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The Candidate


“Joe, get me the broom from the porch,” Mamma said.

It was past 8 o’clock in the evening and little Joe was afraid of the dark. “Oh, don’t be afraid, sonny,” said Mamma, “God is there to take care of you.”

Joe opened the door and said, “God, if you’re out there, will you hand over the broom, please?”

Mamma was annoyed. What a silly boy! She thought. The other day, when she told her that the milk came from the cows, Joe looked at the milk bottle and asked, “How can a cow sit on a bottle like that?” But to Mamma’s surprise now, a broom was handed over to little Joe who did not dare to step out of the door.  

“Who’s there?” Mamma asked concealing her panic.

“It’s me, madam.” A man appeared at the door. “I’m your candidate in the coming election. Won’t you vote for me?”

“Oh, God!” Mamma sighed.

“Yes, madam, I belong to God’s own party: the Punya Janata Party, PJP. Please vote for us. You know that we are going to make India a Punya Rashtra. The cow is our symbol, you know.”

“Is it the same cow that sits on the milk bottle?” Joe asked.

“The same, the same,” said the candidate eagerly as he stepped into the room and picked up little Joe. He gave a kiss each on Joe’s both cheeks. Joe lifted the end of his T-shirt and wiped off the kisses immediately with a disgusting grimace on his face.

She thought of her husband who might be in some woman’s kitchen right now washing her utensils or kissing the cheeks of her daughter in order to canvass votes for his party.

“Of course,” Mamma said taking the broom from little Joe’s hands. “Both of us will vote for Pee-J-Pee.” And she smiled at him just like her husband used to smile at people during campaigns.

“Thank you, madam. Punya people like you are the builders of the nation,” said the candidate folding his arms to her as if she were a goddess.

“Bullshit!” Mamma said as she bolted the door as soon as the candidate was out of the room.

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