Chapter 11
It was a big day. The big result day. Amaal had never seen the atrium of the KDP headquarters so full.
Every member, volunteer, and leader who had been a part of this election had gathered in a space that had otherwise seemed massive but now felt small.
She wasn’t complaining, though. The crowd at the headquarters on result day was her big win, because then she would get great photos and videos, plus live reactions.
Her iPhone was awesome for recording but pathetic at storage.
So she had learnt jugaad from the people around her and kept her laptop on standby to empty the storage every hour.
“You know how to transfer it to iTunes now?” She confirmed with Suchi, her best intern.
She had missed Fahad throughout her six months here, but the group she had started had felt like the beginning of a whole new team.
She had promised some of them that she would initiate a conversation with Atharva about bringing them into the Media Team.
“Yes, yes,” the young second-year BTech rolled her eyes, messing around on the laptop.
Amaal walked around the set up, the tent pitched to provide cooling shade in this October heat.
A white screen had been erected in the centre, an old projector relaying the TV channel.
How the guys had managed it was beyond her but she would find out for future use.
She turned to check if her iPhone was charged when she collided with a hard chest. Samar.
“Where have you been?!” Amaal held her hands out. “Did you talk to Atharva?”
“Yes.” He stepped back, and she got a good look at him. White T-shirt and black formal pants, not camouflage for a change. Amaal opened her mouth to comment on the mix of casual and formal, but on second glance, it looked… good. It would have to do.
“We are not touching 38.” He spoke to her in a low voice.
“How do you know?” She craned her neck. “Now what? Fuck… All our Panna Pramukh tallies matched, we were getting 40 out of 75!”
“Keep it down.” He grabbed her arm and took her away from the chaos.
“Why? They will know it soon enough.”
“Let’s not demotivate everyone immediately. And not getting 38 does not mean we don’t make our Mayor.”
She stared at him, just like he did.
“Later.” He began to move away, and Amaal realised she could never win from him in cutting conversations. She grabbed his arm. The bicep wasn’t huge, she knew it. But it was firm. He stopped, and she took her hand off — “Tell me now. Atharva knows?”
“Yes.”
“How many are we getting?”
“Between 28 and 35.”
“That’s so close.”
“Hmm.”
She looked away. Six months of being shredded through this heat, so much hard work, so many people, and it came down to an ‘almost.’ Her mouth pressed together.
She wasn’t one to wallow in defeat, but suddenly the fatigue of the last year began to feel heavy.
She would have to pretend that she didn’t know the result for the next hour, and the prepping for that began to weigh heavily.
Suddenly, she did not want to even do her photos and videos and live Tweets anymore.
She would have to, but she did not want to.
“Amaal.”
“Hmm?” She kept staring blindly into the excited crowd.
“Look here.”
She blinked, turning her head and staring up at him. His eyes had softened. A first for her. Her heart skipped a beat.
“You did well. It’s election. Things like these happen.”
She nodded, keeping her mouth shut tight lest he stop speaking whatever good stuff he was speaking to her.
“Our numbers won’t be bad, we will still come out as the majority. Atharva has a Plan B. JMC will still be ours for all major decisions.”
She nodded, swallowing.
“Don’t look like that now. The result will start in 10 minutes.”
She twisted her mouth.
“What will make you ok?”
“I am ok.”
“Lie.”
“I am ok!”
“I shouldn’t have told you. I am never telling you such things again.”
“No! You are always telling me such things first!” She pointed a finger right into his chest. “Me. Always first. I know how to handle it.”
“I am seeing how.” He smirked. Amaal’s eyes widened. Was he smirking at her? Maybe she looked crazy because his usually stiff hands that only hung by his side, rose in a gesture of placating her — “If we cross the 30-mark, you get a prize.”
She saw right through that mollifying tactic, but played along. “What prize?”
“Go and see if we cross 30.”
She grinned, turned on her heel, and marched to the set-up on her Media counter. She didn’t turn this time, but also couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.
————————————————————
Amaal was in a weird state — bummed, having knowledge of the count not touching the majority mark, but also excited for it to cross 30.
The prize didn’t matter. Samar’s promise did.
She climbed up on podiums and stones and poles to get her shots, panned her phone around for videos across the ground until her own head was dazed, clapped with the troop for blocks won and made frustrated noises with blocks lost.
