The mission: Get a feel of Tamil Nadu Chief Minister J Jayalalithaa's constituency Andipatti, 500 km south of Chennai.
The plan: Reach a small village in her campaign route well ahead of time and just observe.
The venue: Kuppambatti village, 3 km off the Andipatti-Theni Road.
The logic: The smaller the place, the smaller the crowd and hence lesser the hassles.
It was a smart plan. Or at least, I thought so.
At around 6 pm, some three hours before Jayalalithaa is to pass, I reach the small T-junction in the village. There are hardly 20 people, at least 15 of them cops and personnel of the elite Chief Minister's Security Force.
At the junction, an electrician has just started the lighting work on a cutout of the chief minister, at least 25 feet high and which will be illuminated by serial lights as the sun goes down.
About a 100 mt away, two equally huge speakers are belting out songs, penned to suit the election mood.
There are very few houses in sight. And there is not much traffic on the road either.
I sit down on the parapet of a mini culvert, thinking of ways to break the ice with the locals.
A police constable, sitting across the road, comes up to me, asks where I am from, and wants to check my backpack. Having IDed me, he leaves.
See, I told myself, the idea was right. They don't hassle you so much at these places as they would in a rally.
A member of the CM's security force is now scanning the area. His roving eyes fall on me, mark me as not a local, zoom in and isolate me. He is now walking towards me.
He wants to know if I am a local. Since I am not one, he wants to know what I am doing there.
Even after questioning me for some 10 minutes, he is not convinced. He wants to know how and why I am here. I tell him.
Still not convinced, he wants me to go back to the collectorate, speak to the public relations officer.
Repeated efforts to drive sense into him end up thus: "You can't write down anything. You may stand with the public and watch."
Minutes after he leaves, another burly cop sees me; and sees red.
Dressed in a safari suit, Cop No. 2 comes over, leans closer to my left ear, and says, "Our inspector wants to speak to you."
Do they seriously think I am a threat to the chief minister?
He takes me to a waiting van, inside which there are two other cops. Cop No. 2 and I stand outside the back door of the van, and the routine starts.
"Are you a reporter?"
"Yes."
"How did you get here. This village?"
This was a bit too much. Open any newspaper and you will find a full page ad, with the route the chief minister is going to take that day, and these security guys are surprised that somebody who claims he reached Madurai only that morning knows where the chief minister is coming from and also where she is headed to.
"Where is your office?"
"Bombay."
Now, you might loathe The Times of India, but you've got to give it to them.
The moment I say Bombay, Cop No. 2 asks, "Oh, you are from Bombay Times?"
That's brand recall for you! I just said I am from Bombay, and this guy, standing at least 1,500 km from the nearest copy of the paper whose name he just mentioned, actually said Bombay Times. Mind you, not even The Times of India.
As my jaw drops in super slo-mo, the burly cop mistakes it for hesitation.
You could almost see the 'nailed you' glint in his eyes. "If not Bombay Times, where are you from?" he asks.
"Rediff," I say, and straightaway realised it was a mistake.
"Radish?" he asks, slightly bemused.
Radip and Radiff followed, before he gets Rediff.
As I show him my ID, he points to rediff.com printed in large letters and asks, "What is the code name?"
Code name! God, I am in serious trouble.
"What, sir, do you mean by code name?" I ask Cop No. 2.
He asks me what does one type in to see the site.
"w-w-w-dot-r-e-d-i-f-f-dot-c-o-m."
He writes it down along with my phone number and the office address, just like the previous cop had done. He too checks my bag and he too suggests that I return and come back through the 'proper channel'.
I negotiate and offer not to take down notes, whatever that meant.
Not entirely convinced, Cop No. 2 nevertheless decides to spare me. He asks me to put the bag down and stand along with the villagers.
As I move away, Cop No. 2 tells somebody: No body search, but keep an eye on him.
I was now on my own and I began praying that nothing untoward happens at this place.
At least 90 minutes before Jayalalithaa arrives. People are trickling in -- on foot, on motorcycles, in autos, in vans and in buses.
Slowly, a crowd of about 200 people builds up. The security guys, who troubled me so much, are in for some trouble themselves -- there are quite a few drunk men out there and they need to be kept quiet.
The cops can't shoo these men away like they did with me; they are party men and they want to see Amma from close quarters.
Arguments break out.
By this time, the cut out is in full glow and the pro-Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam songs are replaced by anti-Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam ones.
"Will Kalaignar's dreams (of regaining power) come true?" asks the male voice.
"Yeah right! The day when bulls bear calves and give milk," goes the female voice.
The crowd is not interested.
The songs are interspersed with snatches of Jayalalithaa's speeches from the past.
"Karunanidhi is from the same Chola region, just like the famous King Karikalan. While Karikalam built the Kallanai (a dam) for the Cauvery, Karunanidhi built a grave for the river."
The crowd is now restless. They won't settle for anything less than Jayalalithaa's presence.
A few minutes past 9 pm, former chief minister O Pannerselvam and a few other ministers arrive.
Soon, a kid spots the distant lights and everybody springs to action. The waiting villagers rise and rush towards the road. The waiting cops spring to attention and put themselves between the crowd and the road.
Jayalalithaa arrives, sitting in the front passenger seat of a specially designed van, with long time friend Sasikala sitting in the rear.
"I promised to make Andipatti into Arasipatti (the queen's land) and I have delivered. I have now come to take orders from you again. Your wish is my command. Give your orders in the form of votes and I will make Andipatti an even better place to live in," she says.
She blames the DMK ministers at the Centre for stalling the roadwork and not giving permission for the medical college that she had proposed.
It is roughly a 3-minute-speech and she speeds off. The crowd is happy to have seen her, and disperses in no time.
My prayers have been answered. Nothing happened.
Else, by now, I would have been hanging upside down, facing questions about my accomplices or lying face down on a slab of ice, with the cops trying to find out the modus operandi of my organisation.