I work for the newly formed Blood-Sucking People's Party…
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I work for the newly formed Blood-Sucking People's Party. Our manifesto is terrifyingly progressive.
I never thought my degree in Political Science from Delhi University would lead to me managing a social media campaign for a literal corpse, but here we are. It’s 2026, and Indian politics has officially gone off the deep end.
Last month, a group of ancient, elite aristocrats from South Delhi and South Mumbai emerged from their shadows to form a new national political party: the Vampire People's Party (VPP).
Initially, the Election Commission tried to reject their application on the grounds that "dead people cannot contest elections." But the VPP’s legal team - a terrifying squad of high-ranking corporate lawyers who haven't seen daylight since the 90s anyway - argued that under Article 21 of the Constitution, "Right to Life" doesn't explicitly exclude the un-dead. Plus, they pointed out that half the existing parliament already looked and acted like reanimated mummies, so it was a bit hypocritical to draw the line at fangs.
Their campaign slogan? "Abki Baar, No More Vaar (Henceforth, no more Daytime)."
I was hired as their PR consultant because, honestly, the ancient nocturnal community is completely clueless about modern Indian marketing. My boss is Rajkumar Veerendra Singh, a vampire turned during the British Raj who still talks like he’s in a DD National period drama.
Our first campaign meeting was an absolute disaster.
"Karan," Veerendra hissed, his fangs catching the dim light of the basement office. "We must promise the masses that we will drain the blood of our enemies!"
"Sir, no," I sighed, rubbing my temples. "We cannot say 'drain the blood.' This isn't 18th-century Transylvania. We call it 'Aggressive Wealth Redistribution and Resource Mobilization.' It sounds like an economic policy."
"Ah," Veerendra’s eyes glowed crimson. "Brilliant. And what of the daytime rallies? The heat of the Indian summer will turn our candidates into ash."
"We shift the entire democratic process," I said, pulling up a PowerPoint presentation. "Night rallies only. We’ll market it as 'The Midnight Awakening Initiative.' We’ll target the IT corridor in Bengaluru, the call center workers in Noida, and night-shift security guards. It's a massive, untapped voting bloc that is already dead inside. They will relate to us."
To everyone's shock, the VPP’s manifesto went completely viral.
THE VPP MANIFESTO: A NEW DAWN (BUT NIGHT)
24/7 Night Life: Mandatory restructuring of the economy to a 6 PM to 6 AM workday. (This instantly won the vote of every single software engineer under the age of thirty).
Healthcare Reforms: Free, universal iron supplements for all citizens. A complete overhaul of the Red Cross blood banks into a "fair-price public distribution system."
Infrastructure: A nationwide ban on streetlights using harsh UV bulbs. Replacement of all government office glass windows with opaque black curtains.
Agriculture: Immediate subsidies for garlic-free farming. Garlic is now classified as an invasive, toxic weed and an offense against public harmony.
The opposition parties panicked. They didn't know how to counter us. They tried throwing a traditional political rally at noon, daring our candidates to show up. Veerendra just sent a bunch of highly paid, human influencers to distribute free sunscreen and \*Roof Afza\* along with our party symbol—a stylized bat wearing sunglasses. We won the local news cycle for being "empathetic to the summer heat."
Then came the first live televised debate.
Veerendra sat across from a veteran human politician who was notorious for shouting over everyone. The anchor, hyperventilating for TRP, looked back and forth between them.
"Veerendra-ji!" the human politician roared, slamming his fist on the table. "Your party wants to turn our youth into nocturnal monsters! You represent a threat to our culture! You want to suck our blood!"
Veerendra didn't shout back. He didn't have to. He just leaned forward, his eyes flashing a hypnotic, ancient purple. His voice dropped into a smooth, aristocratic baritone that echoed through the studio monitors.
"Sharma-ji," Veerendra murmured. "The previous governments have been sucking your blood metaphorically through taxes, fuel price hikes, and inflation for seventy years. They take your blood and give you potholes. We, at least, are being transparent about our diet. And in return, we offer immortality, zero sleep deprivation, and free public transport after midnight."
