Tales From My Heart by Arghya Dey - HTML preview

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Identity Crisis

Swapan cannot recognize the person standing before him in the mirror. He is looking very peculiar to himself. He is more astonished to see the reflection of his finger in the mirror. Swapan has stains of blue ink on the index finger of his left hand. He looks at it from different angles. But he can’t get out of the trance state.

Swapan is 18. He went to the polling booth for first time to cast his vote today. He had a feeling of maturity and responsibility. He had been thinking of himself as a responsible citizen of this great nation since his name was published in the voter list. When he went to the polling booth, he could feel that his age and experience both were increasing rapidly.

Swapan did not know how much aware he was about the society. He did not know how much awareness can generate inside a person from only the news papers and TV news channels. But he was confident that he would be wise while choosing the candidate who deserved his vote. He did not suffer from any dilemma.

Swapan had updated his facebook status in advance in the morning. It read, ‘Cast my first vote’. He had to do it because his internet data pack was going to end a few minutes later.

He was stunned when he was about to enter the polling booth. There was a huge line of voters. He could see the police and central forces also along with the cadres of various parties. It seemed a grand arrangement.

Swapan was about to cast his vote by pressing a button on the EVM, suddenly his hand was grabbed by another one.

‘Boy! This is not the right symbol. Press here.’

Swapan did not object. He just did what he was told to do.

‘Yeah! That’s nice. Now go home’, the man was visibly happy.

Swapan is looking at the mirror sadly. He has tear in his eyes, just like the person in the mirror. The ‘Swapan’ caged in the mirror is also bearing the stained mark of democracy. The ‘Swapan’ residing in facebook also has become a first time voter. After returning home, Swapan had tried hard to unmark his finger using soaps and oil. But he could not get rid of this mockery.

For next few days, Swapan will have to lead his life with the identity of an elector in the world’s largest democracy.