TANIYA BHARDWAJ
(Presidency University, political science )

CHANGE must come.
CHANGE is inevitable.
Lal na shobuj?
The WATERSHED poll. Paribartan chai.
CHANGE is here.

The above phrases have been reiterated countless times in various forms for the past couple of months. From government offices to tea-stalls, paribartan is on the tip of everyone’s tongue.

Traditionally, elections in Bengal have been more than just stamping paper and later, pressing buttons. However, Changeathon 2011 is the most anticipated in recent history.

When I will look back on this day 50 years from now, my age-ridden mind will recollect the first half of 2011 as a kaleidoscope of the colours red and green.

Our cricket-crazy city rejoiced for a night after India brought home the World Cup, but then went back to discussing Alimuddin and Kalighat. We are watching the IPL matches, but during commercial breaks switching to the news channels to check what Didi is up to. This time, the election has managed to find a way into our heads.

What makes Change-athon particularly exciting is the prospect of a revamped Calcutta “in 200 days”, the large number of fresh faces — both old and new — contesting the elections, the renewed hope for industrialisation, and the intriguing idea of the Writers’ Buildings turning green!

The common perception is that we have to choose between the known devil and the unknown one. I realised that sitting in the audience for the Battle for Bengal debate, presented by CNN-IBN and The Telegraph in Town Hall.

They say Bengal is at the crossroads, but I would disagree. As “Buddha and Mamata” reach the last lap of the “race to Writers”, one feels claustrophobic. We want change, but are scared that we will move from a frying pan to a burning stove. Call me a sceptic, but I don’t see either political party as a positive alternative for Bengal. I cannot help but believe that the current alternative can only be a “catalyst” to the change, not the change in itself.

On Wednesday, I will vote from Bidhannagar with my fingers crossed — hoping for paribartan in the truest sense. And when I head to the polling booth, it won’t merely be a voting room, but more like a “changing room”.

PS: As I entered the booth with a stained index finger and pressed the button of my choice, the ‘beep beep’ of my vote being cast filled my ears. I had played my small part in this historic election.