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Correspondent

21 August 2024 at 3:50:16 pm

Power Shield

When a 99 percent shareholder is not been made an accused in a controversial land deal but a one percent shareholder has been named as one, an investigation has some explaining to do. The Bombay High Court has now demanded that very explanation in the Mundhwa land case involving NCP MP Parth Pawar, son of the late Ajit Pawar, raising the eternal question whether political influence quietly alters the way in which the law of the land is applied. A democracy cannot have one standard of scrutiny...

Power Shield

When a 99 percent shareholder is not been made an accused in a controversial land deal but a one percent shareholder has been named as one, an investigation has some explaining to do. The Bombay High Court has now demanded that very explanation in the Mundhwa land case involving NCP MP Parth Pawar, son of the late Ajit Pawar, raising the eternal question whether political influence quietly alters the way in which the law of the land is applied. A democracy cannot have one standard of scrutiny for the politically connected and another for everyone else. Pawar, a Rajya Sabha MP, holds 99 percent of Amadea Enterprises LLP, the company that acquired the disputed land. The remaining 1 percent is held by Digvijay Patil, another partner and director who has been named as an accused. The land in question is a large government-controlled parcel in Pune. The company that acquired it is overwhelmingly owned by Pawar. The land is in Mundhwa, an increasingly valuable area of eastern Pune that has been transformed by the city’s rapid expansion. The parcel covers about 40 acres and has a complicated legal history. It was classified as Mahar Watan land - a historical category of land grant - and was in government possession and leased to the Botanical Survey of India. The FIR in the case alleges that it was transferred to Amadea Enterprises without the mandatory approval of the state government at knockoff prices far beyond market value. The transaction has subsequently faced scrutiny on several fronts. Authorities imposed about Rs. 21 crore in stamp duty and penalties on Amadea Enterprises; the company’s appeal against that order was rejected. A Pune civil court also ordered the sale deed cancelled, declaring it void from the beginning. So, what evidence led investigators to make such a stark distinction between the two shareholders? What was the precise basis on which investigators concluded that Pawar’s overwhelming stake in the company did not warrant the same scrutiny? The High Court had already raised the issue in September after a submission before it alleged that Pawar had not been named because he was “very highly influential.” The state is expected to protect public land, enforce its own rules and investigate alleged wrongdoing without fear or favour. Yet when the transaction involves the son of a senior political figure, the machinery of the state must now explain why its investigation appears to have stopped short of the person with the overwhelming economic interest in the company. Power is supposed to make public officials more accountable, not less. Political office is not a private shield and family connections are not a legal exemption. The ultimate scandal in the Mundhwa case would be the possibility that proximity to power can determine who gets investigated, who gets protected and who gets left carrying the blame.

Lingua Pragmatica

Correspondent
Mar 19, 2025
3 min read

Updated: Mar 20, 2025

As Southern leaders like M.K. Stalin rage against Hindi, Andhra Pradesh’s Chief Minister Chandrababu Naidu offers a model of pragmatism over parochialism.

Chandrababu Naidu
Andhra Pradesh

Amid the cacophony of opposition in southern states to Hindi, Andhra Pradesh CM N. Chandrababu Naidu has taken a markedly pragmatic stance by remarking recently in the state Assembly that there was no harm in learning other languages. Hindi, Naidu noted, was useful for communication across India, particularly in political and commercial hubs like Delhi. His remarks, though avoiding explicit mention of the NEP, were widely seen as an endorsement of multilingualism and a rebuke to the linguistic chauvinism that has gripped parts of the South.


Few issues in India stir political passions quite like language. It is not merely a means of communication but a marker of identity, a relic of colonial resistance, and a source of political mobilization. In the southern states, where anti-Hindi sentiment has long been entrenched, the National Education Policy (NEP) 2020 and its three-language formula have reignited old tensions. No state embodies this defiance more than Tamil Nadu, where the ruling Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK) led by M.K. Stalin has framed the policy as an assault on its linguistic autonomy.


Naidu’s words, welcomed by his ally and Deputy Chief Minister Pawan Kalyan, mark a sharp contrast with the DMK’s position. Tamil Nadu’s hostility towards Hindi dates back to the 1930s, when C. Rajagopalachari’s attempt to introduce it in schools met with fierce resistance. The anti-Hindi agitations of the 1960s cemented the DMK’s ideological stance, with its first Chief Minister, C.N. Annadurai, famously warning that Hindi imposition could push Tamil Nadu towards secession.


The question, however, is whether this rigid opposition serves Tamil Nadu’s interests. While Stalin, with an eye to the upcoming Tamil Nadu Assembly polls, has been relentlessly portraying Hindi as a threat to his state’s regional identity, Naidu, a partner of the BJP-led Centre, is framing it as a tool for economic mobility. His argument is not that Hindi should replace Telugu or English but that it offers a competitive advantage.


The economic case for multilingualism is compelling. Indians who speak multiple languages tend to have better job prospects, higher earnings and greater geographic mobility. Andhra Pradesh’s Telugu-speaking diaspora is a case in point. Telugus make up a significant proportion of Indian-origin professionals in the United States, the Gulf, and Southeast Asia as Naidu pointed out, hinting that this success story was built not on linguistic rigidity but on adaptability.


In a country where inter-state migration is rising and where Hindi remains the most widely spoken language, refusing to learn it amounts to self-imposed isolation. Tamil Nadu’s approach, by contrast, risks limiting its youth. The DMK government has refused to implement the three-language policy, keeping schools strictly bilingual with Tamil and English. Its justification that Hindi is not necessary for global success could be true in a narrow sense but ignores the domestic context. If Tamil filmmakers can dub their movies into Hindi to expand their audience, why should Tamil students be denied access to the language that could open more doors for them within India?


The DMK has accused successive central governments, particularly under the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), of pushing Hindi at the expense of regional languages. Yet, rejecting Hindi outright is an overcorrection. The reality is that Hindi is an important language in India’s economic and political landscape. Naidu’s position, one of accommodation rather than confrontation, offers a middle ground that other Southern leaders would do well to consider.


Some states already recognize this. Karnataka, despite its own history of linguistic pride, has allowed Hindi to be taught as an optional language. Kerala, whose migrants work in Hindi-speaking regions and the Gulf, has been less hostile to Hindi education. Naidu’s model, balancing regional identity with practical necessity, offers a way forward. Languages should be embraced, not politicized. Southern leaders would do well to listen to him.

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