Escaping Infiltrators Sink Rahul Gandhi’s Vote Chori Script

Let me tell you a small truth I have learnt in a long, noisy life of watching Indian politics: when a man who cannot think straight begins to plan, God himself gets nervous. Man proposes, God disposes, we were taught. But in our country, with our people, it is often Man proposes, Man himself disposes*, and then blames God for the mess.

#RahulGandhi, poor fellow, is of this rare species. Whatever he touches has the uncanny habit of flying back at him like a boomerang. I have seen boomerangs in Africa — a toy for grown men. You fling it proudly and it smacks you on the skull. Rahul’s plans behave with exactly that much affection.

And the tragedy — or comedy, depending on how much whisky you’ve had — is that his boomerangs don’t just hit him. They knock down Congress, and sometimes even the unfortunate allies who wander too close.

Take young Tejashwi Yadav of Bihar. Five years he spent building his party brick by brick. And then one fine morning Rahul Gandhi descended, alliance in hand, like a well-meaning relative who arrives at your wedding, dances badly, and accidentally sets your tent on fire. Congress sank. Tejashwi sank. Only Rahul remained afloat — because the captain is always the last to understand the ship is sinking.

I’ve seen this drama before. In 2015 Nitish Kumar, drunk on the fumes of his own ego, abandoned the NDA and embraced Lalu Prasad Yadav. RJD, which had been wiped out earlier, suddenly rose like a political Lazarus. Congress too, which lives permanently on an ICU ventilator, got a fresh puff of oxygen. All because Nitish wanted to “teach Modi a lesson”. History shows he learnt none.

This disease afflicts all who consider themselves ‘liberal’ and ‘secular’. In their own states they bark loudly at the BJP, but at the national level they need a taller dog to hide behind. Only the Congress qualifies, and Congress means Rahul Gandhi. And Rahul Gandhi means that your political future will resemble a Diwali rocket that never takes off — only fizzles, smokes, and bursts in your hand.

And then came Rahul’s sudden discovery — “vote theft”. I have lived long enough to see names appear, vanish, and multiply on electoral rolls like drunk uncles at a Punjabi wedding. Even Anupam Kher once complained his name had disappeared. This is not news. But Rahul, like a nursery child who has learnt his first alphabet, thinks he has discovered fire.

And he forgets he is not accusing amateurs. He is accusing Narendra Modi and Amit Shah — two men who know the law, the system, and the art of political combat better than most of us know our own families.

So came the Special Intensive Revision of the voter rolls. And out scurried the real culprits: Bangladeshi and Rohingya infiltrators, who bolted for the borders like rats rushed out of their holes with chilli smoke. Thousands of them gathered on the Bangladesh–Assam and Bangladesh–Bengal borders, begging to go home. Social media lit up with their videos. And with them fled Rahul’s grand theory of “vote theft”.

For years, certain “secular” parties have fattened their vote banks by handing out fake Aadhaar and voter cards like prasad at a mandir. But now the law showed its teeth — fines of five lakh rupees, seven years of jail. And suddenly the bold heroes of Shaheen Bagh — who once thundered “We will not show papers!” — were running faster than they had marched.

Courts, too, refused to be entertained. “Bring fifteen genuine Indians who lost their names unfairly,” they said. Not one could be produced. And so the greatest irony of our times unfolded: Rahul Gandhi’s pet theory was not destroyed by Modi, not by Shah, not by the BJP, not by the Election Commission — but by the very infiltrators whose names the Congress had hoped would remain quietly tucked into the voter lists.

But that is India — eternally surprising, forever chaotic, and never short of unintentional comedians.

And so, like the old man I am, I will stop here. If you enjoyed this little tale of political slapstick, take a sip on my behalf.