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By:

Abhijit Joshi

31 August 2024 at 10:09:24 am

Power Games in the Rain

As legislators trade defections for reforms and accusations for applause, Maharashtra’s monsoon session finds the state’s citizens still awaiting relief. The Monsoon Session of the Maharashtra Legislature has evolved into a revealing contest over power and political survival instead of the constitutional ritual of debating laws and approving budgets it is meant to be. While the Devendra Fadnavis-led Mahayuti has sought to project itself as a reforming administration pushing through...

Power Games in the Rain

As legislators trade defections for reforms and accusations for applause, Maharashtra’s monsoon session finds the state’s citizens still awaiting relief. The Monsoon Session of the Maharashtra Legislature has evolved into a revealing contest over power and political survival instead of the constitutional ritual of debating laws and approving budgets it is meant to be. While the Devendra Fadnavis-led Mahayuti has sought to project itself as a reforming administration pushing through legislation and welfare measures, the opposition has tried to paint it as a government more adept at political management than public administration. Outside the legislature, meanwhile, Maharashtra has been wrestling with the familiar burdens of floods and a paradoxical water scarcity, power outages and rural distress, reminding politicians that nature remains stubbornly indifferent to partisan battles. Contentious Session The session’s first controversy arrived before substantive legislative business had even begun. During obituary references to eminent personalities who had died over the past year, Assembly Speaker Rahul Narwekar stumbled repeatedly while reading names and citations. Curiously, the opposition initially let the errors pass. Only after Raj Thackeray mocked the lapses in his characteristic style did the issue gather political momentum. Opposition parties swiftly turned their attention to the Speaker’s conduct, forcing Narwekar to apologise before the House and drawing an early curtain on what might otherwise have become a prolonged embarrassment. The more consequential drama, however, unfolded beyond the chamber. What came to be known as ‘Operation Tiger’ further weakened the Shiv Sena (UBT), drawing several leaders towards the ruling camp. Although Uddhav Thackeray toured constituencies represented by defectors in an attempt to contain the damage, the defections showed that organisational strength matters less when political gravity is pulling in the opposite direction. That impression was reinforced when Council MLA Sachin Ahir, seen alongside UBT leaders in the morning, filed his nomination for the post of Deputy Chairman of the Legislative Council later the same day as the candidate of the Eknath Shinde-led Shiv Sena. The speed of the switch surprised even seasoned observers. Many credited Shinde with executing yet another carefully calibrated political manoeuvre. Game of Thrones Predictably, whispers of a possible ‘Operation Tutari’ have begun circulating, suggesting that Maharashtra's game of defections is far from over. Inside the legislature, the government has tried to ensure that politics does not overshadow policymaking. It presented supplementary demands exceeding Rs. 97,700 crore for 2026-27, promising greater spending on infrastructure, welfare programmes and development projects. Whether this translates into effective delivery remains the more important question. Among the session's more consequential measures is the Women Farmers’ Empowerment Bill. In much of rural Maharashtra, women undertake much of the agricultural labour but remain invisible in official records because land titles are held in the names of male relatives. The legislation seeks to correct that anomaly by granting women cultivators formal recognition as farmers regardless of land ownership. Official certification would enable them to access government schemes, institutional credit, subsidies and market support. If implemented seriously rather than symbolically, the reform could reshape the economic status of rural women across the state. The Assembly has also strengthened the Maharashtra Protection of Interest of Depositors Act. By requiring those convicted of defrauding investors to deposit half the disputed amount before filing an appeal, the government hopes to speed up compensation for victims while discouraging frivolous litigation. It is an attempt to reassure ordinary savers at a time when financial fraud has become both more frequent and more sophisticated. The passage of the Freedom of Religion Bill has proved considerably more contentious. The government argues that the legislation is designed to curb illegal religious conversions and protect vulnerable citizens. The opposition counters that a law with significant constitutional implications deserved fuller scrutiny than it received. Opposition leaders, including Nana Patole, Jayant Patil and Sunil Prabhu, have repeatedly accused the treasury benches of rushing legislation through the House while curtailing debate. Their protests culminated in a walkout during discussions on municipal laws. Ministers responded that the opposition had squandered valuable time through repeated disruptions and could hardly complain about compressed proceedings afterwards. United on Agriculture If any issue has united the opposition, it is agriculture. Members have repeatedly attacked the eligibility conditions attached to the state's farm loan-waiver scheme, arguing that many indebted cultivators remain excluded by restrictive criteria. They have demanded a comprehensive waiver rather than selective relief. Water scarcity, despite the arrival of the monsoon, has also remained politically potent. Delayed rainfall left several districts facing drought-like conditions before the rains eventually arrived, prompting demands for a dedicated debate on water management and drought relief. Yet, it is events outside the Assembly that have most exposed the gap between legislation and lived reality. Heavy rains have once again paralysed Mumbai, flooding roads, disrupting suburban rail services and delaying flights. The annual submergence of the Andheri subway has become less an aberration than a seasonal ritual, raising persistent questions about the city’s infrastructure and preparedness despite years of promises. Rural Maharashtra faces a different but equally pressing crisis. Farmers in districts such as Bhandara have protested prolonged electricity outages caused by damaged transmission lines, leaving irrigation pumps idle at a critical stage of the cropping season. Many have threatened hunger strikes unless power is restored swiftly. As the session approaches its conclusion, both sides will claim vindication. The government will point to a substantial legislative record and argue that it has pursued meaningful reforms while maintaining political stability. The opposition will insist that legislative productivity cannot compensate for administrative shortcomings. The session has therefore become a microcosm of contemporary Maharashtra. It has featured ambitious legislation, relentless political manoeuvring, high-profile defections and increasingly bitter procedural disputes. The measure of its success will lie in whether decisions taken here improved the lives of citizens once the Assembly adjourns and the headlines move on. In Maharashtra, as in politics more generally, the hardest task begins after the applause has faded. (The writer is a political observer. Views personal.)

