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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.)

Kashmir Reframed: Through Bollywood’s Lens

Kashmir’s cinematic journey, from Bollywood’s favourite dream destination to a backdrop of conflict and politics, reflects India’s changing relationship with the valley.

Remember the scenic charm of Shakti Samanta’s Kashmir Ki Kali, with Sharmila Tagore’s Bollywood debut opposite the playful Shammi Kapoor? Or Raj Kapoor’s Bobby, which launched Rishi Kapoor and the stunning Dimple Kapadia, becoming the biggest box office hit of the year? Or perhaps Fitoor, Abhishek Kapoor’s adaptation of Dickens’ Great Expectations, starring Tabu, Aditya Roy Kapoor, and Katrina Kaif?


These films offered more than just cinema; they sold romance, music, dance, and dreams to many of us who longed to visit Kashmir and instead enjoyed the journey through the silver screen.


Kashmir has long been a dream destination for global travellers and a favourite of Bollywood filmmakers, who often saw its landscapes as a box office guarantee. Locations like Gulmarg, Pulwama, Srinagar, and Pahalgam have featured in some of Indian cinema’s most visually stunning scenes. Both classic and modern films have captured the valley’s beauty, making it the ideal backdrop for timeless romantic moments.


Junglee (1961) is said to be the first film to capture Shammi Kapoor’s musical romance and iconic “Yahoo!” shout—later inspiring the name of the search engine. It also marked Saira Banu’s striking debut opposite Kapoor’s comic charm, a pairing fondly remembered by many in their fifties and sixties today.


The 1965 hit Jab Jab Phool Khile, starring Shashi Kapoor and Nanda, tells the story of a poor Kashmiri boatman who falls for a wealthy tourist. Its melodious songs, composed by Laxmikant–Pyarelal with lyrics by Anand Bakshi, made it a box-office success in India and even in countries like Algeria, Morocco, Libya, and Marrakesh. While filming in Srinagar, a lieutenant colonel from Maharashtra reportedly fell for Nanda and asked director Suraj Prakash to relay a marriage proposal to her mother, which was declined. The film ran for 50 weeks and celebrated its golden jubilee.


By the time Kunal Kohli directed Fanaa (2006), Kashmir’s cinematic role had shifted. No longer just a romantic backdrop for songs and family drama, it increasingly became a setting for stories of terror, violence, and conflict, reflecting a politically charged narrative aimed at thrilling audiences.


Aamir Khan shed his romantic hero image to play a cold-blooded terrorist who kills his lover’s father without hesitation. The role—torn between love and a rogue nuclear bomb—could have harmed his screen persona, but didn’t. His strong performance, paired with memorable songs and Kashmir’s backdrop, fuelled the film’s success. Though romance takes a back seat to the terrorism plot, the two remain deeply intertwined.


A few years before Fanaa, Mission Kashmir (2000) had its own memorable moment during filming. Journalist Anupama Chopra, wife of director Vidhu Vinod Chopra, recalled that when Hrithik Roshan arrived in Kashmir in late 1999, his debut Kaho Naa... Pyaar Hai hadn’t been released, so no one recognised him. On his first day in Srinagar, dressed as a Kashmiri militant, security mistook him for a local due to his fair complexion and blocked his entry. Weeks later, the film’s release on 14 January 2000 made him an overnight star.


Rewind to 15 August 1992, when Mani Ratnam’s landmark Roja was released. Initially planned for Kashmir, security concerns and terrorism forced the team to shoot in lookalike locations—mainly Manali, with additional scenes in Coonoor and Ooty.


Written and directed by Vivek Agnihotri, The Kashmir Files tells a different story, depicting the exodus of Kashmiri Hindus after killings by Pakistan-backed terrorists. The reception was mixed—cinematography and performances were praised, but the film faced criticism for distorting history and promoting Islamophobia. Supporters, including Prime Minister Modi and BJP ministers, said it highlighted a neglected part of Kashmir’s past. However, screenings across India saw hate speeches and calls for violence against Muslims. Despite claims of political commitment to the Pandit cause, the film plays more like a monologue-heavy drama than a documentary, especially through a JNU student character whose research is never explained.


In his Al Jazeera article The Dangerous ‘Truth’ of The Kashmir Files (13 April 2022), Sanjay Kak—a Kashmiri Pandit and director of the documentary Jashn-e-Azaadi—recounts screening hurdles in several cities. He notes that days after the film’s release, Prime Minister Modi urged BJP MPs to watch it, saying it revealed “the truth that was suppressed for years.” Kak argues this endorsement marked the beginning of significant political capital being invested in the film and its contested narrative.


Place this alongside Sudip Sarkar’s Yahaan (2005), a romantic war drama about a Kashmiri girl and an Indian army officer amid Kashmir’s violence. It reminds us that Bollywood hasn’t wholly surrendered to films promoting violence and hate rooted in uncontrollable realities like birth, which we have no control over.


(The author is a film scholar. Views personal)

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