While searching for my tea that will keep me up while writing, I can still smell the beef cooked in its simmering gravy. My grandmother yelling at her maids for not treating the guests can still be heard. My ancestral village haveli being flocked with people from all over the village is right in my very conscious sight right now. Dressed up in their best clothes, every village woman would walk from here in sheer excitement or anxiety. Many of them had their brand new white lungis swaying in the desert wind.

Gossiping also comes naturally with such ceremonious feeling. The relatives voting the opposing party would be subjected to the baradari’s wrath to such an extent that the marriages fixed with their children would also be rethought-upon. With this change of rishtas, I am instantly reminded of my first cousin’s wedding that was rescheduled due to the political/election scenario. People living in the Middle East would schedule their leaves according to the elections.

Terming the voting day as the most important and awaited day for these desert villagers is no exaggeration.

Coming from this background and settling in the city of Lahore after various temporary settlements in different cities of Punjab I have come up with various cultural conflicts, the biggest of which is today, voting day.

The first elections in my post-identity-card-life were those of 2008. I can still not forget that dark evening of 2007 when Benazir Bhutto was shot to death. Three continuous days of weeping still haunt my memories. By the way, here do not judge me for any profound political affiliations.

The elections of 2008 were interesting although I didn’t vote. Most of my city dwelling friends didn’t either. They might never. My entire stone constructed village did. They always will.

Despite not voting in the last elections, I had a faint idea whom to vote for. Call it sympathy or what. However, as it is all about the paper that matters and not the person, I did not have legal proof to be able to vote.

But this time, I am exactly sure I will. It's not that I am a passionate, patriotic Pakistani who thinks that casting a vote will make a difference to the fate of this country but I have my reasons. The urge to vote runs in my Cho’ah-ite blood.  I have always begged pardon from my ancestral land for not proving my love by voting in the previous elections and hope to be redeemed by voting this time. And terribly exciting to be doing so.

Like lawn prints, having a rally or holding a huge jalsa under the shadow of Minar-e-Pakistan is also very much in vogue. I also long to visit one such concert (read jalsa). Watching these enthralled-to-change-the-fate leaders on television is quite a treat, I must say. Their marketing techniques never fail to amuse me. One such technique is the name of God and His words.

I remember my sick daadi taking me to a polling station once and asking me to stamp for her. I was so excited holding it that I refused to return the stamp, embarrassing daadi. The excitement this time is more or less the same.

I will not wash my hands for a very long period of time so that the horizontal ink mark does not come off. I will ask my husband to drive me to some other polling stations too. I will wake up early in the morning and put some crisp white clothes on. I’ll have paratha for breakfast. I’ll deliberately walk slow to really feel the elections. I will collect stickers from every candidate to keep a record in my scrapbook. I will not have lunch (eating might sober my excitement down). I will talk like a leader, giving my expert opinion on the future of this country and the eminent winners over the dinner table.

This coming from a Cho’ah-ite, voting day more like a festival and less like an important democratic day. Did I tell you that Cho’ah doesn’t have drinking water and roads? I think I also forgot to mention that most of the people there have never been to a school. Cho’ah is a barren desert, by the way. Fertility is just a tube-well away, they say. Despite how seriously they take their politics there, I have often wondered why.