The BJP’s Ganesha Gambit

Pune’s Ganeshotsav has become an enormous civic and political stage, and the ruling party has proved adept at occupying it. Pune: The city’s Ganeshotsav is entering its final phase, but the festival has already demonstrated something beyond its extraordinary crowds and familiar spectacle: the extent to which it has become a political stage. This year, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) has left a particularly visible imprint on the festivities, using an event that reaches deep into the city’s...

min read

Pune’s Ganeshotsav has become an enormous civic and political stage, and the ruling party has proved adept at occupying it. Pune: The city’s Ganeshotsav is entering its final phase, but the festival has already demonstrated something beyond its extraordinary crowds and familiar spectacle: the extent to which it has become a political stage. This year, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) has left a particularly visible imprint on the festivities, using an event that reaches deep into the city’s neighbourhoods as an opportunity for public outreach. The political appropriation of the festival has not, however, been without a counter-current. Demands were raised for curbs on noise pollution, loudspeakers and the volume of dhol-tasha performances. The argument was not against Ganeshotsav itself, but for moderation - notably, a complete ban on DJ music and limits on the number of dhol and tasha instruments used by performing troupes. Familiar Troubles The festival’s reality has been rather different. Major roads have been occupied by mandaps. Processions celebrating the arrival of Lord Ganesha have unfolded amid punishing noise. DJ music, while subject to restrictions, has continued. Traffic congestion has become a familiar feature of the festival, with the movement of political leaders adding another layer to the city’s already strained roads. The Peth areas have remained crowded deep into the night. The Shrimant Dagdusheth Halwai Ganpati temple has drawn enormous crowds for darshan from the opening day. From the old city to housing societies and neighbourhood mandals, Ganeshotsav touches virtually every part of Pune. For a political party seeking a direct connection with citizens, few occasions offer such a ready-made network of people, institutions and local influencers. The BJP enters this festival with an unusually formidable organisational base. It has two MPs, seven MLAs and more than 100 corporators in Pune. Murlidhar Mohol, one of the city’s MPs, is a Union Minister of State. Chandrakant Patil is a Cabinet minister in the Maharashtra government, while Madhuri Misal is a Minister of State. The party’s presence also extends into the festival’s organisational architecture. Its influence is visible across numerous mandals, large and small. BJP MLA Hemant Rasane is General Secretary of the Shrimant Dagdusheth Halwai Sarvajanik Ganpati Trust. Kunal Tilak, a member of Lokmanya Tilak’s family, is a BJP corporator. The political and cultural histories of Pune therefore intersect in ways that are difficult to ignore. The BJP’s senior leadership has also made the most of the occasion. National President Nitin Nabin visited Pune to seek Lord Ganesha’s blessings, while Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis visited the city before and during the festival. Such visits are about more than religious observance. In a festival watched by millions and embedded in the city’s social life, political visibility comes almost automatically. There is also talk in Pune that the BJP provided substantial financial support to Dhol-Lezim troupes and their organisers, with claims that some major mandals received financial backing as well. These claims would require independent verification, but the perception itself points to the depth of the political contest around Ganeshotsav. BJP workers, according to local observers, have also sought to make their presence more conspicuous than that of festivities organised by housing societies. Useful Expedient The festival arrives at a politically useful moment for the BJP. The party has faced disquiet on several fronts. Young people have been agitated over the paper-leak controversy. Broader public dissatisfaction has been voiced over inflation and unemployment, while government policies relating to ethanol and charges associated with UPI transactions have also generated criticism. While a political party can defend a policy in a press conference and advertise its achievements, during Ganeshotsav, its workers can be physically present in neighbourhoods, among processions, mandals, cultural groups and devotees. Politics thus becomes less about argument and more about visibility. That is the BJP’s advantage in Pune. Ganeshotsav, after all, is not simply a sequence of religious rituals. It is an elaborate civic network involving local organisers, volunteers, cultural groups, businesses, residents and political representatives. Whoever has influence over that network acquires a powerful channel of communication with the city. The BJP appears to understand this particularly well. Its strength in Pune’s electoral politics has been reinforced by a presence that extends beyond elections and into the institutions and social spaces that organise public life. The irony is that the very scale of the festival that makes it politically attractive also magnifies the civic costs. The political value of Ganeshotsav and the civic burden it creates are therefore two sides of the same phenomenon. For Pune, the larger question is not whether politics has entered Ganeshotsav. It has done so for decades. The more consequential question is whether the festival’s extraordinary social capital will remain primarily a vehicle for political outreach or whether the same influence can be used to reconcile celebration with the ordinary civic needs of the city. For the moment, the BJP seems to have understood the first proposition better than most.

A Ceasefire in Name Only

Commodore S.L. Deshmukh

Apr 13

4 min read

A fragile pause between Iran, Israel and America exposes the widening gap between diplomatic signalling and military reality.

