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The Swing Thing

I'M sitting on a charpoi in a spacious mud-walled hut, somewhere in the jungles of central Bastar. I'm eating corn off the cob, and bits of bamboo shoot flavoured with chilli. To wash it all down, wine made from the fruit of the mahua tree. A young fellow in a lungi keeps filling my banana leaf cup from an earthen funnel that's getting dangerously out of focus as lunch wears on. Now this is what I call election coverage. Elections have one overwhelming attraction for journalists. It's not the mystical allure of seeing the will of a billion people made flesh, nor the fact that politicians seek us out and plead for column inches and airtime instead of refusing to come to the phone. No, it's the chance to Get Out of Delhi! Not that I'm short on opportunities, but at election time I immediately rush to locations I know to be beautiful, or interesting, or on my list of places to visit. Bastar fulfills all three of those criteria. It's India's most forested, well-watered land that isn't overcrowded. The tribal people are gentle, welcoming and live inspiringly close to abundant natural splendour. And as for that lunch in Badri Mow village in the Kanger National Park, I'm afraid my memory is rather vague, but I know I picked up some unique insights into village voting patterns and whether the Kargil factor will outweigh Sonia Gandhi's appeal as the nation's bahu. At least I think I did.

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