As you’re leaving for work, getting ready for a weekly grocery run, or perhaps backing into a fortuitous parking slot round the corner from your house, the voice on the radio makes you pause and linger for a few seconds these days. It is election season in Delhi, and the latest epistle in a pitched battle between the BJP and the Aam Aadmi Party is about to reach its punchline.
The man talking could be that commander of people who has changed Indian politics with his grandiose gestures and his ubiquitous promise of better days for all. Or that firebrand agitator who speaks for the common man and whose purity of intentions ostensibly makes up for his inexperience in legislative jugglery. The fun is not in what Narendra Modi and Arvind Kejriwal are saying, however. It is in how they’re saying it.
In a public maidan teeming with curious spectators or in a convention centre filled with prosperous acolytes, Modi is at his best. His stentorian, sing-song “Mitron…” is enough to send the audience into a frenzy, like a rockstar delivering a riff his fans can head-bang to, or a preacher casting a spell on some frenzied congregation. The BJP’s Delhi campaign advertisements, therefore, are usually audio clips from some of Modi’s famous speeches. It’s a message delivered from the pedestal of change, talking about housing for all in the next seven years, bank accounts for India’s least privileged, and the choice of electricity supplier in a new energy market ruled by competitive pricing. Like during the 2014 Lok Sabha campaign, Modi’s missive is not so much a petition for support as an assurance of delivery, interspersed with some hearty back-slapping. It’s as if he’s saying: "You are a glorious people, and you deserve glorious things. Vote for my party, and I’ll give you these things because, don’t you forget it, you are a glorious people." It’s a promise of development, and a reminder of our own radiance – the right amount of iron hand with just enough velvet glove.
The rest of the BJP’s advertisements, the ones not starring Modi, are full frontal attacks on the One Who Ran Away. There is talk of broken promises, greed, corruption, and how Kejriwal raised hopes before turning his back on the electorate. There is an avuncular man expressing his anger, and an old woman venting her frustration – neither talking about whom they will vote for, but whom they won’t.
So how does Kejriwal counter this mix of discourses from the pulpit, and contrived vox pop from faces in the crowd? The answer, he seems to think, is simply having a chat. Like during the 2013 Assembly campaign, Kejriwal is talking to voters fervently and constantly. Addressing us as “Doston” he first introduces himself, and then speaks about what he wants to do, what he couldn’t achieve, and what he’ll do better if given another chance. Barbs at the BJP are delivered matter-of-factly, as if their veracity is inarguable. And there are references to everyday problems – paani ka bill, bijli ki chori - that give his words a localised, almost grungy, flavour. Kejriwal makes it a point to sound like someone who was seeking answers, and may have finally found them, rather than someone who knew how to fix things all along.
In his latest campaign message, he directly addresses the disgruntled woman from the BJP advertisement. He says he heard an old lady talking about him on radio, and he understands her pain. He says he didn’t run away, he just didn’t get enough seats to run a proper government, and if she gives her blessings, he will return to power to fulfill his promises. Now don’t be angry, he tells her, and give us a smile - the right amount of indignation, with just enough friendly banter.
Just as Modi has transformed public speaking into an art form, Kejriwal seems to have mastered the art of conversation. So, for Delhi, it is down to whom you’d rather believe: India’s new "mitr" or the "dost" indeed.