Student Politics And Ambitions

The streets were jam-packed, and commuters, bearing the brunt of the May heat and the unbearable noise, looked completely flustered. The security forces were deployed in large numbers to maintain order and peace around the college premises. A lanky biker, blocked by the mob, mumbled to his adjacent biker, "What's with these people?" The adjacent biker chose to remain tight-lipped, perhaps for fear that any stimulating remarks could put him on the receiving end of the rambunctious mob. "These students are the biggest culprits. They play a big hand in turning this country into a sorry state," the tall biker hissed out again. The adjacent biker wouldn't have weighed in on the whining of the tall biker had the mob not advanced. "True! These students fuel the arrogance of those in power. The youth of this country will never learn." Slowly, the raucous group entered the campus gate, finally clearing the streets for upset commuters.

Five students held a rectangular red banner promising elusive agendas. Others followed these students to the massive ground, where ten students were juggling a ball among them. A run-down building with peeled walls and broken roofs overlooked the dusty ground. Other buildings on the campus looked no different than this precarious structure built ages ago. Perhaps this old temple of knowledge was operated with the notion that the physical structures played no significant role in disseminating education.

As the group of political progeny approached the goalpost, everyone playing on the ground paused as if readying themselves to listen to the life-changing wisdom. In the eyes of these student leaders, the ones playing games were easy prey—all they cared about was the abundant supply of their playing gear. The shrewd and calculative leaders could easily lie about how they could bolster the sports infrastructure better than their rivals. The playing group had no political ideology. Sometimes, they wondered if these leaders were just like them, only pretending to be wise and prophetic. As long as the promises were made, the players were ready to stop their games and listen to the overexcited candidates contesting in the student election.

After quickly announcing their sports agendas with the players, the group charged towards the library, where caution and peace were demanded. On their way to the library, the mob's liveliness was met with silence exuded by a small mass of their arch-rival. The rival group had it sorted that they would scatter everywhere to reach as many students as possible. Having had the chance to exhibit their cohesiveness, the crowded group roared in unison. To everyone's surprise, a small group of the rival party walked confidently—unbothered and calm. It somehow surprised the united group.

The vivacity with which Abhi was chanting slogans and pump-fisting in the air reminded him of his role in the bygone general election. The way Abhi actively participated in the campaign for the general election assured everyone that he had a thing for politics. He went as far as convincing the disabled, saying their party had special provisions for them. According to Abhi, the only party that resonated with the youths' sentiments was theirs. 

The whole neighbourhood knew that the cuts on his forehead were the result of his response to the brutal attack waged by the rival party. During the student election in college, Abhi carried the same energy and intensity for his party's student wing. Though his internalisation told him that he deserved the president's candidacy, he kept it to himself—the candidate selected for the presidential post was diplomatic and studious, so Abhi felt it was a wise decision. There was nothing wrong with the post of secretary. What was important was to claim victory at any cost.

Abhi's energy stemmed from the exaggerated compliments of his close comrades, who would incite him, saying, "In you, we see the future. You've got it all—both calmness and fierceness within you. When the situation demands, you can break bones, too. No?" Abhi, stretching his oversized body, would relish the memories when the minister had ruffled his hair after the ward chair had applauded him for his loyalty and bravery. "This is how you come through the ranks," the minister had proudly stroked Abhi's head. The public meeting to convey thankfulness witnessed thousands of partisans and cadres. Amidst the sea of people, the minister's touch had Abhi swelling with pride when scrutinised by countless pairs of eyes. The crowd cheerfully clapped when Abhi bent to touch the minister's feet in deep reverence. When Abhi rejoined the crowd, he had overheard the whispers about how Abhi would be the next big thing. What would stop him from being the minister one day?

When Abhi's group reached the library building, one of the contestants—a girl studying LLB—suggested that only a few of them go to the library. Her argument was that a campaign should be carried out peacefully in a place like the library. "We should show our unity wherever we go. If we walk in fragments, our rivals will ridicule us like we have done earlier," a guy yelled from behind. Everyone offered him a long, cold stare as his words dropped on the floor.

When the group of five people, including Abhi, slid in through the library door, the air was so thick with silence that dropping a pen would have sounded like a mini crash. It was Abhi's idea to try to win the credibility of book nerds. "We have to declare that our party will work on providing students with enough textbooks and beyond. Those bookaholics will buy our promises." Abhi had put forward the idea during a tea session outside the college. "Abhi is right; we shall do that." Others endorsed his strategy outright.

A greying librarian in a red kurta lay asleep in a round chair, her face bright and seemingly relaxed. For someone who frequented the library, it wasn't a new sight. When students would complain to her about her sleeping habits, she would point out teasingly, "How many of you come here to this place? I almost know everyone who visits the library. Here, no one is interested in reading the books."

Abhi's nostrils were unfamiliar with the musty smell of old volumes in the library. As Abhi scanned the library, he felt alienated—like someone leaving his native land for the first time. Had he been one of the regulars in the library, he would have at least passed the exams. His father wouldn't have nagged him for his utter failure in academics. But now wasn't the time to worry about his studies; he ruminated and let go of the worries washing over him.

Seeing just a solitary figure in the far corner of the library, Abhi's gang regretted going there. Why were they there anyway? Didn't they have common sense to understand that it was no less than a crime to demand votes and make noise in the library? Just as the group were exiting the library, a solitary reader appeared in the doorway, whom Abhi recognised as his girlfriend's distant relative. He hurried down the steps, avoiding the gang. "That Dai will be something special in the future. Can you believe he can study for hours without raising his head?" Abhi's girlfriend had once mentioned his hunger for knowledge. And hardly anyone in the college didn't recognise the guy and his talents. Just at 25, his aggressive write-ups about national affairs had already garnered widespread attention. No leaders of the parties' student wings could look him in the eye, for his insights had the power to crush their hypocrisy.

Abhi's group assembled at the playground again and made rounds of other buildings, promising this and that. Their rivals were seen doing the same. When the students had already gone home, Abhi and his party's candidates dashed outside the college into their favourite tea shop. Like always, they ordered tea, talked highly of their party, and crafted ploys to exploit their rivals. Their arch-rival, another strong contender in the election, sat across from the tea shop they were in. With only ten days remaining for the election, both parties had decided to gear up their campaigns—more students were beckoned from the pavements, and more cups of tea were ordered.

As for tea shops, the owners were indifferent to the excitement stirred by the election. How long had they witnessed such students take up politics with lofty ambitions? Some had gone on to become changemakers, real heroes, and torchbearers. And some, or rather most of them, had found themselves among the hordes of people disillusioned by political actors while continuing the daily grind, either in Nepal or across the border.

(The author is a writer from Pokhara.)