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Correspondent

21 August 2024 at 10:20:16 am

Phantom Promises

The unravelling of the Mukhyamantri Majhi Ladki Bahin Yojana was always a matter of when, not if. Announced with theatrical flourish ahead of the 2024 Assembly election by the ruling Mahayuti coalition, the scheme promised Rs. 1,500 a month to women across the state. It became the Mahayuti government’s showpiece welfare programme and, by all accounts, a decisive political instrument that helped propel the ruling alliance to a comfortable victory. Less than two years later, the curtain has now...

Phantom Promises

The unravelling of the Mukhyamantri Majhi Ladki Bahin Yojana was always a matter of when, not if. Announced with theatrical flourish ahead of the 2024 Assembly election by the ruling Mahayuti coalition, the scheme promised Rs. 1,500 a month to women across the state. It became the Mahayuti government’s showpiece welfare programme and, by all accounts, a decisive political instrument that helped propel the ruling alliance to a comfortable victory. Less than two years later, the curtain has now fallen. Nearly 92 lakh beneficiaries – a whopping 38 percent of those initially enrolled – are now being shown the door as the scheme becomes economically untenable. If such a staggering proportion of beneficiaries never qualified in the first place, what exactly was the government doing when it rolled out the scheme with such urgency? The scheme is a classic case of welfare as a cold election strategy rather than a governance policy. The scheme’s benefits flowed generously just before the election. The scrutiny that has now arrived has exposed it for what it was: a fiscal white elephant. The Comptroller and Auditor General has now compounded the Mahayuti’s embarrassment with its report, which questions expenditure of more than Rs. 3,541 crore under the scheme. Such spending places an unsustainable burden on Maharashtra’s finances. The CAG’s report is an indictment of a style of governance that treats the public exchequer as an extension of the campaign war chest. Across India, governments of every political persuasion have perfected the art of competitive populism. Cash transfers, freebies and subsidies are unveiled with increasing frequency, often without credible fiscal planning or robust verification mechanisms. Welfare has become less about empowering citizens than about cultivating dependable vote banks. Schemes designed primarily for electoral dividends inevitably collapse under their own contradictions, leaving beneficiaries disillusioned and public finances weakened. The greatest injustice is borne not by politicians but by ordinary citizens. Honest taxpayers finance these extravagant promises. Genuine beneficiaries build their household budgets around them. When governments later discover that millions were ‘ineligible,’ it is ordinary families, and not the politicians or their families, who suffer the consequences. If money has indeed been squandered because of political haste, accountability cannot stop with bureaucrats or clerks processing applications. Those who conceived, announced and relentlessly campaigned on the scheme must also bear responsibility. The leaders of the three ruling Mahayuti partners – the BJP, the NCP and the Shiv Sena - who converted public money into political capital should be prepared to answer financially as well as politically. Democracy cannot become an auction where elections are won with taxpayers’ wallets. It is time to end the politics of fiscal bribery masquerading as welfare. Maharashtra deserves governments that create opportunity, not dependency, and policies that survive beyond polling day.

Selective Outrage

India’s left-liberal media has long prided itself on being the torchbearer of secularism, dissent and moral rectitude. In the aftermath of ‘Operation Sindoor,’ the precision military strike launched by the Modi government against Pakistan-based terror camps, it has revealed its not a principled commitment to peace or truth, but a disturbing penchant for ideological prejudice, performative sanctimony and selective outrage.


The operation itself was a textbook display of calibrated force and geopolitical prudence. Prime Minister Narendra Modi, often caricatured as ‘authoritarian’ by the ‘liberal’ English-language commentariat, chose patience over provocation. He consulted opposition leaders, held detailed discussions with defence chiefs and took key international stakeholders, notably the United States and Russia, into confidence before authorising limited military action. The symbolism of ‘Operation Sindoor’ was also carefully crafted: a pointed reminder that the attack’s real victims were Hindu women widowed by Pakistan-sponsored militants in Kashmir. The government’s briefings were also strategic and symbolic as two ranking female officers, one of them Muslim, were made the public face of the mission, underlining a new Indian confidence that blends military muscle with democratic pluralism.


But this was unacceptable for India’s entrenched ‘left-liberal’ press, steeped in academic jargon, Western validation and a knee-jerk hostility to anything remotely ‘Hindutva.’ That a Muslim officer briefed the nation on ‘Operation Sindoor’ was branded ‘tokenism’ by such commentators. Others crudely alleged that the April 22 Pahalgam massacre was the logical culmination of reported atrocities against Muslims since Modi came to power in 2014.


The semantic nitpicking over ‘Operation Sindoor’ was maddening. An editor of a prominent magazine dubbed the operation’s name as ‘patriarchal’ and coded in Hindutva tropes. In a bizarre case of moral inversion, sindoor was likened to symbols of ‘honour killings’ and gender oppression, ignoring both its cultural resonance and the cruel reality that these women had lost their husbands in cold blood. For years, India’s ‘secular’ commentariat nurtured a preordained binary: the Congress may be flawed but was at least ‘secular’ while the BJP was an inveterate ‘fascist.’ Thus, the 2002 Gujarat riots are always focused upon but the Congress-backed pogrom of the Sikhs in 1984 is either downplayed or rationalised. Terrorism in Kashmir is tragic, but state retaliation is ‘jingoism.’ A strong Muslim voice in government is ‘tokenism’ but its absence is ‘exclusion.’ Even journalistic rigour is selectively applied. When Pakistan claimed to have downed Indian jets, some Indian outlets rushed to amplify the story before verification, inadvertently echoing enemy propaganda.


Dissent is vital in any democracy. But when its becomes indistinguishable from disdain, when editorial choices are dictated by ideological conformity, then the press becomes a caricature of itself. Ironically, many of these journalists enjoy robust free speech and loudly lament India’s supposed slide into ‘fascism’ from the safety of their X handles. Yet they turn a blind eye to Putin’s repression, Erdogan’s purges or Xi Jinping’s camps. In their eyes, Modi remains the greatest threat to democracy even as they broadcast their outrage freely, without fear of censorship or reprisal. ‘Operation Sindoor’ was a statement of cultural self-confidence. That confidence has rattled those who have spent their careers gatekeeping Indian discourse. Today, their monopoly is over. The people are watching and they no longer believe that the emperor has clothes.

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