Clumps of darkness conceal the small stream of yellow light illuminating the concrete walk leading to the last home on the lane, which is framed by open drains on each side. B Sangappa comes from the whitewashed two-story structure after 8 p.m., his perfectly groomed handlebar mustache, gold-rimmed glasses, and starched, two-pleat telugu dhoti a familiar, comforting image to his neighbourhood. His stride has been tamed by age, and his shaking fingers fight to keep the fringes of his dhoti upright. The 86-year-old telangana movement veteran's memory, on the other hand, is sharp. "We went above and beyond to see this state come into being." "Does anyone recall?"

The first indications of autumn are in the air; Sangappa coughs - he's not usually out this late at 86. But today is significant. He must travel to a village on the outskirts of Zaheerabad town in Telangana's sangareddy district to assist his community members in deciding their stance for the upcoming assembly elections. A group of young men lifts him into the kind of refashioned open jeeps that straddle community pride and masculine virility in small-town india - adorned with decorative exhaust chutes and motifs of swords, skulls, mustaches, and a small bevy of headlights that more than compensate for the dark highway ahead.

The meeting is loud, drowning out the wafting lilt of classic telugu tunes featuring yesteryear cine hunk and former state minister NT Rama Rao. The guys are perplexed: their local assembly constituency is held by the governing Bharat Rashtra Samithi (BRS), yet they've heard the congress is on the rise throughout the state and don't want to lose out. Farmers and fishermen in this community have received their payouts under the Rythu Bandhu plan, but the latter complain about a lack of necessary support. Nonetheless, the predominant sense is one of hostility, as if they've been taken advantage of in some way.

Hanumanthu discusses how the two factories that power the local economy no longer recruit as many local lads as they once did. B shankar complains that even Dalits are catching up to them. vamsi krishna is enraged since he once received a 95% on a test but was unable to acquire a seat. "In the end, the problem is the same for all of us."We are significantly more numerous, but our presence in politics, colleges, and government positions is limited. And there is no way we can progress until we strengthen ourselves in elections," Sangappa remarked.

The veteran, as well as the other 40 or so people at the meeting that night, are Mudiraj, a socially powerful community dispersed evenly across telangana that faces the same mobility obstacles as their counterparts in the country's core. However, the specific features of social justice politics in peninsular india make their difficulties distinct as the southern state approaches its most recent elections.

Mudiraj, or Mudirajus, are a traditional fishing community that also owns tiny land holdings throughout the countryside and are one of the state's most backward populations. According to satya Nelli, an assistant professor at Osmania University, their strength ranges from 11% to 14% of the state, yet in a location where Greater hyderabad accounts for 40% of the state's GDP, their rural roots represent a substantial disadvantage.

The consequence is seen in villages like chinna Hyderabad, named for a nearby Nizam-era monument that mimics the iconic Charminar, where young men locked in low-paying manufacturing jobs or daily work are filled with animosity while other groups advance. "Tell me, what's the point of keeping my son in school if he has to work on the construction site with me?" But if he quits out, he'll never obtain a better job than I," summed up Ramesh Mudiraj, a local resident.


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Telangana Elections 2023

SIBY JEYYA

30/11/2023 07:40 AM