The studio audience went dead silent. A single camera operator started clapping. By midnight, #WeWantImmortality was trending number one on Twitter.
Of course, maintaining a political party of vampires has its unique HR challenges. Last week, our youth wing leader got caught trying to turn a prominent opposition leader during a heated debate in the assembly. I had to issue a press release stating it was an "unfortunate, involuntary reflex brought on by low blood sugar."
Then there’s the issue of the campaign funding. We don't take corporate donations. Our candidates just hypnotize wealthy billionaires into signing over their estates. It's technically illegal, but the Enforcement Directorate can't find a paper trail because all the transactions are sealed with wax stamps and written in ancient Sanskrit.
Tomorrow is the final phase of voting.
The exit polls are predicting a historic landslide for the VPP. The human politicians are packing their bags, realizing that you can't compete with a political rival that literally never sleeps, doesn't need a pension, and can mind-control the lower judiciary.
I’m sitting in the campaign office right now, looking out at the dark Delhi skyline. Veerendra just walked in, holding a silver chalice filled with something thick and dark. He looks incredibly pleased with himself.
"Excellent work, Karan," he smiled, placing a cold hand on my shoulder. "When we form the government, you shall be our Minister of Information and Broadcasting. Permanent tenure. No retirement."
"Thank you, sir," I smiled, packing up my laptop. "I appreciate the promotion."
"There is just one small condition," Veerendra murmured, his fangs gently extending past his bottom lip. "We need our cabinet ministers to be fully committed to the long-term vision of the state. It requires... a small physical adaptation. Are you ready to sign the contract?"
I looked at the silver chalice. Then I looked at my mountain of student loans, my upcoming rent hike, and the absolute chaos of the human world outside.
Honestly? Unlimited youth, an active nightlife, and a government job that lasts forever doesn't sound like a bad deal.
I leaned my neck back. "Make it quick, boss. We have a press conference at midnight."
#entertainment
source
I never thought my degree in Political Science from Delhi University would lead to me managing a social media campaign for a literal corpse, but here we are. It’s 2026, and Indian politics has officially gone off the deep end.
Last month, a group of ancient, elite aristocrats from South Delhi and South Mumbai emerged from their shadows to form a new national political party: the Vampire People's Party (VPP).
Initially, the Election Commission tried to reject their application on the grounds that "dead people cannot contest elections." But the VPP’s legal team - a terrifying squad of high-ranking corporate lawyers who haven't seen daylight since the 90s anyway - argued that under Article 21 of the Constitution, "Right to Life" doesn't explicitly exclude the un-dead. Plus, they pointed out that half the existing parliament already looked and acted like reanimated mummies, so it was a bit hypocritical to draw the line at fangs.
Their campaign slogan? "Abki Baar, No More Vaar (Henceforth, no more Daytime)."
I was hired as their PR consultant because, honestly, the ancient nocturnal community is completely clueless about modern Indian marketing. My boss is Rajkumar Veerendra Singh, a vampire turned during the British Raj who still talks like he’s in a DD National period drama.
Our first campaign meeting was an absolute disaster.
"Karan," Veerendra hissed, his fangs catching the dim light of the basement office. "We must promise the masses that we will drain the blood of our enemies!"
"Sir, no," I sighed, rubbing my temples. "We cannot say 'drain the blood.' This isn't 18th-century Transylvania. We call it 'Aggressive Wealth Redistribution and Resource Mobilization.' It sounds like an economic policy."
"Ah," Veerendra’s eyes glowed crimson. "Brilliant. And what of the daytime rallies? The heat of the Indian summer will turn our candidates into ash."
"We shift the entire democratic process," I said, pulling up a PowerPoint presentation. "Night rallies only. We’ll market it as 'The Midnight Awakening Initiative.' We’ll target the IT corridor in Bengaluru, the call center workers in Noida, and night-shift security guards. It's a massive, untapped voting bloc that is already dead inside. They will relate to us."