By definition, a ceasefire is a temporary suspension of hostilities. In practice, it is often something murkier: a tactical pause, a diplomatic fig leaf or worse, a convenient illusion. The ceasefire announced on April 7 between Iran, Israel and the United States appears to belong firmly in this latter category. Less a bridge to peace than a pause pregnant with contradiction, it has already begun to unravel under the weight of competing claims, regional entanglements and strategic mistrust.

The timing itself was telling. The ceasefire came just before a deadline set by Washington for Tehran to reopen the Strait of Hormuz, the chokepoint through which a fifth of the world’s oil passes. Faced with the prospect of economic shockwaves and military escalation, all sides opted for a temporary de-escalation. Yet even as Washington and Tehran paused their attacks and declared victory, the fine print - or lack of it - quickly surfaced.

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu asserted that the ceasefire did not apply to its ongoing operations in Lebanon against Hezbollah. Iran insisted that Lebanon was very much within the ambit of the agreement. This divergence struck at the heart of the ceasefire’s credibility. When Israel continued its strikes in Lebanon, Tehran responded by once again closing the Strait of Hormuz, effectively undermining the very premise of de-escalation.

The result is a ‘ceasefire’ in which each party appears to be observing a different set of rules.

The diplomatic effort that followed did little to clarify matters. Talks in Islamabad, brokered improbably by Pakistan, brought together delegations led by America’s vice-president, JD Vance and Iranian officials. If the ceasefire was fragile, the negotiations were stillborn. They collapsed almost as soon as they began, undone by familiar disagreements and a conspicuous lack of trust.

At the centre of the impasse lies a 10-point Iranian proposal, the details of which remain contested. Washington and Tehran have offered differing interpretations of what was agreed, if anything was agreed at all. One sticking point has been whether the ceasefire extends to Israel’s campaign in Lebanon. Another was that Iran demanded the release of its blocked financial assets and a halt to Israeli operations before substantive talks can proceed. Neither demand has been met.

Iranian officials, including parliamentary speaker Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf, warned early on that continued Israeli strikes in Lebanon could derail negotiations. That warning has proved prescient. By the time the delegations convened in Islamabad on April 11, the ground beneath them had already shifted. The talks ended without agreement, each side blaming the other.

Performative Diplomacy

Vance pointed to Iran’s refusal to accept what he described as reasonable terms, particularly a clear commitment to forgo nuclear weapons. Tehran, for its part, accused Washington of making “excessive demands and unlawful requests.” Israel, meanwhile, continued its military operations unabated, contributing to an atmosphere in which diplomacy seemed almost performative.

The broader picture is one of a conflict that has become both intractable and self-defeating. Strikes across Iran, Lebanon and parts of the Gulf have heightened the risk to critical infrastructure. Shipping through the Strait of Hormuz has been repeatedly disrupted, sending jitters through global energy markets. Gulf states, anxious about their own vulnerability, are demanding stronger guarantees for the security of their oil and gas facilities and shipping routes. Energy-importing countries, from Asia to Europe, are pressing for the restoration of free navigation.

Analysts have rightly described it as a welcome, if limited, step back from the brink. Yet it is also clear that none of the parties is winning. The costs are mounting faster than any plausible gains.

This asymmetry between costs and benefits should, in theory, create incentives for compromise. In practice, it has not. For Israel and the United States, any durable arrangement would require credible assurances that Iran will not pursue nuclear weapons and will restrain its regional proxies. For Iran, it would require guarantees against renewed strikes, relief from crippling sanctions, and recognition of its strategic interests.

Bridging these gaps will demand a degree of pragmatism that has so far been conspicuously absent. Israel and America would need to offer Iran credible security assurances and adhere strictly to agreed terms including those relating to Lebanon. Iran, in turn, would need to accept verifiable limits on its nuclear programme and refrain from using the Strait of Hormuz as a lever of coercion.

Equally important is the tone of engagement. The continued build-up of American forces in the region, coupled with bellicose rhetoric about “bombing Iran into the Stone Age” does little to foster trust. Such language may play well domestically, but it complicates diplomacy and hardens positions in Tehran. Conversely, Iran’s periodic closure of the Strait serves as a reminder of the leverage it wields and the risks it is willing to run.

Regional Dimension

The regional dimension adds another layer of complexity. Gulf states are not passive observers; they are stakeholders with acute vulnerabilities. Any miscalculation could trigger a broader conflagration. The margin for error is perilously thin.

As the American journalist Dorothy Thompson once observed, peace is not the absence of conflict but the presence of creative alternatives to it. For Iran, Israel and the United States, those alternatives remain elusive. Until they are found, ceasefires such as this one will continue to be what they so often are - pauses in a war that has not yet decided its purpose, let alone its end.

(The writer is a retired naval aviation officer and a defence and geopolitical analyst. Views personal.)

The BJP’s Ganesha Gambit

A Ceasefire in Name Only

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