The Soul of Bharat on the Big Screen

Mumbai: April 4, 2025, my heart feels heavier than it ever has. The news hit me like a monsoon storm—Manoj Kumar, the towering legend of Bollywood, the man who painted patriotism across our screens, is no more. At 87, he slipped away at Mumbai’s Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital, leaving behind a reel of memories that flicker in my mind like a projector that won’t stop spinning. As a movie fan who grew up with his films, I’m not just mourning an actor—I’m grieving the loss of a piece of my soul, a piece of India itself. They called him "Bharat Kumar," and oh, how he earned that name.


I remember the first time I saw ‘Upkar’ (1967). I was a kid, sprawled on the living room floor, eyes glued to our old TV. Manoj ji played Bharat, the farmer who gave everything—his dreams, his love—for his country’s soil. That song, “Mere Desh Ki Dharti,” wasn’t just a tune; it was a heartbeat, pulsing with pride and sacrifice. I’d hum it walking to school, feeling like I, too, could be that noble, that selfless. He won a National Film Award for that one, and rightly so—it wasn’t acting; it was living.

Then there was ‘Shaheed’ (1965), where he brought Bhagat Singh back to life. I’d sit there, popcorn forgotten, as he roared defiance against the British, his eyes blazing with a fire that could’ve lit up the darkest colonial night. It wasn’t just a film—it was a revolution on celluloid, a call to remember the blood that bought our freedom. Manoj ji didn’t just play the martyr; he became him, and every time I watch it, I feel that lump in my throat, that sting in my eyes. It’s no wonder it snagged three National Awards—his passion was a gift to us all.


Oh, and ‘Purab Aur Paschim’ (1970)—how do I even begin? He directed and starred as Bharat again, this time wrestling with the clash of East and West, showing us the beauty of our roots while the world tried to pull us away. I’d laugh at Saira Banu’s antics, then choke up when Manoj ji stood tall, singing “Hai Preet Jahan Ki Reet Sada.” It was a blockbuster, sure, but it was more—it was a love letter to India, penned in his signature hand-over-face style. That move, mocked by some, was his shield, his quiet strength, and I adored it.

And who could forget ‘Roti Kapda Aur Makaan’ (1974)? He directed and starred as Bharat—again, because who else could?—tackling poverty, injustice, and the gut-wrenching struggle for the basics of life. I’d watch, fists clenched, as he fought for the everyman, his voice cracking with raw emotion. It wasn’t just a movie; it was a mirror to our society, a cry for change. Seven Filmfare Awards across his career, they say, but this one felt like it carried them all—his heart bled through every frame.


Then there’s ‘Kranti’ (1981), the epic that had me on the edge of my seat. Manoj ji as the freedom fighter, leading Dilip Kumar and Hema Malini through a storm of rebellion—it was grand, it was gritty, it was everything Bollywood could be. “Zindagi Ki Na Toote Ladi” still echoes in my ears, a reminder of the battles he fought on screen, battles that felt so real I’d dream of joining the fight. He didn’t just direct that film; he sculpted a monument to resilience, and I’d cheer like a fool every time he outsmarted the British.


As I sit here, flipping through these memories, I can’t help but feel cheated. Manoj Kumar wasn’t just an actor or director—he was family. Born Harikrishan Goswami in 1937, he carried the Partition’s scars from Abbottabad to Delhi, turning pain into purpose. He gave us over 50 films in a career spanning four decades, snagging the Padma Shri in 1992 and the Dadasaheb Phalke Award in 2015—honors that felt too small for a man who gave India its cinematic soul. His last role in ‘Jai Hind’ (1999) might’ve flopped, but it didn’t dim his light in my eyes.


I’d read how he met Bhagat Singh’s mother before ‘Shaheed’, seeking her blessing—can you imagine the weight of that? Or how PM Lal Bahadur Shastri urged him to make ‘Upkar’ after the 1965 war, handing him “Jai Jawan Jai Kisan” like a sacred torch? That’s who he was—a man who didn’t just entertain but carried a nation’s dreams.


Manoj ji, you weren’t just “Bharat Kumar” to me—you were the uncle who taught me pride, the friend who shared my anger, the poet who sang my hopes. Your films weren’t movies; they were my childhood, my rebellion, my tears. I’ll miss you like I miss the India you dreamed of—flawed, fierce, and forever ours. Rest in peace, sir. Om Shanti.

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