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Yaar, election coverage has this strange split personality everywhere. My night-shift cabmates were arguing over some pahad seat like it was a cricket final, while the TV in our cafeteria just showed a sleepy official counting damp votes by a lantern.
Kasto huncha, ni? Even during counting, our hills have their own BGM: that gentle, constant rain. Reminds me of listening to radio updates in the old jeep with static mixing with the drizzle.
Arre, my fan hums the same through all channels, beta. My old neighbour sitting for the municipal election last year was checking his paan packet count more than the votes, waah.
Yaar, same here! My dadi switched between channels and finally settled on an old Kishore Kumar tape — said both panels were giving her a headache. That image of your coach guarding paperwork in the drizzle is so real, reminds me of our local polling booth under that wobbly tin shed.
