Winning the
Mauritian Elections
by Amit
Parmessur
I am still waiting
for Scarlett Johansson’s reply.
~***~
Last
month, believing that the public had to have a
wider choice I decided to contest the elections.
I gathered up enraged dogs, ill-treated cats,
hungry bulls and thirsty camels. Not that I was a
leader of animals; these were humans, a bit like
Young Fortinbras sharking up lawless resolutes in
Hamlet.
In
Mauritius, there are 2 major political parties: L’Alliance
Sociale and MMM. For people, the final
victory was surely for one of them. Small parties
include Parti Malin (Clever Party in
English), MDN, FSM, Lalit (The Fight)
and Parti Tireurs Disables (Sand
Excavators).
After
expertly dispersing my candidates in the 20
constituencies, I announced that I was tired. My
candidates wanted a brainwashing, extensive, mind-blowing
and profound campaign and were obviously not
happy. Strongly against money and energy wasting,
I dismissed them and their useless adjectives.
“Go
home and sleep!” I told everyone, pointing
at my sleeping puppies.
After
all our party’s logo was a woman sitting on
a tombstone, the Renaissance symbol of patience.
Everyone left brooding, unconvinced. One remarked
that I should’ve put a sex-bomb instead of
an old hag on the tomb. I waved away his protest,
gave him some popcorn and invited him to watch Titanic
with me. O! How I still love this film. So
profound and mind-blowing.
As
the elections approached, my tensions decreased.
Every party was busy criticising and swearing at
each other. ‘Vote bloc!’ could be heard
everywhere. Mind you this is the most famous
slogan during election times in Mauritius,
telling you to cast your 3 votes on the 3
candidates of a single party in a constituency.
Money
and dreams were spread in every street. “Vote
bloc!” MMM would shout. “Vote bloc!
Vote bloc!” L’Alliance Sociale
would shout. “Vote bloc!” Parti
Malin would plead. I enjoyed seeing them all
on television each night. A couple of parties
were so funny that I would roll on the ground
laughing and spilling peanuts all over the carpet.
My party was nowhere in this electoral commotion
and cacophony.
Days
before D-Day I took my BMW out for some
sunbathing and sight-seeing, jodeling My
Heart Will Go On. I had to switch off my
phone as my candidates would call me to bark
about our lack of canvassing. I was already
annoyed at forgetting my new Ray Ban sunglasses
at home!
That
night I called a meeting and told my stupid
candidates to stay at home until the results. I
menaced to be the deadliest creature if I were to
see anyone out. Everyone left unconvinced and
brooding.
The
other parties had made people’s choice too
clear. When the results were announced we were
runaway winners. A few journalists wanted to
remove my brain for analysis.
I ran
away.
In
the heat of the elections everyone had forgotten
that my anonymous party was called Bloc. My first
official job was to write to Scarlett Johansson.
I was impatient to replace that old hag.
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