If the Delhi High Court Bar Association (DHCBA) Elections were a person, I’d give her a hug. I’d get all teary-eyed at our heart-breaking separation during the silence period before polling-day and resist having to let go. In the end, just before being pulled away, I’d say in her ear, ‘I will wait for you forever. Sorry. I will vote for you forever’.

For it must be a scene out of a movie, our separation. Every day since campaigning began has been nothing short, and now I don’t think I can live without it. Matter of fact, I think I am in love.

It all started when I woke up one morning and arrived like a chief-guest to my ordinary life. I walked in slow motion to the courthouse from the parking lot of the Delhi High Court because rows of people had lined up to greet me, I was assured, and I believed it. Their heartfelt smiles were so genuine and warm. Why, I was almost giddy under the spell of so much goodwill coming from people I had never seen before, and people who had unseen me before. By the time the walk was over, I was convinced that if any of us had ever crossed swords in court, it was only with the deepest secret admiration. We just never had a chance to confess our feelings to each other, until now.

‘I’ll vote for you’, I promised each candidate as I proceeded to the cafeteria.

There, I sat down to eat a low-cost plate of bun samosa when suddenly, miraculously, candidate flyers, calendars and cards fell from the heavens like soft rain all around me. It was all I could do to resist the urge to stand up and twirl to the Bollywood number playing in my head. More heartfelt greetings from campaigners. More declarations of votes from me.

The rest of the day was a dreamy blur. I don’t quite remember what happened in the matter that was listed. All I remember is feeling very special for simply existing, as an advocate, with a voting membership to the DHCBA. Going back to office at 5 o’clock was a painful parting. I couldn’t wait to see the Elections again the next morning.

And so, our rendezvous continued. Day after day. For weeks. In plain sight all the way to the courtroom, and in whispers inside of it. People around me might have been concerned with stylistic differences between candidates, and the real issues of the Bar. I didn’t want to sour the mood on such technicalities. What did it matter if a candidate campaigned openly or after swearing that she was not really campaigning? As for issues that merited discussion in the canteen, where most issues were most frequently discussed, I would have liked to propose one: does the bun samosa need to be served with more imli ki chatni or more hari chatni? Be careful now. The wrong answer could upset the fine balance of the massy aloo caught in the middle and the whole congregation could land on my lawyer’s robe in a pool of sticky orange or pungent green. Which would be a tragedy, because a lawyer’s robe is only ever supposed to be black. But even such a tense moment was often distracted by the feeling of being watched by someone hovering above my plate. I was a valued ‘beta’ of the lawyer community, that someone would remind me, and I had the ‘potential’ to be a ‘great, great lawyer’ one day.

‘I will vote for you’, I would reaffirm to every onlooker between bites.

Now, the day for me to make good on my promises is almost here and, like all good love stories, I can sense a complication coming. I suppose it might get messy that I promised to vote for everyone when I only have one vote per vacant post. Let’s just say I over-committed early on in the relationship and now I can’t meet the expectations I set for myself. It would not be a stretch to imagine that once the results are out, someone will feel cheated. Perhaps I can get away with the oldest trick in the book of the unfaithful: deny, deny, deny, until confronted with proof. That nobody will have because nobody will know who I really voted for.

Even so, it might be a good idea to accept that this affair is over. I need to put down my vote, walk away and never look back. Because that is the only good ending to the plotline of any great romantic movie. And because one has actual advocacy to get back to at some point. But the thought of normal life seems unbearable now. These elections were something else. Nothing and nobody will ever take their place. Certainly not in the heart of an ordinary advocate with a proximity card like me.