Samar was nowhere to be found on the ground. She didn't bother going after him. He was like a ghost. Here one moment, gone the next. She had stopped tracking him or chasing him. He permeated walls.
“KDP ki tally ho gayi 31.[65]”
With the round of applause that went up, Amaal cheered the loudest, holding both hands up and clapping until her palms were sore. She was grinning, pulling Suchi close for a tight squeeze in the side, unable to stop jumping as the troop kept hooting.
“What a win! What a win!”
“Seven more to go, Amaal, relax!” Somebody hollered.
“We are still close!” She reiterated, preparing the crowd for whatever was to come. All that came from here on out was bonus. And her prize was guaranteed.
Where was the rewarding agent, though? She panned her head casually, checking if he had returned. And there he was, climbing down the building stairs with Varun, their phones open in front of them, talking.
A loud disappointed jeer made their heads whirl up and Samar’s eyes came to her, as if she was the only one here.
He stared for a second, and she held her hands up — thirty-one, she mimed with her fingers over her head, thumping her shoulders, grinning.
His mouth spread slightly, and she saw his chest shake.
And then his attention was taken by the candidates and members coming around him, clapping.
Samar clapped with them, glancing at Varun.
“Yeh KDP waale Awaamion ka singhasan khali kara kar chodenge![66]” A reporter laughed on TV, just as Amaal saw a news channel van driving into their gate.
She had run her round of calls last night to invite all local channels.
They had all been sweet and given her the standard — “We will be around.”
Now that the result was coming close, Amaal smirked, seeing a second van follow, reporters and cameramen disembark.
Somebody had called a dholwala, and the moment he saw cameras, he struck his dhol.
Jammu’s men didn’t need another invitation.
And even before the result had drawn to its full conclusion, they broke into bhangra.
“Should we take all this?” Rupesh, one of the junior college volunteers, came running to her, his mobile in hand.
“Go, go, take it.”
Amaal hung back, checking the projection on the white screen.
KDP was stuck at 32, the last seat to be decided.
Even if they won it, they would still fall four short of a majority.
Amaal huffed, seeing the Jammu KDP still dancing.
And she suddenly realised that victory for them was not measured in majority today but in tearing through a bastion that had seemed impenetrable only six months ago. From 5 seats to 33.
Her eyes searched for Samar again. He was again nowhere to be found, Varun leading the charge with the reporters.
Amaal rolled her eyes. At this rate, Samar would never be able to establish himself as a major leader of KDP. She would have to do the pushing.
————————————————————
That night, Amaal saw the craziest kind of victory celebration — dhols, booze, bhangra and video games. There were about fifty of them, the closest associates and members. And everybody was huddled around the white screen, more attentive than when the results had been announced this morning.
“Mar, mar, mar![67]” They cheered on as one of the two players fighting for the girl fell down. Varun set his controller down, accepting defeat from their younger member. Everybody broke into hooting applause.
“My turn, my turn!” Amaal clapped, tearing through the crowd and picking up the controller Varun had abandoned.
It was first come first serve. Somebody came to grab the second controller when Samar stepped out of the building, file in hand, looking exhausted under the bright floodlights of the tent.
“Samar Bhaiya! Aa jaaii![68]”
“Tum log khelo.[69]” He continued walking into the office without even stopping.
“Dar gaye.[70]” Amaal hollered. And the dholwala was a fearless fellow, because he drummed up a high beat. People cheered behind her, making her beam, holding her hand up with the controller. “Aa jaaii, Samar Bhaiya,” she stressed. “Ab toh izzat par aai hai.[71]”
Samar went inside the office, unperturbed. Silence settled. Amaal began to lower her arm when his face appeared, the file gone from his hand. The dhol beat picked up. And he marched purposefully towards them. The dholwala rended the air, beating it hard. And the space was deafened with cheers.
“Je baat![72]” She hollered, lowering herself on one of the plastic chairs in front of the screen. People moved away as Samar marched through and into the tight circle. He accepted the controller from the junior member and sat down on the plastic chair next to her.
“Ready?”
“Ready!” Amaal gestured for those behind her to start cheering. They didn’t disappoint, her fans as they were, and drunk on pints of cheap beer.
“A-maal! A-maal! A-maal!”