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By:

Abhijit Joshi

31 August 2024 at 10:09:24 am

Sunetra Pawar’s Trial by Fire

The greatest challenge before Maharashtra’s first Deputy CM is not merely to govern, but to forge a political identity that is unmistakably her own. Politics often rewards the loudest voice. The modern political arena thrives on sharp sound bites, relentless television appearances and instant responses on social media. Yet, some leaders begin their journey not with thunder but with quiet resolve. Maharashtra’s Deputy Chief Minister Sunetra Pawar finds herself at precisely such a moment. In...

Sunetra Pawar’s Trial by Fire

The greatest challenge before Maharashtra’s first Deputy CM is not merely to govern, but to forge a political identity that is unmistakably her own. Politics often rewards the loudest voice. The modern political arena thrives on sharp sound bites, relentless television appearances and instant responses on social media. Yet, some leaders begin their journey not with thunder but with quiet resolve. Maharashtra’s Deputy Chief Minister Sunetra Pawar finds herself at precisely such a moment. In recent days, she has been drawn into an avoidable political controversy after the Maharashtra Congress dubbed her as “Gungi Gudiya” (“mute doll”) following a media interaction in which she chose not to answer journalists' questions. The remark quickly snowballed into a wider debate about the language used against women occupying high constitutional office. It also revived memories of the same epithet once directed at late Congress Prime Minister Indira Gandhi before she went on to become one of India’s most formidable political figures. Until recently, Sunetra Pawar remained largely outside the glare of frontline politics. She was better known in Baramati for her work in education, healthcare and social welfare than for fiery speeches or electoral campaigns. Her public image was that of a composed, private individual who preferred institution-building to political theatre. Political Limelight That changed in 2024 when she entered electoral politics, contesting the Lok Sabha election from Baramati against her sister-in-law, Supriya Sule. Though unsuccessful, she later entered Parliament through the Rajya Sabha, where she quietly focused on organisational responsibilities and social initiatives rather than cultivating a high-profile parliamentary persona. The defining moment came in January this year with the tragic death of her husband, Ajit Pawar, one of the state’s most experienced and influential political leaders. His passing created a political vacuum within the Nationalist Congress Party. At a moment of uncertainty, Sunetra Pawar stepped forward to shoulder responsibilities that few had imagined she would inherit so soon. Within days, she became Maharashtra’s first woman Deputy Chief Minister - a milestone in the state’s political history. But such transitions are rarely straightforward. Political parties often struggle when towering personalities disappear, and observers had predicted that the NCP might witness internal divisions. Maintaining organisational cohesion during a leadership transition is itself a considerable achievement, particularly in a state where political loyalties are often fluid and intensely personalised. However, much of the public conversation around Sunetra Pawar continues to be framed through comparisons with Ajit Pawar. The contrast is obvious. Ajit Pawar was known for his decisiveness, administrative grip and unmistakable public presence. Sunetra Pawar, by contrast, has generally remained soft-spoken, measured and reluctant to engage in unnecessary confrontation. Her supporters see restraint, dignity and maturity but critics see hesitation and insufficient public engagement. Neither assessment is entirely unfair. That is why the recent Beed incident acquired significance beyond a routine press interaction. When reporters sought her comments on law and order and she chose to leave without responding, the political vacuum was quickly filled by her opponents. The Congress’s “Gungi Gudiya” remark predictably provoked protests from the NCP and criticism from leaders across the ruling alliance, many of whom argued that such language diminished the dignity of a woman holding one of the state’s highest offices. Sunetra Pawar’s own response was notably restrained. She said she would offer a “fitting reply at the appropriate time.” The remark was consistent with the temperament she has displayed since entering public life. Leadership is ultimately judged not only by composure but also by visibility. Every major political figure eventually reaches a point where inherited legitimacy must give way to earned authority. Indira Gandhi had to step beyond Jawaharlal Nehru's towering legacy before she was recognised in her own right. Rajiv Gandhi, too, had to emerge from the shadow of Indira Gandhi while navigating extraordinary political circumstances. Their journeys were shaped by vastly different contexts, but they illustrate a universal truth: every successor must eventually become an original. Sunetra Pawar now confronts a similar, though far more modest, challenge. She must cease to be viewed primarily as “Ajit Pawar's wife” and come into her own. Distinct Identity That transformation cannot be achieved through symbolism alone. After all, lasting political stature is built through decisions, administrative outcomes and public confidence. To her credit, she has remained engaged with governance, regularly attending official programmes, reviewing development projects and interacting with citizens instead of chasing daily headlines. Yet the next stage of leadership demands something more. She will need to engage more confidently with the media, articulate her government's priorities in her own voice, and establish an administrative record that reflects independent judgement rather than inherited expectations. These are demanding tasks, but they are neither unusual nor unattainable. It is still too soon to measure Sunetra Pawar’s political legacy. She assumed responsibility at a moment when both her party and the state were adjusting to an unexpected transition, and has so far navigated that passage with composure. Yet political inheritance has a limited shelf life. While quietness, in itself, is neither a virtue nor a weakness, it acquires meaning only when it is accompanied by clarity and conviction. If Sunetra Pawar is to leave an enduring imprint on Maharashtra's politics, it will not be by echoing the style of Ajit Pawar or by answering every taunt from her opponents. It will be by developing a public voice that reflects her own instincts, her own priorities and, ultimately, her own leadership. (The writer is a political observer. Views personal.)

