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By:

Yogesh Kumar Goyal

19 April 2026 at 12:32:19 pm

The Exit Poll Mirage

While exit polls sketch a dramatic map of India’s electoral mood, the line between projection and verdict remains perilously thin. With the ballots across five politically pivotal arenas of West Bengal, Tamil Nadu, Assam, Kerala and Puducherry falling silent until the results are announced on May 4, poll surveyors have filled the vacuum with exit poll numbers that excite, alarm and often mislead. These projections have already begun shaping narratives well before D-Day on May 4. If India’s...

The Exit Poll Mirage

While exit polls sketch a dramatic map of India’s electoral mood, the line between projection and verdict remains perilously thin. With the ballots across five politically pivotal arenas of West Bengal, Tamil Nadu, Assam, Kerala and Puducherry falling silent until the results are announced on May 4, poll surveyors have filled the vacuum with exit poll numbers that excite, alarm and often mislead. These projections have already begun shaping narratives well before D-Day on May 4. If India’s electoral history offers any lesson, it is that exit polls illuminate trends, not truths. Bengal’s Brinkmanship Nowhere is the drama more intense than in West Bengal, arguably the most keenly watched contest among all five arenas. The contest for its 294 seats has long transcended the state’s borders, becoming a proxy for national ambition. Most exit polls now point to a striking possibility of a Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) majority, in some cases a commanding one. Such an outcome would mark a political earthquake. For decades, Bengal has resisted the BJP’s advances, its politics shaped instead by regional forces - first the Left Front, then Mamata Banerjee’s Trinamool Congress (TMC). Yet the arithmetic of the polls suggests that the BJP’s campaign built on organisational muscle and the promise of ‘parivartan’ (change) may have finally breached that wall. The TMC, meanwhile, appears to be grappling with anti-incumbency and persistent allegations of corruption. Still, one outlier poll suggests it could yet retain power, a reminder that Bengal’s electorate has a habit of confounding linear predictions. Here, more than anywhere else, the gap between projection and reality may prove widest. Steady Script If Bengal is volatile, the Assam outcome looks fairly settled. Across agencies, there is near unanimity that the BJP-led alliance is poised not just to retain power, but to do so comfortably. With the majority mark at 64 in the 126-member assembly, most estimates place the ruling coalition well above that threshold, in some cases approaching triple digits. The opposition Congress alliance, by contrast, appears stranded far behind. Under Himanta Biswa Sarma, the BJP has fused development rhetoric with a keen sense of identity politics, crafting a coalition that has proved resilient. A third consecutive term would underline the party’s deepening institutional hold over the state. Kerala, by contrast, may be returning to its old rhythm. For decades, the state has alternated power between the Left Democratic Front (LDF) and the Congress-led United Democratic Front (UDF) with metronomic regularity. The LDF broke that pattern in the last election, securing an unprecedented second term. Exit polls now suggest that experiment may be short-lived. Most projections place the UDF comfortably above the 71-seat majority mark in the 140-member assembly, with the LDF trailing significantly. If borne out, this would reaffirm Kerala’s instinctive resistance to prolonged incumbency. Governance records matter here, but so does a deeply ingrained political culture that treats alternation as a form of accountability. Familiar Duel? Tamil Nadu, long dominated by its Dravidian titans, shows little appetite for disruption as per most exit polls, which place M.K. Stalin’s DMK-led alliance above the halfway mark of 118 in the 234-seat assembly. Yet, some sections have suggested a possible upset could be staged by actor Vijay’s TVK, the wildcard in the Tamil Nadu battle. Most polls, however, are clear that the opposition AIADMK alliance, though competitive, seems unlikely to unseat the incumbent DMK. In Puducherry, the smallest of the five contests, the implications may nonetheless be outsized. Exit polls give the BJP-led alliance a clear majority in the 30-seat assembly, relegating the Congress-led bloc to a distant second. Numerically modest, the result would carry symbolic weight. A victory here would further entrench the BJP’s presence in the south, a region where it has historically struggled to gain ground. For all their allure, exit polls are imperfect instruments. They rest on limited samples, extrapolated across vast and diverse electorates. In a country where millions vote, the opinions of a few thousand can only approximate reality and often fail to capture its nuances. There is also the problem of the ‘silent voter’ - individuals who either conceal their preferences or shift them late. Recent elections have offered ample reminders. In states such as Haryana and Jharkhand, and even in Maharashtra where margins were misjudged, exit polls have erred, and sometimes dramatically sp. Moreover, the modern exit poll is as much a media event as a methodological exercise. Packaged with graphics, debates and breathless commentary, it fills the void between voting and counting with a sense of immediacy that may be more theatrical than analytical. That said, to dismiss them entirely would be too easy. Exit polls do serve a purpose in sketching broad contours, highlighting regional variations and offering clues about voter sentiment. For political parties, they are early signals and act as tentative guides for observers. Taken together, this cycle’s exit polls suggest a broad, if tentative, pattern of the BJP consolidating in the east and north-east, and opposition alliances regaining ground in parts of the south, and continuity prevailing in key states. But patterns are not outcomes and only counted votes confer legitimacy. It is only on May 4 when the sealed electronic voting machines will deliver that clarity. They will determine whether Bengal witnesses a political rupture or a resilient incumbent, whether Assam’s stability holds, whether Kerala’s pendulum swings back, and whether Tamil Nadu stays its course. (The writer is a senior journalist and political analyst. Views personel.)

