top of page

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.)

Asha Bhosle was once almost hit by a train

Mumbai: The legendary singer Asha Bhosle - who passed away here aged 92 on April 12 - once lived far from the arc lights of fame, in the distant north-west suburb of Borivali, in the early 1950s, when she was still a struggling artist finding her voice.

 

In those difficult days, she developed an enduring affection for the humble trains. When buses and taxis were beyond her means, Asha-tai relied on the Western Railway’s suburban locals, travelling across the city for her recording assignments.

 

Reaching the Borivali station itself was no small task. Faced with a long detour, she often chose a shortcut - a risky trudge across the railway tracks and it was this ‘trespassing’ that once almost cost her life.

 

Recalling the terrifying episode at a public function nearly 25 years ago, Asha-tai shuddered: “It was monsoon season and pouring. I had covered my head with a rain-coat and was walking on the tracks. Because of the heavy rains, I could barely hear anything. A steam engine of an Ahmedabad-bound train was coming from behind, whistling desperately - but I remained oblivious. I was almost a goner… Suddenly, there was either a push or I myself stumbled and fell off the tracks. Seconds later, the train rushed past me at full speed, still whistling furiously.”

 

She later described her survival from the brush with death as nothing short of a miracle – probably, an act of divine intervention. “Perhaps, the Almighty wanted me to sing more for all of you, so I survived…” she said, with her trademark mischievous laughter, reflecting on that little-known chapter of her early life.

 

Love for Trains

Despite the dangers, her love for trains only deepened. The multi-faceted crooner delightfully mimicked the “cooing” whistles of the old steam engines - “very pleasing,” she would say - and contrasted them with the “ghonn-ghonn” honks of modern-day trains, which she found far less charming.

 

Asha-tai vividly recreated the hustle-bustle of a typical Indian railway platform: “There are vendors chanting, ‘Garrram Batata Vada, Chaiiii…!’ The taste on railway platforms - you won’t find it even in big hotels. If you want to experience that ‘chatpata’ flavour on the move, then you must travel by trains,” she urged, breaking into imitations that left audiences in splits.

 

Emphasizing her love for the monsters on the railway tracks, she even sang a few lines from her own popular Marathi folk song, “Mamachya Gavala Jauya…” (1963), bringing alive the romantic spirit of India’s train journeys.

 

Asha-tai, an avid train traveller, said trains were more than transport - they were a window to India. “To know India, you must travel by trains. They are a melting pot of cultures, you meet people of different religions and from multiple states, they are full of love and teach us a lot in life. A person who has not travelled by trains has seen nothing,” she said.

“I have travelled all over India - starting in Third Class, then Second Class, and as I progressed, First Class. I made my children travel also in trains everywhere,” on her own romance with train journeys.

 

When admirers likened her voice to that of Goddess Saraswati, she gently nudged and corrected them: “There is no comparison. Where Goddess Saraswati sets her foot, perhaps a little dust has fallen on me…”

 

 

A Fragmented Past, A Family Reunited

Acclaimed singer Usha Mangeshkar, 90, retains only hazy memories of her elder sister Asha Bhosle’s Borivali years - a period that followed her elopement and marriage to Ganpatrao Bhosle in 1949. The couple lived through a difficult phase, cut off from the Mangeshkar family and it was in Borivali that their first son, Hemant, was born.

 

“Asha and Ganpat spent a few years there, but it was never really discussed openly in the family… I was too small to remember much,” Usha told ‘The Perfect Voice’.

 

Years later, Asha returned to the family fold, first to their Dadar home, where her daughter Varsha was born and her ‘naamkaran’ (naming) ceremony was celebrated with great joy by all. As her marriage with Ganpatro floundered on the rocks, Asha reached out to her elder estranged eldest sister, Lata Mangeshkar, leading to a reconciliation.

 

Around 1953, Asha-tai eventually moved back to the family residence in Walkeshwar, where her third son Anand was born. Usha Mangeshkar remembers that phase with warmth. By then, Lata Mangeshkar had become a towering figure in music, supported the entire family, and magnanimously purchased separate homes for her siblings in south Mumbai.

 

“Even Ganpatrao (died 1966) was also a very nice person. His children - Hemant, Varsha and Anand - were raised very well. Gradually, all of us began living together again as a happy family,” Usha said in an emotional voice.

 

 

 

 

 

 


Comments

bottom of page