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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.)

BJP in Pune: From margins to mainstream

From Anna Joshi’s grassroots charm to Murlidhar Mohol’s ascendancy, the BJP has long treated Pune as a laboratory for grooming leaders. With another municipal election looming, the experiment is about to be tested again

Murlidhar Mohol
Murlidhar Mohol

Pune: When the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) was founded in 1980, Pune was hardly a bastion. The party’s presence was scattered; its cadre was spread thin and its symbol (a flickering oil lamp inherited from the Jana Sangh) was known more for token representation than serious power. Today, the story could not be more different. The BJP is preparing to contest the city’s municipal polls with the ambition of capturing more than 100 of the 165-odd seats. That confidence has been built not by accident but by a deliberate and decades-long strategy of continuously cultivating new leadership.


It is a method the party has deployed elsewhere in Maharashtra, most recently in Mumbai, where Ameet Satam, a three-term legislator from Andheri West, was recently appointed president of the city unit. But in Pune, the practice has been almost laboratory-like in its consistency. From the 1980s onward, the party has elevated figures, encouraged experimentation, and relied on collective leadership when necessary. Each generation of leaders was carefully given space to grow, and sometimes even allowed to fail.


The first crop of BJP leaders in Pune - Rambhau Mhalgi, Anna Joshi, Arvind Lele, Prem Advani and Shankarrao Yadav - were men of organisation more than mass. Of them, Anna Joshi and Arvind Lele formed the most potent duo. Joshi was personable and affable, able to converse with workers and voters across the social spectrum. Lele, by contrast, was the party’s ideological anchor, a meticulous organiser who supplied the structure Joshi’s charisma needed. The combination proved effective as Joshi bested seasoned Congress leaders in the Assembly and Lok Sabha contests. Whispers at the time suggested that Sharad Pawar’s loyalists quietly aided Joshi’s rise, though the BJP’s success was also a testament to its growing roots.


In 1984, the party fielded Jagannathrao Joshi, a scholar-politician of formidable intellect and oratory, though he lost the election. Yet his candidacy marked a turning point. He appealed to the city’s educated middle classes and, more importantly, legitimised the BJP’s ideological seriousness. In effect, he tilled the ground for the next generation of Pune’s BJP leaders to flourish.


Generation next

That next generation emerged rapidly. The 1980s and 1990s saw the rise of Girish Bapat, Yogesh Gogawale, Vishwas Gangurde, Vijay Kale, Pradeep Rawat, Anil Shirole, Dilip Kamble and Ashok Salunke. National heavyweights like Pramod Mahajan and Gopinath Munde were quick to spot the promise of Pune’s emerging cadre, ensuring they were nurtured and rewarded. Bapat, who contested the 1996 Lok Sabha elections, established city-wide networks that propelled him into the ranks of state and national politics. Rawat became an MP in 1999; Shirole was elevated to both city president and parliamentarian. By the end of the 1990s, the BJP in Pune had gone from fringe to fixture.

This was not merely a story of individual elevation but of systematic opportunity. Those who demonstrated loyalty and competence were given their turn. Bapat became both cabinet minister and MP. Prakash Javadekar rose to the Union cabinet. Dilip Kamble held ministerial rank. Vijay Kale and Vishwas Gangurde became legislators, later chairing the municipal corporation. Ujwal Keskar became leader of the opposition in the same body. Even those who did not scale dizzying heights like Gogawale and Vikas Mathkari were trusted with corporator and city president roles.


The strategy was not limited to men. When Sharad Pawar, then Chief Minister, introduced the 33 percent reservation for women in local self-government bodies, the BJP capitalised on it. It fielded and promoted women leaders, who would go on to reshape its Pune story. Mukta Tilak became the city’s first BJP mayor in 2017 and later an MLA. Medha Kulkarni secured both legislative and parliamentary berths. Madhuri Misal, thrice elected corporator, rose to become a minister of state. These successes were built on the path first trodden by Maltibai Paranjape of the Jana Sangh, the lone woman corporator of an earlier era. Her symbolic presence became substantive reality.


Collective leadership

By the 2010s, the BJP’s Pune bench was so deep that collective leadership again became the order of the day. Today, Union Minister of State Murlidhar Mohol, higher education minister Chandrakant Patil, city president Dheeraj Ghate, MLAs Siddharth Shirole, Sunil Kamble, Hemant Rasne, Ganesh Bidkar, Srinath Bhimale and Jagdish Mulik all represent the city’s multiple strands of BJP power. Of these, Mohol is being entrusted with particular responsibility. Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis, long attentive to Pune’s strategic importance, has ensured that this generation is tested early and often.


Whether this strategy will deliver another sweep in the municipal elections remains uncertain. The BJP today faces a crowded political landscape, with rivals eager to exploit anti-incumbency and discontent over local governance. Yet history suggests that the BJP’s ‘Pune model’ which has constantly fed new leaders into the machine is built for endurance. The party does not merely win elections but creates a cadre capable of contesting and consolidating power across generations.


If the BJP secures more than 100 seats in the upcoming municipal polls, as it hopes, it will confirm not just a city-wide dominance but the efficacy of a political experiment that has been running quietly since 1980. From Anna Joshi’s charisma to Jagannathrao Joshi’s intellect, from Girish Bapat’s organisational heft to Mukta Tilak’s pioneering mayoralty, Pune has been both crucible and showcase. The party has repeatedly reinvented itself here. The BJP may well be the most disciplined practitioner of a simple political truth which is, in Pune, leaders are not born - they are made.

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