The Forgotten Right: Why India Must Fight for Universal Healthcare

India’s healthcare system should serve every citizen equally and not just those who can pay.

The death of Tanisha Bhise, a young mother, at the Deenanath Mangeshkar Hospital in Pune earlier this month prompted angry op-eds about medical negligence, fiery debates about the regulation of private hospitals and the usual deluge of hashtags demanding accountability. Yet the most urgent question, which is the collapse of government-provided healthcare and the need for universal, free medical services has barely been whispered.


India’s Constitution promises healthcare as a right. But in practice, successive governments have abdicated much of this responsibility, leaving the private sector and charitable institutions to fill the breach. Today, 80 percent of healthcare services are delivered by private or charitable providers. Only 20 percent are provided by the state. In a country of 1.4 billion people, such a balance is dangerous. The burden of public health cannot be offloaded onto entities designed neither to serve the poorest nor to guarantee equitable access.


If India is serious about improving healthcare outcomes and preventing future tragedies, it must confront the systemic collapse of its public health infrastructure.


Start with maternal care. In many government hospitals, women who suffer postpartum haemorrhage find that even basic medicines like carbocistin used to stop bleeding, are unavailable. Despite years of maternal deaths and warnings from public-health experts, successive health ministers have failed to ensure the supply of such life-saving drugs. The shortage of trained specialists is even more glaring. Ideally, a government hospital providing maternal care should have at least four specialists: a gynaecologist, an anaesthesiologist, a radiologist and a paediatrician. Most district hospitals and sub-district health centres fall woefully short of these minimum standards.


The result is a grim and predictable chain of events. Women are shuttled from one government facility to another as complications arise, wasting the critical ‘golden hours’ when medical intervention could save both mother and child. By the time they reach a private hospital or a better-equipped medical college, it is often too late.


India’s infant care system fares no better. Neonatal intensive care units and paediatricians are rare in government hospitals. Even medical colleges, which generally offer higher standards of care, are plagued by overwhelming patient loads, manpower shortages and bed unavailability. The mass deaths at government hospitals in Nanded and Thane in recent months - 24 dead in 24 hours at one, 18 dead in 24 hours at the other - should have triggered urgent reforms. Instead, they have been quietly forgotten.


The key question is not why patients choose private hospitals but why the government has made them the only viable option for so many. Public outrage about private hospital fees and standards, though understandable, misses the point. In a well-functioning system, private hospitals should serve as a supplement to, not a substitute for, state healthcare.


If India wishes to move towards universal healthcare, it must start with maternal and child health, and then expand the model to cover broader services. Equity, and not merely access, must be at the heart of the system. Today, healthcare quality is stratified by income: the ultra-rich, the middle class and the poor receive vastly different levels of care. Universal healthcare, properly executed, would guarantee the same quality of care for all citizens.


Achieving this will require radical changes to both policy and spending priorities. At present, 60 percent of healthcare spending in Maharashtra comes directly out of patients’ pockets. The goal must be to reduce this to zero. Yet the 2024-25 state budget allocated just Rs. 3,827 crore to public health, a paltry 4 percent of total spending. Even this modest sum was not targeted based on epidemiological priorities. Manpower shortages, medicine procurement failures and crumbling infrastructure have persisted for decades without serious attempts at resolution.


Solutions exist. Tamil Nadu’s medicine procurement model has been studied repeatedly, yet remains unimplemented elsewhere. Recruitment of BAMS doctors and BSc nursing graduates as community health officers has expanded access, but delays in salary payments and a lack of basic equipment render many of them ineffective. Cases of corruption in medicine procurement continue to surface, further eroding trust in government health services.


Ultimately, the state cannot confine itself to regulating private hospitals while neglecting its own obligations. It must invest in building a robust, high-quality public healthcare system that matches the private sector. COVID-19 brutally exposed the cost of India’s public health collapse. Families were ruined financially. Deaths surged not only because of the virus, but because of a system unprepared to deal with the scale of the crisis.


The lessons of the pandemic seem already forgotten. Despite widespread calls for reform, there has been little serious movement towards establishing a system of free, universal healthcare. Globally, 40% of countries provide some form of universal healthcare. Britain’s National Health Service (NHS) has survived for over 80 years. Cuba, Thailand, Canada and Japan have all developed models that ensure healthcare is treated as a public good, not a market commodity. India need not copy these systems wholesale but must choose a path and commit to it with seriousness and urgency.


Healthcare and education are primary responsibilities of the state. Yet because they yield scant electoral dividends, they are routinely neglected. If past history is any guide, then the inquiries ordered and reforms suggested in wake of Tanisha Bhise’s death will soon be forgotten. The Lentin Commission’s recommendations after hospital deaths in 1988 still gather dust.


Universal healthcare is not charity. It is not largesse. It is not even policy. It is justice. And it is long overdue.


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