In a dimly lit Washington cafe, freshly brewed coffee mingled with a distinct whiff of regret as two prominent political figures, Kamla and Rahul, sat across from each other.
They weren’t there to discuss foreign policy, economic collaboration, or climate change. Today’s agenda was far more pressing: the fine art of political defeat and the timeless craft of dodging accountability.
“Rahul,” Kamla began, her voice carrying a tinge of disappointment, “I don’t know how you do it. The electoral process in America? Completely rigged, of course. And, honestly, I’m heartbroken. I was this close to the Oval Office!”
“Kamala, my dear friend,” Rahul responded, with a consoling pat on her shoulder, “I understand your pain. What I mean is I practically have a standing reservation at the ‘So Close, Yet So Far’ club. I’ve lost track of how many elections I’ve almost won. The trick is not to take it personally. Everything is fair in love, war, and politics.”
Kamala sighed, nodding thoughtfully. “But what now? Do I wait it out, or should I—”
“Blame the vice,” Rahul interjected with an air of seasoned authority. “Whenever I lose, which is often, I look over at Khadge—my party’s second-in-command—and that’s it. He’s my escape hatch. Find your own Khadge, Kamla! This is politics: always have a scapegoat.”
Intrigued, Kamla leaned forward, visibly absorbing this kernel of wisdom. “So, you just… blame it on someone else? Like, straight-up, tell people it’s not your fault?”
Rahul grinned- the grin that only someone who had lost repeatedly and lived to tell the tale could wear. “It’s practically a tradition in India! If there’s one thing we excel at, it’s finding someone else to blame.”
My cousin once lost a cricket match ticket, but somehow, the family’s cook was blamed for it—”It’s a skill.”
Kamala chuckled, warming up to Rahul’s strategic tips. “But what about the election itself? I mean, the White House is practically calling my name. The voters were clearly with me, and yet…”
Rahul nodded sagely. “Here’s what you do: throw shade on the entire electoral process. Accuse it, of being outdated, corrupt, and easily manipulated. In India, we call this ‘strategic scepticism.’ Get the voters on your side by making them believe they’ve been robbed. Tell them about mismanagement and vote-rigging. It’s like planting seeds of doubt—works every time for all parties!”
Kamala’s eyes lit up. “So, basically, even if you lose fair and square, you just convince people it was a setup?”
“Exactly!” Rahul beamed. “Tell them about bogus voting. Ask them why they are not using voting machines like in India. If you have electronic voting machines, it will be better and surely you will win the election.’’
Kamala took a deep breath. “You know, I was considering suggesting a recount, but it felt too… desperate. But you’re saying it’s not?”
“Desperate? Oh, no, no!” Rahul chuckled. “It’s simply ‘strategic persistence.’ In India, when we don’t win, we make it sound like- it’s because we were too virtuous for the game. You want the American people to think you were denied your rightful place in the Oval Office due to a broken system.”
Kamala gave a thoughtful nod, her face turning contemplative. “The president, though… he wasn’t supposed to win. I mean, he was heading straight for a scandal. There was even talk of him going to jail. Somehow, he ended up in the White House! It’s all just a cruel joke.”
Rahul shook his head sympathetically. “You know, Kamla, it’s the same everywhere. We see people rise from controversy and land to power in India. It’s like a rite of passage. It’s almost suspicious if a politician doesn’t have a scandal or two under their belt.”
Kamala glanced down at her half-empty coffee cup, a smirk beginning to spread across her face. “You know, I think you’re right. The voters were with me; I just needed to make them see it. Maybe it’s time, I start campaigning for a complete overhaul of the system, you know? Just to set things right for the ‘next time’…”
“Exactly!” Rahul leaned in for a final, conspiratorial whisper. “You tell them you’re the hero the country needs, just held back by a corrupt system. Build your brand on being the change, the revolution, the phoenix rising from the ashes of a botched election! And always remember, Kamla: everything is fair in politics and love.”
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The two politicians clinked their coffee cups in silent agreement, having exchanged a lifetime of electoral wisdom in a matter of minutes. As Kamala Haris left the cafe that evening, she walked with a little more confidence, a new spring in her step, and an old lesson at heart: no defeat is final, so long as there’s someone else to take the fall.
Rahul watched her leave, sipping the last sip of his espresso with a self-satisfied smile. After all, if you can’t beat them, you can at least teach them the art of losing gracefully—while making it everyone else’s fault.
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