”
“I don’t have any such feeling.”
“It was a joke, but you get it. Read your script but also read the commas and the full stops. Put pressure on the words that, in your head, make you pause. Meanings are surfaced then. For example,” she pulled the bunch of questionnaire and read out the first one.
“This is your first foray into Jammu’s city-level politics.
How ready are you to take on all 75 seats in the Jammu Municipal Corporation Election? ”
“This is our second foray into the Jammu Municipal Corporation Election after we won 5 seats in the 2005 election with Varun Singh leading the victory with 3,000 votes which was a historical margin…”
“Ok stop.” Amaal held up her mobile and replayed his answer that she had recorded.
His monotone was louder than his words. It ended, and Amaal began to speak from memory — “This is our second foray into JMC, not the first,” she smiled.
“We fought the 2005 election and won 5 seats. Varun Singh, our star candidate, came out victorious with a margin of 3,000 votes. That’s a historical margin in Jammu municipality.
And we only intend to expand it this term. ”
Samar kept staring at her, impervious. She pulled a breath in to take whatever cutting words were coming her way. But he surprised her by saying — “You sound better than me, of course. But I don’t know any other way of speaking.”
“I am not asking you to change the way you speak. Just pause. Pause where you know you should. Speak like you would talk to me.”
“I don’t talk to you.”
Amaal compressed her lips — “Speak like you talk to… Adil. No, Atharva. That must be a more mature conversation than Adil’s.”
“By a mile.”
Amaal smiled. “Exactly. Answer a question like Atharva is asking you. Wanna go again?”
He nodded.
“So,” she cocked her head. “Uncrowned king of Jammu’s Jatts, the best speaker in all of North India, Samar Bhaiya,” she grinned. “This is your first foray into Jammu’s city-level politics. How ready are you to take on all 75 seats in the Jammu Municipal Corporation Election?
“I am ready. We are ready. We have been ready for a long time. We fought the 2005 elections… and won 5 seats. Varun Singh was our star candidate who came out victorious with a margin of 3,000 votes. That’s… a historical margin in Jammu municipality. And we only intend to expand it this term.”
Silence settled. Amaal broke into applause. “See? It’s not that hard.”
“This was like some play acting.”
“We will make it better. But it was so much better than the first one. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Next one?”
Amaal did not take offence at his gruff dismissal. She was beginning to read between those dismissals now.