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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.)

Ajit Pawar’s Two-Handed Game

Maharashtra’s most agile politician finds that even political acrobatics have a breaking point

NCP (Sharad Pawar) State President Shashikant Shinde and party MLA Rohit Pawar during a rally in Navi Mumbai on Sunday. | Pic: PTI
NCP (Sharad Pawar) State President Shashikant Shinde and party MLA Rohit Pawar during a rally in Navi Mumbai on Sunday. | Pic: PTI

Pune: In Maharashtra’s labyrinthine politics, few figures are as deft or as difficult to read as Deputy Chief Minister and Nationalist Congress Party (NCP) Ajit Pawar. As nephew of Sharad Pawar, the NCP’s grand old man, Ajit has spent the past three years perfecting a political manoeuvre that allows him to be both rebel and ruler: splitting his party to join the BJP-led Mahayuti government in Mumbai, while keeping a foot in the sentimental heartland of ‘Pawarite’ politics.


That balancing act is now being tested in the municipal elections of Pune and Pimpri Chinchwad, two cities that double as Ajit Pawar’s power base and political laboratory.


On paper, the arithmetic looks simple. The BJP and Ajit Pawar’s faction of the NCP are allies in the state government. Together they also share power with Eknath Shinde’s Shiv Sena. Yet on the ground in Pune, politics has been turned inside out. Ajit Pawar has stitched together a local understanding with his estranged uncle’s NCP faction - an alliance that has bewildered his partners in government and enraged the Congress, which promptly accused him of political double-dealing and demanded that he resign as deputy chief minister. Pawar ignored the demand, as he usually does.


Opportunistic Dealmaking

The oddity of the arrangement initially produced a curious stillness in the BJP’s ranks. Rumours swirled that Amit Shah, the Union home minister and the BJP’s chief enforcer, had given Ajit Pawar a free hand. Others speculated that the two Pawars were rehearsing a grand reunion that would eventually bring the entire NCP back into the orbit of the Narendra Modi government.


The suspense was broken this week by senior BJP leader and minister Chandrakant Patil, who chose to voice out loud what many in his party had been muttering in private. Why, he asked, have Sharad Pawar and Ajit Pawar come together? If they have done so today, might they not do so again tomorrow? And if that happens, should the BJP really be running a government with a reunited Nationalist Congress Party?


Shifting Gears

Patil’s intervention came just as Ajit Pawar had begun sharpening his rhetoric against the BJP, levelling corruption allegations that cut uncomfortably close to the bone. Until then, there had been an informal truce among the partners of the Mahayuti: fight local elections separately if necessary, but do not attack one another in public. Eknath Shinde’s Shiv Sena had honoured that understanding. So, initially, had Ajit Pawar. Then he changed tack.


From the BJP’s point of view, the shift was dangerous as it cannot allow Pawar’s accusations to go unanswered lest voters might actually start believing them.


The Congress, watching from the sidelines, has gleefully described the entire drama as a “fixed match.” In its telling, Ajit Pawar will rage against the BJP during the campaign, siphon off anti-BJP votes, and then dutifully return to the fold once the results are in. That may be too cynical even by Maharashtra’s standards. But it does capture a deeper truth that Pawar’s appeal lies precisely in his ability to speak in two voices at once.


For voters in Pune, this ambiguity is not merely theatrical. Ajit Pawar has spent years cultivating an image as a blunt-speaking local strongman who delivers roads, water and development. By attacking the BJP now, he taps into a reservoir of resentment among urban voters who are weary of the party’s dominance. At the same time, his position in the state government reassures business interests and cooperative barons that he remains plugged into the levers of power.


The risk is that such tactical brilliance can curdle into strategic confusion. If Pawar succeeds in mobilising a bloc of voters defined by their opposition to the BJP, what is he to do with them once the ballots are counted? Walk back into the arms of his saffron allies and risk being seen as a fraud? Or drift further towards his uncle, inviting the wrath of the party that currently keeps him in office?


The BJP, for its part, is no less conflicted. It needs Ajit Pawar’s numbers in the state assembly and his grip over the cooperative networks of western Maharashtra. But it also knows that the Pawars, uncle and nephew alike, have made careers out of using larger parties as ladders rather than lodestars. Patil’s public doubts were a thinly-veiled warning that such ambiguity has limits.


Whatever the outcome in Pune and Pimpri Chinchwad, Ajit Pawar will emerge with either proof that his two-handed game still works or a reminder that even the most agile political acrobat eventually has to choose which side of the rope he stands on.

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