Mujraparty
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MYSORE, India—In the heart of this tropical city, a small factory manufactures a specialized product that is essential to carrying out elections in the world's largest democracy.
The factory, Mysore Paints & Varnish Ltd., makes purple ink—the indelible kind that stains voters' fingers before they leave the polls. As India wraps up a its weekslong national parliamentary election, that amounts to more than 800 million purple fingertips across the country.
It is the only factory contracted by the Indian government to produce ink for the elections, a job it has done for more than half a century. Rajesh Malhotra of India's Election Commission called the factory "the pride of Indian democracy."
Indelible ink is widely used in India and several other nations to protect against vote fraud by ensuring one vote per person. The stain can't be washed off, and usually lingers for at least a week.
The ink typically contains silver nitrate, but Mysore Paints is deeply secretive about its own recipe
"We can't even tell our wife and kids," says Hara Kumar, the factory's manager. "It's top secret."
To keep the ink-making process confidential, 16 cameras monitor the factory grounds. And, during production, the company said it doubles its security force, though it declined to give details about the force size. If the unique recipe were made public, the company worries rogue groups could manipulate election results—for example, by inking people's fingers before they have a chance to vote.
As the latest election approached, the factory hummed with more than 100 chemists, lab workers and deliverymen laboring on an immense order, its largest ever. Wearing rubber boots, masks and gloves, they pumped and packaged the violet liquid into two million tiny orange bottles.
Secrecy is just one of the company's challenges during national elections. Once bottled, the ink has to be transported to each of India's 28 states and seven union territories, an area covering almost 1.3 million square miles, including rocky plateaus in the northeast and snow-covered mountains in Kashmir.
"Since 1962, we've never failed to get the ink out on time," Mr. Kumar says. "Without us, how will the election happen?"
The company's ink has also made its mark abroad. In 1978, Singapore asked the factory to produce ink for its voting. Since then the company has supplied ink to at least 25 countries, including Ghana, Turkey and South Africa, it says.
Its international shipments haven't been free of controversy. When the factory supplied indelible-ink markers for Afghanistan's first post-Taliban election in 2004, local reports said the ink could be washed off. Mysore Paints says it wasn't to blame: Afghan officials at some booths had used ordinary markers—not the special ones sent from India—says managing director Hemanta Kumar, who isn't related to the factory manager.
On a recent afternoon, the factory was calm. The last of the election ink had been shipped, and a few workers were testing samples in the laboratory. K. Vishalaskshi, a 32-year-old chemist in a white coat, poured a vat of ink into several smaller cups.
"We test the ink all the time," Ms. Vishalakshi said. "The ink should stay on your finger after exposure to sunlight, even if you try to wash it off with detergent."
For testing, she relies on the fingers of her employees, but she is careful to avoid their forefingers, which must be ink-free to cast a vote.
Before India gained independence from the British nearly 70 years ago, the factory, founded by the king of Mysore in 1937, was known for its sealing wax—the stuff of college diplomas and royal decrees.
"The wax was our pride, used only by a privileged few," says Hara Kumar, the factory manager. It is still manufactured in tiny batches, mostly for universities that want to add a touch of timelessness to their diplomas.
"Back in the olden days, truckloads of sealing wax would go to rulers and princely states across Mysore," he says. "Now, people seem to have forgotten all about it."
Today the company's pride comes not from royalty, but from the common man.
"When our ink reaches the rarest of the rare, someone who may never have voted before, we are even more happy," says Hemanta Kumar. "This is a noble thing."
http://online.wsj.com/news/articles/SB10001424052702303417104579545502717863482
The factory, Mysore Paints & Varnish Ltd., makes purple ink—the indelible kind that stains voters' fingers before they leave the polls. As India wraps up a its weekslong national parliamentary election, that amounts to more than 800 million purple fingertips across the country.
It is the only factory contracted by the Indian government to produce ink for the elections, a job it has done for more than half a century. Rajesh Malhotra of India's Election Commission called the factory "the pride of Indian democracy."
Indelible ink is widely used in India and several other nations to protect against vote fraud by ensuring one vote per person. The stain can't be washed off, and usually lingers for at least a week.
The ink typically contains silver nitrate, but Mysore Paints is deeply secretive about its own recipe
"We can't even tell our wife and kids," says Hara Kumar, the factory's manager. "It's top secret."
To keep the ink-making process confidential, 16 cameras monitor the factory grounds. And, during production, the company said it doubles its security force, though it declined to give details about the force size. If the unique recipe were made public, the company worries rogue groups could manipulate election results—for example, by inking people's fingers before they have a chance to vote.
As the latest election approached, the factory hummed with more than 100 chemists, lab workers and deliverymen laboring on an immense order, its largest ever. Wearing rubber boots, masks and gloves, they pumped and packaged the violet liquid into two million tiny orange bottles.
Secrecy is just one of the company's challenges during national elections. Once bottled, the ink has to be transported to each of India's 28 states and seven union territories, an area covering almost 1.3 million square miles, including rocky plateaus in the northeast and snow-covered mountains in Kashmir.
"Since 1962, we've never failed to get the ink out on time," Mr. Kumar says. "Without us, how will the election happen?"
The company's ink has also made its mark abroad. In 1978, Singapore asked the factory to produce ink for its voting. Since then the company has supplied ink to at least 25 countries, including Ghana, Turkey and South Africa, it says.
Its international shipments haven't been free of controversy. When the factory supplied indelible-ink markers for Afghanistan's first post-Taliban election in 2004, local reports said the ink could be washed off. Mysore Paints says it wasn't to blame: Afghan officials at some booths had used ordinary markers—not the special ones sent from India—says managing director Hemanta Kumar, who isn't related to the factory manager.
On a recent afternoon, the factory was calm. The last of the election ink had been shipped, and a few workers were testing samples in the laboratory. K. Vishalaskshi, a 32-year-old chemist in a white coat, poured a vat of ink into several smaller cups.
"We test the ink all the time," Ms. Vishalakshi said. "The ink should stay on your finger after exposure to sunlight, even if you try to wash it off with detergent."
For testing, she relies on the fingers of her employees, but she is careful to avoid their forefingers, which must be ink-free to cast a vote.
Before India gained independence from the British nearly 70 years ago, the factory, founded by the king of Mysore in 1937, was known for its sealing wax—the stuff of college diplomas and royal decrees.
"The wax was our pride, used only by a privileged few," says Hara Kumar, the factory manager. It is still manufactured in tiny batches, mostly for universities that want to add a touch of timelessness to their diplomas.
"Back in the olden days, truckloads of sealing wax would go to rulers and princely states across Mysore," he says. "Now, people seem to have forgotten all about it."
Today the company's pride comes not from royalty, but from the common man.
"When our ink reaches the rarest of the rare, someone who may never have voted before, we are even more happy," says Hemanta Kumar. "This is a noble thing."
http://online.wsj.com/news/articles/SB10001424052702303417104579545502717863482