A March Towards the Viksit Bharat of 2047

Updated: Oct 22, 2024

Viksit Bharat

Reflecting on Bharatiya Science and Technology, I cannot help thinking of the pioneering contributions of my friend, computer scientist Vijay Bhatkar, who played a crucial role in the late 1980s. He built the PARAM supercomputer against significant odds, showcasing the true strength of our science and technology. As we envision Science and Technology in Viksit Bharat 2047, we must embrace the spirit that drove the creation of the PARAM supercomputer.

As a member of Rajiv Gandhi’s Science Advisory Council, I recall him asking, “We are a poor country, but rich in what?” The unanimous answer was ‘intellect.’ Our discussion shifted to how this intellect could benefit Bharat. With supercomputers in their early stages globally, we saw an opportunity for Bharat to build its own, especially after the USA denied us this technology—fueling a strong sense of ‘technonationalism.’

Technonationalism is often driven by technology denial. Yet, the denial regime itself eventually changes as technonationalism strengthens a country’s technological foundation. Bharat’s journey into high-performance supercomputing under Vijay Bhatkar’s leadership is a remarkable example of this.

When the CRAY supercomputer was denied to Bharat by the USA in the mid-1980s, our response was to launch the Centre for Development of Advanced Computing (C-DAC) in 1987. By 1991, we developed our first indigenous supercomputer, PARAM 8000. Two key facts about PARAM 8000 are noteworthy. It was built at a cost lower than the imported CRAY computer and in less time than it would have taken to import and install a large computer system in India at that time!

But PARAM by C-DAC was not our only response to technology denial. We also had ‘Flowsolver’ by the National Aerospace Laboratories (NAL), ANUPAM by Bhabha Atomic Research Centre (BARC), and ANURAG by Defence Research and Development Organization (DRDO).

This long voyage into high-performance computing was fraught with difficulties: embargoes on critical components, architectural debates, make-versus-buy dilemmas, loss of key talent to multinationals, and bureaucratic hurdles. Yet, there is a direct correlation between India’s forays into supercomputing and the technology denial we faced.

After C-DAC demonstrated the PARAM-8000 in 1990, a Los Alamos report concluded that supercomputers were unnecessary for nuclear weapons design, prompting the US to take a step back. By 1991–1992, C-DAC had exported PARAM supercomputers to Canada, Germany, and Russia, while NAL’s FLOSOLVER Mk III and DRDO’s PACE matched US-made mid-range workstations. In December 1992, the US Office of Naval Research assessed our supercomputing capabilities in Bangalore, and by 1993, the US authorized conditional exports of high-performance computers to several Indian institutions, marking another retreat.

In 1995, the US placed parallel processing supercomputing on its list of items requiring an Indian export license. But by October that year, the US began to relax export controls, taking a third back step. In 1998, C-DAC launched PARAM 10,000, demonstrating our capacity to build 100-gigaflop machines. In response, the US further relaxed its export controls, and CRAY, the very company that had denied us supercomputers in the 1980s, established a subsidiary in Bharat!

There’s an old saying: “Strength respects strength.” India’s foray into supercomputers is a brilliant example of this. Once you demonstrate your strength and then extend your hand, others will be prepared to shake it. Dr. Bhatkar was one of the luminaries who demonstrated Bharat’s strength to the world. I still remember a headline from the Washington Post that read, “Angry India does it!” It was about the building of the PARAM supercomputer. And I often wonder—why isn’t India always angry?

As we march toward Viksit Bharat of 2047, we should hold onto this spirit of determination.

India’s foray into high-performance supercomputing exemplifies ‘denial-driven innovation,’ a trend seen in various fields of Bharatiya science and technology, such as nuclear, space, and cryogenic technology, all of which were initially denied to us. In response, we developed these technologies independently, showcasing our scientific resilience when faced with challenges.

While 2020 is often seen as the year of the pandemic, I view it as the year of Bharatiya science. Faced with minimal diagnostic capabilities and no vaccines or therapeutics, our scientists rapidly delivered vital information to decision-makers and developed indigenous technologies. From diagnostics and ventilators to drugs and vaccines, their monumental efforts came from startups, large enterprises, universities, and national research labs, showcasing a united front during the crisis.

I am particularly proud that Bharat didn’t ask for help during the pandemic; instead, Bharat helped the world. Covaxin, our indigenous vaccine, is a shining example. Bharat Biotech rose to the challenge and produced it on its own, while Serum Institute in Pune manufactured Covishield on a large scale. We accomplished our goal of 200 crore vaccinations independently. I call this ‘Atmanirbhar Bharat with Atmavishwas.’

That said, we must acknowledge the challenges we face: 70 percent of Bharat lives in villages, nearly 15 percent below the poverty line, every sixth urban resident lives in a slum, and 15 to 20 percent are illiterate. The pandemic highlighted the stark digital divide.

As Chair of the Mashelkar Committee on NEP 2020 implementation in Maharashtra, I proposed that digital access for the poor be recognized as a fundamental human right, arguing that the internet has become a basic need alongside food, clothing, and housing.

Through the ‘Anjani Mashelkar Inclusive Innovation Award’ I established in my mother’s name, I stress that while it’s easy to develop high technology for the wealthy or low technology for the poor, the real challenge lies in making high technology accessible to the poorest. This is what I define as “inclusive innovation” that ensures no one is left behind.

(The writer is former Director-General, Council of Scientific & Industrial Research. Views personal)

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