Some dangers of democracy

Are we choosing a navigator for the storm, or just following the herd toward the cliff’s edge?

The purple ink in the voter’s finger is the accomplishment of years of struggle, it is the quiet residue of a revolution, a colour of hope and change. For some, it is just a minor inconvenience that stains their finger even after wiping it on their hair. But as the sun sets over Tarai, and the shadow of a high mountain stretches over the state, the stain begins to look like a bruise. People are often told that they are participating in the greatest festival of democracy, but this festival feels like any other festival with an end. . What remains when the drums of festival, or in a recent context the melody of shankha fade? A land littered with broken promises, false expectations and high metallic scent of a dangerous democracy.