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...

min read

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.)

The Sage of the Sahyadris

Abhijit Mulye
Jan 8
4 min read

Professor Madhav Gadgil: The man who taught India to listen to the mountains

Mumbai: With the passing of Professor Madhav Gadgil, India has lost more than a world-class ecologist; it has lost its environmental conscience. A man who bridged the ivory towers of Harvard and the rugged rain-shadow forests of the Western Ghats, Gadgil spent his life proving that science is meaningless if it does not serve the soil and the people who toil upon it.

Born in Pune in 1942, Madhav Dhananjaya Gadgil was destined for a life of the mind, but his heart belonged to the wilderness. After a brilliant academic start, he earned his Ph.D. from Harvard University, where he developed foundational theories in mathematical ecology. Yet, unlike many of his contemporaries who remained in the West, Gadgil returned to India with a singular mission: to understand the intricate tapestry of tropical biology.

In 1983, he founded the Centre for Ecological Sciences (CES) at the Indian Institute of Science, Bangalore. Under his leadership, the CES became a global hub for research, blending rigorous quantitative data with traditional field biology. He was a pioneer in "People’s Biodiversity Registers," a radical concept that recognized that a forest dweller often knows more about a medicinal herb than a laboratory scientist.

A polyglot, he always preferred to converse with the people in their own languages – preferably mother tongues. That also always remained his stand as a Science Communicator. He fondly wrote lengthy articles for popular newspapers explaining the nuances of technical scientific issues that affected people’s lives in Marathi. He also authored several books.

Though his scientific honours were many—including the Padma Bhushan and the Tyler Prize for Environmental Achievement—it was his role as the Chairman of the Western Ghats Ecology Expert Panel (WGEEP) that defined his public legacy.

In 2011, he submitted what became known as the Gadgil Report. It was a landmark document that classified the entire Western Ghats (the Sahyadris) into three levels of ecological sensitivity. Gadgil did not just call for a ban on mining and dams; he called for "Grassroots Democracy." He argued that the local Gram Sabhas, not bureaucrats in Delhi or Mumbai, should have the final say on developmental projects.

While the report was initially sidelined by various state governments as "anti-development," the devastating floods and landslides that later ravaged Kerala and Karnataka proved his warnings were not just scientific, but prophetic. He became the "Saviour of the Sahyadris" not by choice, but by the undeniable accuracy of his vision.

Prof. Gadgil was also a key architect of The Biological Diversity Act of 2002. The legislation ensured it included provisions for the People’s Biodiversity Registers (PBRs).

Professor Madhav Gadgil’s intellectual footprint is vast, spanning over five decades of ground breaking research and public advocacy. His work is characterized by a unique ability to blend high-level mathematical modelling with deeply human-centric field studies. His approach always remained multi-disciplinary. He never looked at a forest just as a collection of trees; he always looks at the soil quality, the rainfall data, the history of the local tribes, and the current economic pressures simultaneously.

Prof. Gadgil’s literary contributions serve as the intellectual foundation of Indian environmentalism, blending historical depth with field-based scientific rigor. His seminal work, This Fissured Land: An Ecological History of India (1992), co-authored with Ramachandra Guha, redefined Indian history by tracing the evolution of resource use from hunter-gatherer societies to the "profligate" exploitation of the British Raj. In Ecology and Equity (1995), he introduced a sociologically grounded framework that divided Indian society into "Omnivores," "Ecosystem People," and "Ecological Refugees," arguing that environmental degradation is fundamentally an issue of social injustice. His collection of essays, Ecological Journeys (2005), bridges the gap between the science of biodiversity and the politics of conservation, while his final memoir, A Walk Up The Hill: Living with People and Nature (2023), offers a deeply personal synthesis of his eighty-year journey, emphasizing the "People’s Biodiversity Registers" and his controversial but prophetic warnings about the Western Ghats. Together, these works shift the focus of conservation from exclusionary state-controlled parks to a democratic, community-led model where ecological limits and social justice are inseparable.

Gadgil’s academic output (over 250 papers) laid the groundwork for modern tropical ecology and community-based conservation.

A Civilisational Vision

Gadgil’s scholarship was never merely technical. He viewed sustainability as a civilisational challenge. He often spoke of the "Omnivores" (the urban elite who consume resources from afar), the "Ecosystem People" (the rural poor who depend on local resources), and the "Ecological Refugees" (those displaced by development).

His life was a masterclass in intellectual integrity. Whether he was walking through a sacred grove in Maharashtra or testifying before a high-level committee, his voice remained steady, backed by data and driven by moral clarity. He lived simply, thought deeply, and never shied away from speaking truth to power.

An Enduring Legacy

Professor Gadgil leaves behind a generation of ecologists who view the forest not as a "resource," but as a living system. He taught us that social justice and ecological health are two sides of the same coin.

As the mists roll over the Sahyadri peaks today, they shroud a land that is a little lonelier for his absence. But his work remains—in the People’s Biodiversity Registers, in the protected corridors of the Ghats, and in the hearts of every activist who stands up for a tree, a river, or a village.

Sunetra Pawar’s Trial by Fire

The Sage of the Sahyadris

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