I recently witnessed something that perfectly encapsulates the dark comedy of Indian democracy.
A massive crowd had gathered — mostly men, each one flaunting a quarter bottle of brandy like a trophy. Chicken biryani packets had already been distributed, and the word was out: ₹500 cash would follow once the political meeting concluded.
Who were these people?
Illiterates, small farmers, and daily-wage workers — brought in from distant villages in vans arranged by political organizers. Their job was simple: sit, cheer, clap on cue, and look “enthusiastic” for the cameras. The press, in turn, covered the event as a grand success. “Massive turnout!” the headlines would scream the next day.
But here’s the catch: this crowd isn’t loyal to any ideology or leader. They’re simply available — to the highest bidder. Tomorrow, if another party shows up with the same package (biryani, brandy, and ₹500), the same crowd will show up again. New flags, same faces.
This is how the illusion of democracy is manufactured.
Votes are not always sold at polling booths — they’re bought long before, through events like these. Manufactured consent in exchange for a hot meal, a cheap high, and a day’s wage. Political parties get their PR moment, the media gets its footage, and the people — well, they return to their villages, their lives untouched by the promises screamed into the mic.
It’s not democracy in action. It’s democracy on rent.
And until we address this performance economy of politics — where citizens are treated like extras on a stage set — change will remain a myth, and elections will continue to be the most expensive theatrical production in the world.