To everyone's shock, the VPP’s manifesto went completely viral.
THE VPP MANIFESTO: A NEW DAWN (BUT NIGHT)
24/7 Night Life: Mandatory restructuring of the economy to a 6 PM to 6 AM workday. (This instantly won the vote of every single software engineer under the age of thirty).
Healthcare Reforms: Free, universal iron supplements for all citizens. A complete overhaul of the Red Cross blood banks into a "fair-price public distribution system."
Infrastructure: A nationwide ban on streetlights using harsh UV bulbs. Replacement of all government office glass windows with opaque black curtains.
Agriculture: Immediate subsidies for garlic-free farming. Garlic is now classified as an invasive, toxic weed and an offense against public harmony.
The opposition parties panicked. They didn't know how to counter us. They tried throwing a traditional political rally at noon, daring our candidates to show up. Veerendra just sent a bunch of highly paid, human influencers to distribute free sunscreen and \*Roof Afza\* along with our party symbol—a stylized bat wearing sunglasses. We won the local news cycle for being "empathetic to the summer heat."
Then came the first live televised debate.
Veerendra sat across from a veteran human politician who was notorious for shouting over everyone. The anchor, hyperventilating for TRP, looked back and forth between them.
"Veerendra-ji!" the human politician roared, slamming his fist on the table. "Your party wants to turn our youth into nocturnal monsters! You represent a threat to our culture! You want to suck our blood!"
Veerendra didn't shout back. He didn't have to. He just leaned forward, his eyes flashing a hypnotic, ancient purple. His voice dropped into a smooth, aristocratic baritone that echoed through the studio monitors.
"Sharma-ji," Veerendra murmured. "The previous governments have been sucking your blood metaphorically through taxes, fuel price hikes, and inflation for seventy years. They take your blood and give you potholes. We, at least, are being transparent about our diet. And in return, we offer immortality, zero sleep deprivation, and free public transport after midnight."
The studio audience went dead silent. A single camera operator started clapping. By midnight, #WeWantImmortality was trending number one on Twitter.
Of course, maintaining a political party of vampires has its unique HR challenges. Last week, our youth wing leader got caught trying to turn a prominent opposition leader during a heated debate in the assembly. I had to issue a press release stating it was an "unfortunate, involuntary reflex brought on by low blood sugar."
Then there’s the issue of the campaign funding. We don't take corporate donations. Our candidates just hypnotize wealthy billionaires into signing over their estates. It's technically illegal, but the Enforcement Directorate can't find a paper trail because all the transactions are sealed with wax stamps and written in ancient Sanskrit.
Tomorrow is the final phase of voting.
The exit polls are predicting a historic landslide for the VPP. The human politicians are packing their bags, realizing that you can't compete with a political rival that literally never sleeps, doesn't need a pension, and can mind-control the lower judiciary.
I’m sitting in the campaign office right now, looking out at the dark Delhi skyline. Veerendra just walked in, holding a silver chalice filled with something thick and dark. He looks incredibly pleased with himself.
"Excellent work, Karan," he smiled, placing a cold hand on my shoulder. "When we form the government, you shall be our Minister of Information and Broadcasting. Permanent tenure. No retirement."
"Thank you, sir," I smiled, packing up my laptop. "I appreciate the promotion."
"There is just one small condition," Veerendra murmured, his fangs gently extending past his bottom lip. "We need our cabinet ministers to be fully committed to the long-term vision of the state. It requires... a small physical adaptation. Are you ready to sign the contract?"
I looked at the silver chalice. Then I looked at my mountain of student loans, my upcoming rent hike, and the absolute chaos of the human world outside.
Honestly? Unlimited youth, an active nightlife, and a government job that lasts forever doesn't sound like a bad deal.
I leaned my neck back. "Make it quick, boss. We have a press conference at midnight."
#entertainment
source
| 3,000 mlx | |
| 7 | |
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