2024 is not 2014. A clear mandate in the form of an absolute majority has eluded the ruling party. Most of us thought that the 2024 election result would be more like the one in 2004 which witnessed the ‘India Shining’ campaign failing to lure the voters. However, the change of regime was complete in 2004; this is not the case in 2024. Yet, when the results started coming in, one noticed an unprecedented sense of relief among large segments of citizens. The atmosphere in the country was such that it appeared as if the INDIA block was the real winner in the election despite it not having secured a majority. Was this just a natural sentiment of joy at the adversary not getting a full majority? Or was there something more to it?

Many analysts have said that a hung Parliament is a politically befitting idea for a country with so much diversity. Is the jubilation upon knowing that India will head for a hung Parliament just a matter of this political common sense? After an unusually long election season in sweltering heat and after the ballots were sealed, the exit polls on television had presented a vastly incorrect outcome. The actual results were far different from the ones suggested by the exit polls. The sigh of relief that the country heaved on getting to know that the pollsters had been on a joy ride — there is no need to mention their invisible hosts — was all-enveloping by the noon of June 4. But was the sense of relief the result of people’s political affiliations or was it something different altogether? I raise all these questions because I think the people of India seem to have responded to the election results in a manner that has not been seen in any of the previous elections, barring one exception — that of the 1977 elections. The March 1977 election had brought an end to the Emergency. What did the 2024 election bring to end apart from two terms of government by a single party having full majority? Anecdotes are no evidence for facts. But they often point to a truth that facts themselves may not illuminate. Therefore, I take recourse to anecdotes.

A couple of years ago, I was asked by Justice A.P. Shah to give away memorial awards to some outstanding individuals for their contributions to society. Ravish Kumar, the former NDTV anchor and a crusader for probity in political life, was among them. The function was held in Sholapur, Maharashtra, which has a significant population of Muslims. There were a few Muslims among the audience for the ceremony. I discovered that one of them was my junior when I was a research student in Kolhapur during the Emergency. After the event was over, we met for a while and asked after each other’s families and their well-being. I tried to ask him if the Muslims in Sholapur were fine with the order of things. I noticed that he did not want any conversation on social and political matters. Since then, he kept in touch but never brought up any topic related to politics. On the evening of June 4, he called — almost ecstatic — and asked me to convey his gratitude to Ravish Kumar for fighting for the freedom of expression. There must be millions who felt terrified over the last decade, even though they had not been affected personally or directly by the regime. These people felt that the election results had freed them from fear. I have cited only one instance, though there were numerous people — from all classes, castes and ages — who expressed a similar sentiment. A former secretary to the Government of India, now a resident in a Himalayan state, called and said, “Now on the entire way the government department function will change.” By this, she meant that the officers would find their due space for functioning. A non-resident Indian in Chicago called and commented, “Biden says, ‘if the choice is between the almighty and me, choose the almighty, but if it is between me and Trump, choose me’; in India, people had a more difficult choice because the almighty was already monopolised.” One can go on narrating such conversations. They are happening everywhere, in every house, in every section of society. If I am not wrong, the phenomenon cuts across political parties too, barring those who belonged to the innermost circles of the last government.

What possibly could be the source of this pervasive sense of relief? One can understand the victims of mob-lynching and suppression, activists, protestors, critics of the last government and its political competitors rejoicing at the leader they detest being diminished. But why do those who had been mute spectators through the decade feel an equal sense of relief? While explaining Tragedy, Aristotle held that the audience — not the characters directly involved in the dramatic action — experiences catharsis (literally purgation) due to the action in Tragedy. His argument was that as they watch the action unfold, they fearfully imagine that they too could be in the place of the tragic characters and, at the same time, realise that ‘not being there’ has spared them the pain and the agony.

Relief is an emotion that brings in a perceived sense of imminent danger to one’s life, followed by the realisation that the fear has ended. One may not be a victim of the danger oneself. All that one has to be is a normal human being with sympathy, compassion, and love for others around us. Relief is opposed to fear in that fear compels one to distance oneself from others; it invites recoil, revulsion, anger and even the loss of ability to speak and think normally. Relief, on the other hand, leads people to an expansive mood, makes them more communicative than usual, more affectionate and sociable than they normally are. We always see people thronging together after a natural or a man-made tragedy, talking, embracing each other, affirming their humanity, making sure that they have all escaped the disaster. As far as elections go, I have seen this kind of a tornado of affinity break out only once before — in 1977 — and now again in 2024.

Political analysts may lose sight of the fact that Indians are heaving sighs of relief not because their respective parties have won or lost but because they know that democracy has recovered from a spell of authoritarianism and the cult of personality. Indians are talkative not just in a literal sense but also in a metaphorical sense. They can bear poverty and deprivation; but when they realise that their conversations are being controlled, they become rebellious. This rebellion found its voice in the 2024 elections in many tongues, from Bengal to Rajasthan, from Kerala to Nagaland. Leaders drunk on power, reeking of arrogance, need to know that as they were giving their lectures, thumping their chests, abusing their adversaries, pandering lies and posturing as superhuman, Indians were watching them without giving even the slightest clue as to which way their thoughts were going. This pervasive sigh of relief also indicates that the voters completed their mission thoughtfully and truthfully.

Utopian as well as hate-hungry ideologies have come up and faded in India since Independence. What has not faded is the brilliance of conversations that constitutes what the lacklustre and transactional phrase of pollsters describes as ‘Indian voters’. Hats off to you, dear voter.

G.N. Devy is a writer and cultural activist