There is a reason why you do not see me singing on television. Neither can I make your long journeys pleasurable because you will not find me on the car radio. It is because there are many other avenues to offer tranquillity to viewers and safety to drivers. The irony is I can sing and, to be honest, I do a better job than many in the limelight; those who face the camera in a dishevelled (artistic?) state or in designer costume. There has not been any measure of requests from any quarter. But there is something called self-assessment, which keeps me away.

Extending the above discussion on exposure, by plain reasoning, I have not yielded to an urge to perform a sitar recital. This after having owned a stringed instrument for 15 years and endured by four patient ustads. None of them told me I was bad. Silence sayeth a thousand words. Occasionally, avoiding eye contact, lips pursed, they cradle my sitar, and paradise pours out, not to prove that they can play, but to lure back the birds that were driven away by my laborious sa-ma-re-ga. You realise instantly you have miles to go, or perhaps you can hear the whistle blow.

My other disqualification is that I usually avoid talk shows because I know I hardly know anything versus the other guests knowing everything. Their TV studio is the only lounge on earth where the host encourages guests to pit and spar against each other with a smile. Under lights and on camera, guests are offered a mug of sponsored tea or coffee. Check before you take a sip; it could be from the night before. Mind-bogglingly, some debaters do not blink either eye while gliding seamlessly from Barapukuria to Westminster, from fire safety to bungee jumping, from Begumpara to Nakhal, from mass shooting to catching maas in the Arctic. One indication of being educated is to know when to say "No".

In the just-concluded 12th parliamentary elections, candidates misperceived the much-touted "utshobmukhor poribesh" as a festival. They decided to join the assumed gaiety, without realising that being a member of parliament was different from a social club membership.

The inevitable happened. Our voters came out tops. They were not deceived by glamour or glitter, empty promises, and heroics by non-heroes. The latter is the creation of the irresponsible media. You do not promote anything that walks on two legs.

Some candidates were sitting ducks. They got around 200 votes where the winning candidate secured nearly a lakh. Hundreds of wishful hopefuls, who could not comprehend their worth in society, lost their security deposits. As a slap for stupidity, fanned by the media, they secured less than 12.5 percent of the total votes cast in their respective constituency.

You could question why not 10 or 15 percent. Twelve point five is the decimal of "one-eighth", which fraction emerged after hours of deliberation over days among dozens, labelled as a think tank. Also, do not ponder whether anyone has ever seen a tank think.

Candidates make a deposit of Tk 20,000, which is peanuts compared to the amount of free publicity each get on TV, radio, print and social media. Our mainstream media is that generous. There you go! Not all of us have learnt to discern between what should be reported and blissful ignorance.

In several districts, 75 to 80 percent of the candidates lost their deposits; call it ijjat. Countrywide, this year over 50 percent lost their chicken feed. That also has been the trend of previous elections when pitiable losers numbered from 1,000 to 1,500. Which precisely means we forget the lessons and gear up every five years because we cannot say, "No". Call it a disease even if you are not a doctor.

How difficult is it for a person to assess he will get only a few hundred votes? The fakes in the crowd early in his campaign should be an eyeopener. If he can't realise he will lose, how will he ever win?

Such waste of time and squandering of money can be overcome by "election consultants", who live in every living room, working for free. Let them find the facts, snooping around households, asking veiled queries to friends, family, and foes. After a prolonged study let them inform the ambitious "client" that he can start meeting people in preparation for the next elections, or politely bow out. One suggestion though: the person likely to amass less than a thousand votes should be emailed. A face-to-face tete-a-tete could lead to the consultant being punched on the face. These vainglorious people are disturbed narcissists.

On the bright side, there usually is a next time. Brighter still, there always are other pastures to graze on.