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...

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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.)

Indian Theatre: Curtain Call or Fading Act?

Rik Amrit
Sep 10, 2025
4 min read

While government grants and corporate sponsorships help keep it afloat, India’s professional theatre faces an existential challenge in balancing artistic freedom with economic survival.

The economics of passion in professional theatre hinges on a constant negotiation between artistic devotion and financial reality. For most practitioners, theatre is less an occupation and more a vocation — a commitment that persists despite meagre earnings, high production costs, and scant institutional support. Yet this devotion often comes at a personal cost, with artists sustaining their work through multiple jobs, unpaid contributions, and ongoing sacrifices.

Today, even with government grants, cultural initiatives and flagship festivals such as the Bharat Rang Mahotsav, the sustainability of professional theatre remains precarious. The enthusiasm of its community is undeniable, but enthusiasm alone cannot offset the pressures of an economy that rewards digital entertainment and commercial spectacle far more readily than experimental or independent theatre. The pressing question, then, is whether professional theatre in India will endure and evolve in the face of such pressures, or meet the same slow decline as Kolkata’s trams.

Modern Indian theatre found its early footing in colonial port cities such as Kolkata, Chennai (then Madras) and Mumbai (then Bombay). These urban centres, shaped by English education and a rising middle class, adopted the British model of ticketed performances. This early commercialisation gave urban theatre a market orientation but also sowed the seeds of competition from cinema and television, which would later offer similar entertainment at lower cost and wider reach. The struggle to professionalise theatre in India, therefore, is not recent but rooted in these historic economic shifts.

After independence, Indian theatre sought to define a distinctive identity. Directors and playwrights like Kavalam Narayana Panikkar, Habib Tanvir, Vijay Tendulkar and Girish Karnad — often associated with the ‘Theatre of Roots’ movement — looked to traditional performance forms for inspiration. Artistically, this marked a vital search for ‘Indianness.’ Economically, however, integration into mainstream professional practice remained uneven. As Karnad remarked in 1989, it was “extraordinary how little professional theatre is to be seen in most Indian cities.” Rajinder Paul, writing in 1991, observed a similar trend wherein many talented theatre practitioners migrated towards cinema and television, where financial rewards were more secure. Institutions such as the Sangeet NatakAkademi and the Ministry of Culture’s Performing Arts & Allied schemes have extended support, yet this has rarely translated into a reliable economic base.

English-language theatre adds another dimension to this landscape. Once viewed sceptically in the post-independence decades, it has seen growth in recent years, largely among affluent urban audiences. Its economic logic, supported by specific demographics, sponsorship opportunities, and easier access to funding, contrasts with that of regional-language theatre thereby underscoring the uneven terrain of professional practice.

Yet the most decisive factor shaping theatre’s economic struggles is the overwhelming presence of cinema, television and digital streaming. The decline of Parsi theatre with the advent of sound cinema illustrates how quickly popular audiences can shift when new media offer similar spectacle more conveniently and cheaply. The television boom of the 1990s, driven by liberalisation and private advertising, further fragmented the market for live performance. Today, streaming platforms such as Netflix, Amazon Prime and Zee5 command the attention of young audiences, a shift accelerated during the COVID-19 years when theatre itself was pushed into hybrid and digital formats.

Recorded performances — cineplays, live-streams and OTT adaptations — extend theatre’s reach, offering affordability, accessibility and new blends of stage and screen. But their impact is not the same as a live performance. In a theatre hall, the presence of the actor and the immediacy of audience response create a shared experience no recording can fully replicate. The challenge for contemporary theatre is to engage with digital media without losing what defines it — its liveness.

A resilient theatre industry has the potential to contribute significantly to India’s creative economy. Beyond cultural pursuit, theatre supports employment — from actors, directors and stage technicians to venue staff and allied sectors such as printing, advertising and event management. More importantly, it offers a platform for young performers to experiment and build careers. Yet this promise comes with challenges.

Government grants and subsidies remain vital, but risk compromising artistic independence, especially when funding priorities are uneven or politically influenced. Corporate sponsorships, though often generous, may come with subtle pressures by turning productions into brand platforms rather than autonomous works of art. Theatre must resist becoming a mere marketing exercise and retain its creative integrity.

At the same time, the lifeblood of Indian theatre continues to be its young amateurs. Their energy, idealism and willingness to experiment drive much of the movement today. However, when passion lacks adequate training or support, it leads to frustration and burnout, weakening rather than strengthening the ecosystem. What Indian theatre needs is structured mentorship, professional training and sustainable livelihood models that can harness this youthful energy productively.

With such support, Indian theatre can do more than just survive economic pressures; it can thrive as a cultural force. Beyond jobs and revenue, it fosters dialogue, preserves tradition and drives artistic innovation. In doing so, it positions India not merely as a participant but as a leader in global cultural conversations. In an age where cultural influence shapes geopolitics, nurturing theatre is not a sentimental indulgence but a calculated investment in India’s global standing.

(The author is a Natyashastra scholar, theatre director and producer whose work bridges traditional Indian performance theory with contemporary theatre economics. Views personal.)

1 Comment

ChaostoCreation Media

Sep 10, 2025

very insightful