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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.)

Shinde recites Uddhav’s script


Mumbai: Deputy Chief Minister Eknath Shinde’s recent comments, acknowledging that Shiv Sena workers in Dharashiv have expressed feelings of "betrayal" by the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) within the Mahayuti alliance, mark a pivotal and ironic inflection point in the state’s volatile politics. While Shinde was quick to categorise these sentiments as merely "local" and insisted that contesting independently does not make the allies "foes," the very language he used – the vocabulary of betrayal and discontent – echoes the exact rhetoric Uddhav Thackeray employed before he severed ties with the BJP in 2019.


The profound irony is inescapable. Shinde’s political identity and ascendancy to the Chief Minister’s chair were predicated entirely on his claim that Uddhav Thackeray had betrayed the legacy of Bal Thackeray and the natural Hindutva alliance with the BJP. Yet, two years into his tenure, Shinde finds himself reciting his rival’s script. This apparent contradiction is not a mistake; it is a calculated political move born of profound structural and grassroots compulsions that threaten the integrity of his own Shiv Sena faction.


Grassroots survival

The most immediate compulsion for Shinde lies in the survival of his own organisation at the grassroots level. When Shinde rebelled, he secured the legislative majority, but he did not automatically inherit the entire Shiv Sena structure or the unwavering loyalty of its local functionaries. These workers are the lifeblood of the party, responsible for mobilising votes and maintaining local dominance.


For these local workers, the transition from being the dominant regional power (under the undivided Sena) to a junior partner in the Mahayuti has often meant a palpable loss of power, influence, and access to resources. When the BJP fields its own candidate or prioritizes its local leaders over Shinde’s loyalists in areas like Dharashiv, the local Shiv Sena workers feel marginalised and "betrayed."


Shinde cannot afford to ignore these localized feelings. By publicly acknowledging the "betrayal" sentiment, he is utilising a political safety valve. He is telling his disillusioned cadres: "I hear you. Your anger is valid." This validation is crucial to prevent these cadres from migrating back to the Shiv Sena (UBT) camp, which constantly frames Shinde’s entire faction as having sold out to the BJP. If Shinde were to blindly dismiss their grievances, he would risk accelerating the internal bleeding and delegitimizing the core rationale of his rebellion.


Asserting parity

The fundamental imbalance in the Mahayuti—where the BJP is the numerically and ideologically dominant partner—creates an existential threat for the smaller allies, including Shinde’s Shiv Sena and Ajit Pawar’s Nationalist Congress Party (NCP) faction.


Historically, the BJP has always employed a 'Big Brother' approach, seeking to expand its footprint at the expense of its regional partners. This was precisely the tension that drove Uddhav Thackeray away in 2019. Now, Shinde is facing the same structural pressure. Reports of internal friction—allegations of the BJP attempting to poach Shinde’s functionaries, delays in file clearances for Shiv Sena-held ministries by the Finance Department (Ajit Pawar’s portfolio), or Devendra Fadnavis subtly overshadowing Shinde—all point to a constant, underlying power struggle.


By channelling the "betrayal" lingo, Shinde is sending a clear, diplomatic warning to the central BJP leadership. He is communicating that his political position is not guaranteed by Delhi alone; it depends on the sustained morale and active participation of his Marathi-speaking, Hindutva-aligned base. This soft critique is a necessary negotiating tool to secure better seat distribution, more influential portfolios, and, critically, respect for the political space his faction occupies. He is effectively saying: "We broke away from Uddhav to save the alliance, but don't force us into the same corner he felt pushed into."


Unavoidable reality

Perhaps the deepest compulsion is the unavoidable reality that the Shiv Sena, in any form, needs to maintain a distinct regional identity separate from the BJP’s monolithic national identity. Uddhav Thackeray’s 2019 betrayal narrative revolved around the BJP's national ambition clashing with the Sena's need to lead Maharashtra.


Shinde’s use of the same language, even if quickly qualified, suggests a recognition that the core issue—the BJP’s drive for absolute dominance—persists regardless of who leads the Shiv Sena. The need to carve out a distinct identity for his faction, based on local issues, Marathi pride, and the interests of the actual Shiv Sainik, means Shinde must occasionally stand apart from the BJP’s national agenda.


His statement that mere independent contesting doesn't make them foes is a complex political cipher - it justifies the internal dissent of his workers (by framing the BJP as a competitive force rather than an infallible patron) while simultaneously assuring Delhi that the government is stable.


In essence, Eknath Shinde is caught in a familiar Marathi political cycle. To survive the existential threat from his former party chief, Uddhav Thackeray, Shinde must protect his identity by asserting strength and independence. To assert this strength, he must occasionally use the only effective language regional parties have against a national behemoth: the language of threatened identity and betrayal. His words are less a declaration of war and more a necessary, calculated cry for equal respect within a highly asymmetrical marriage of convenience.

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