Please vote for me

On a hot Saturday afternoon there I was at the gate of the Press Club trying to garner votes for a candidate -- my colleague's dad. Whew it was weird. Going up to people, smiling coquettishly and saying prettily, "Do vote for Mr X". Add to it the fact that for the first time in the 24 years of my life I was campaigning. These are the few things I learnt:

Steer clear of those with a purposeful stride. They know whom to vote for. They brush you away like flies.

Make a beeline for the grandaddies. They grin toothlessly and even mark out the candidate you point out to them in the pamphlet. God bless them.

Never call a woman journalist an aunty (Actually that's the last thing any woman wants to be called for sure). A girl campaigning for her father happened to address this lady as 'Aunty'. Poor girl was snubbed badly.
It's good to learn from other's mistakes.

Avoid other candidates. Especially if they happen to be former colleagues. This photographer, an ex colleague of mine came up and asked me to campaign for him too. Ahem it was a bit of a sticky situation. Unless of course you say sunnily, "Aw but I am already booked."

At the end of it, we badly needed nourishment. Entered the dining area. Was greeted by a host of old faces, some leery, some too busy to look up from their plates and some busy picking their teeth(shudder)

We ended up driving further up the road to the Women's Press Corps
and enjoying a lunch of appams and coconut chicken. And not to mention the fact that it seemed a mini office thing there with most of our colleagues scattered here and there. Everywhere.

Sometimes the world is too small.