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By:

Abhijit Joshi

31 August 2024 at 10:09:24 am

The Pawar Paradox Never Ends

As speculation over Sharad Pawar’s equations with the NDA resurfaces, Maharashtra is reminded that its most enduring political constant has always been uncertainty. There is an old Mumbai saying that seasoned political observers have long enjoyed repeating: “Ghode ki laath aur boss ki baat par kabhi bharosa mat karna” (never trust a horse’s kick or a boss’ word; either can come without warning). If Maharashtra’s politicians were updating the proverb today, one more cautionary line would...

The Pawar Paradox Never Ends

As speculation over Sharad Pawar’s equations with the NDA resurfaces, Maharashtra is reminded that its most enduring political constant has always been uncertainty. There is an old Mumbai saying that seasoned political observers have long enjoyed repeating: “Ghode ki laath aur boss ki baat par kabhi bharosa mat karna” (never trust a horse’s kick or a boss’ word; either can come without warning). If Maharashtra’s politicians were updating the proverb today, one more cautionary line would surely be included: “Sharad Pawar ke siyasi faisle par kabhi bharosa mat karna” (never assume you know Sharad Pawar's next political move). Few leaders in independent India have reinvented themselves as often, confounded both allies and adversaries with equal regularity, or remained politically relevant across nearly five decades quite like Sharad Pawar. Every major realignment in Maharashtra has, in one way or another, borne his imprint. Backstairs Intrigue That reputation has once again set the state’s political circles buzzing. A late-night meeting between senior NCP (Sharadchandra Pawar) leader Jayant Patil and Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis, followed by indications that Pawar's party could extend conditional support to the Centre's proposed Delimitation Bill, has revived speculation that Maharashtra may be headed towards yet another political reshuffle. Supriya Sule has firmly dismissed suggestions that her party is preparing to join the NDA, insisting that any support for the Delimitation Bill would depend entirely on safeguards ensuring fairness for every state. Yet, the rumours persist. That, perhaps, is the enduring ‘Pawar effect.’ In Maharashtra, a single meeting involving Sharad Pawar is often enough to trigger discussions of an entirely new government. Pawar’s political career has consistently demonstrated that certainty is an illusion. In 1978, barely 38 years old, he engineered one of Maharashtra’s greatest political upsets. Breaking away from the Congress, he toppled the Vasantdada Patil government and stitched together the Progressive Democratic Front, or Pulod, by bringing together parties separated by ideology but united by arithmetic. He became the state’s youngest Chief Minister, a distinction that still defines his public image. That episode also revealed the two principles that have shaped his politics ever since. Ideology, for Pawar, has rarely been an immovable barrier. Political arithmetic has almost always mattered more. Equally, power has never been viewed as permanent. The pattern repeated itself through the decades. Pawar moved between Congress politics and regional politics with remarkable ease, served as India’s Defence Minister, broke away to establish the Nationalist Congress Party in 1999 over Sonia Gandhi's foreign origin, spent nearly fifteen years governing alongside the Congress, and then stunned the political establishment yet again in 2019 by helping construct the Maha Vikas Aghadi. Few believed the Shiv Sena, Congress and NCP could coexist under one roof. Pawar proved otherwise. Even the dramatic dawn swearing-in of Devendra Fadnavis and the late Ajit Pawar in November 2019 ultimately enhanced Sharad Pawar’s reputation. Within days, he had reunited most of his fractured party and succeeded in installing Uddhav Thackeray as Chief Minister. What initially appeared to be his biggest setback became another demonstration of his political resilience. Today, the Sharad Pawar-led NCP is no longer the formidable organisation it was before the split of 2023. While he retains considerable public goodwill, national stature and a respectable parliamentary presence, his legislative strength within Maharashtra has diminished considerably, prompted questions about the party’s future. Reports suggest that sections within the NCP (SP) are increasingly uncomfortable with the prospect of remaining in perpetual opposition and favour exploring some form of understanding with the BJP. Pawar himself is believed to have resisted such suggestions, while Supriya Sule has repeatedly ruled out any immediate shift. Yet the existence of internal debate appears difficult to dismiss. Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis has publicly asserted that there is no question of new entrants joining the Mahayuti. His statement reflects political logic. The BJP already enjoys numerical dominance alongside Eknath Shinde’s Shiv Sena and Ajit Pawar’s NCP. Bringing Sharad Pawar into the alliance may strengthen the NDA externally, but it could also generate fresh leadership ambitions, competing centres of influence and unnecessary internal tensions. Issue-Based Cooperation If there is any movement, therefore, it is more likely to begin with issue-based cooperation in Parliament than with an immediate formal alliance. That explains why the Delimitation Bill has assumed such significance. Supriya Sule has indicated that her party could support the legislation provided the Centre guarantees a uniform 50 percent increase in parliamentary seats for every state. The position differs from that adopted by several INDIA bloc partners and has naturally fuelled speculation. Yet issue-based support should not automatically be interpreted as political surrender. Sharad Pawar has rarely subscribed to the idea that opposition requires opposing every government initiative. Throughout his career he has maintained working relationships across party lines, often separating legislative cooperation from electoral competition. That flexibility has repeatedly helped him preserve political relevance even when his party's electoral fortunes fluctuated. If, despite present denials, Pawar eventually chooses to support or formally align with the NDA, the consequences would extend well beyond Maharashtra. For the INDIA bloc, it would represent perhaps the most damaging psychological blow in western India, depriving it of one of its most experienced strategists and consensus-builders. Congress would lose a veteran ally at precisely the moment it is attempting to rebuild its organisational strength in Maharashtra. Uddhav Thackeray’s Shiv Sena (UBT) could find itself increasingly isolated, forcing a reassessment of both alliances and political strategy before the next Assembly election. And for the BJP, it would amount to the political neutralisation of perhaps its most accomplished regional rival. Sharad Pawar’s greatest political strength has always been his refusal to close any door before absolutely necessary. Strategic ambiguity has been one of its principal instruments. At 85, he remains among the last practitioners of an older style of coalition politics, where negotiation often counts for more than confrontation, and where tomorrow’s ally may well have been yesterday’s fiercest opponent. (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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