Cash for votes is an evil that continues to erode Indian democracy. Contrary to popular belief that this is a recent phenomenon, in India it is as old as elections themselves. Political party candidates have always found ways to bribe voters and no amount of effort by the Election Commission has been able to end this practice. In a way, voters are also responsible for this trend.
Jnanpith awardee Jayakanthan wrote about this practice as early as 1957 in his short story Porukki. It was published in Saraswathi magazine, one of the pioneers of the modern Tamil literary scene.
Set in one of Chennai’s slums—referred to as seri by Jayakanthan—the roadside restaurant run by Muniamma caters to the dirt poor who eke out a living in menial jobs. Her customers are rickshaw pullers, old people who can no longer work, and impoverished children. “Hey Appakaramma! I have to rush to work. Serve me quickly.”
“Wait. I have to handle this. There are people ahead of you.”
“My baby is crying, Ayah!” says the girl.
“I have four hands? What do you want me to do?”
“Give me one anna, Muniamma.
“Hey, old man! Where’s the money for what you’ve already eaten? You said you’d bring it before dawn. Is that your custom?”
“I’ll give it until the evening. I had a fever for three days and couldn’t go to work,” pleaded the old man.
But Muniamma was firm. “Leave.”
The old man left and coughed. Hungry and unable to stand, he lay down under a tree.
Muniamma looked at him. She couldn’t stand the sight.
“Hey thatha here is your aappam.
Her dining room stands under a thoongumoonji tree at the end of a side lane that meets the main road. Her son Sabapathy lives off her hard work and wanders aimlessly around town. One day, while he was eating aappam and demanding two annas to watch a movie, the company’s garbage truck arrived. Muniamma tried to run away with the pan used to make the aappam. The paramedic got out of the vehicle, followed by two paramedics.
“Ayya, Ayya,” she pleaded. But the official paid no attention to it. The batter and prepared aappams were dumped into the vehicle. The children waiting for their turn to eat began to cry. “A tragedy beyond imagination,” writes Jayakanthan. “Cholera is spreading. Is Muniamma’s restaurant the source of the disease?”
That’s when Muniamma noticed Sundaram Naidu’s car on the road. “Ayya, Dharmadurai!” she screamed and ran after him. The others followed her.
“What happened?” Sundaram asked Naidu irritably.
Sabapathy pleaded, “The company inspector destroyed our restaurant. Did we vote for you?”
“Speak with respect, you dog. If you say another word, I’ll call the police and have you locked up,” he snapped and drove off.
After some time, election fever gripped the area. Sundaram Naidu contested again. “Hey Sabapathy,” Muniamma shouted.
“What, mom?”
“What do you think?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Go. Naidu needs people to campaign for him.” “For that man?”
“I will beat you with my chappals. It is golden. You have brought it upon yourself with your untied tongue. Go. He gives one rupee,” said Muniamma. Sundaram Naidu boasted of his achievements as a councilor and his noble character. A procession followed. Sabapathy led him with a flag bearing the Naidu pig symbol. “It’s a procession of the poor for the supposed protector of the poor,” claims the “election beggar”, votu porukki Sundaram, election after election. Another beggar—Sabapathy, echo porukki—believed it for one rupee.
Published – 02 Apr 2026 0:07 IST
