Until this thing called Election gets over.

As mentioned here, it starts off with familiar tunes set to unfamiliar lyrics often glorifying a party or blameshifting it on the opposition party. Mostly this kind of “community service” is done by clueless auto-drivers. So the peaceful and friendly neighbourhood turns cacophonic.

And then there are the hand-outs and fliers. An avid supporter of DMK knocks on your door; at times like those you’ll wish to hang the doorbell until it’s dead. It will contain pages and pages of witty poems and sentences with dramatic words that would attempt to dethrone Amma. Not withstanding, they will blame the Government for the Tsunami and the floods that wreaked havoc since last November (No kidding. Read the manifesto for yourself) It will contain funny caricatures – Amma as a cruel police officer, Amma as a tyrant, taking care of your morning dose of humour.

Later during the day, you’ll have the library service (based in Mylapore who deliver vernacular magazines at your door-step) guy will supply with enough humour material which will keep you glued like a whodunnit for the rest of the day. This aforementioned humour material does the courtesy of producing the speeches of political leaders verbatim. The result is unimaginable. Not only is your vocabulary of slang terms and swear words enriched triplefold, you become awfully good with innuendos and euphemisms, if you know what I mean.

If you turn on the television and tune in to Channel A which belongs to the party A, you will have flash news, well, flashing across the screen. It will be, 8 out of 10 times, earth-shattering news. For instance, how an actor, once famous, was attacked by a bloke belonging to the opposition (oh well, I wish I could use names, but now I have become awfully good with euphemisms that I wish to show-off my skills ;) ); The opposition party’s channel, B, will react by saying that it was a sympathy-seeking act on A’s part. There will be “shocking reports” and documentaries with “evidence” which will leave even the best Poirots bamboozled.

When you decide that you’ve had enough of it, loudly mouth “Dash it!” and go for a ride (never mind the Sun, now) invariably there will be a propaganda session in full procession on street. The stage will be set and a bunch of people listening with rapt attention, not caring a damn for the sun or the fact that they occupy a lion’s share of the road; you’ll be stuck in No Man’s Land – for what it will seem like an eternity. No escaping from it, folks, it’s show time.