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By:

Abhijit Mulye

21 August 2024 at 11:29:11 am

Unshackled yet Vulnerable

Eknath Shinde’s high stakes pivot in the post-Ajit era Mumbai: The swearing-in of Sunetra Pawar as Deputy Chief Minister has optically restored the Mahayuti’s "tripod" structure, but for Eknath Shinde and his Shiv Sena faction, the ground reality has shifted seismically. The sudden exit of Ajit Pawar—often seen as the "counterweight" in the alliance—has fundamentally rewritten Shinde’s survival equation. For the last two years, Shinde operated in a high-pressure "sandwich" between Devendra...

Unshackled yet Vulnerable

Eknath Shinde’s high stakes pivot in the post-Ajit era Mumbai: The swearing-in of Sunetra Pawar as Deputy Chief Minister has optically restored the Mahayuti’s "tripod" structure, but for Eknath Shinde and his Shiv Sena faction, the ground reality has shifted seismically. The sudden exit of Ajit Pawar—often seen as the "counterweight" in the alliance—has fundamentally rewritten Shinde’s survival equation. For the last two years, Shinde operated in a high-pressure "sandwich" between Devendra Fadnavis’s strategic command and Ajit Pawar’s administrative dominance. With the latter gone, Shinde is no longer just the "other" Deputy CM; he is now the operational anchor of the government, a shift that brings both immense opportunity and existential risk. Sunetra Pawar’s sudden elevation as Maharashtra’s Deputy Chief Minister after Ajit Pawar’s tragic death has also unsettled other Shiv Sena leaders, who publicly welcomed the move but privately expressed surprise and concern. The development reshapes the Mahayuti alliance, with Eknath Shinde caught between asserting his mass appeal and managing BJP’s growing dominance. Third Wheel Until last week, Eknath Shinde often found his administrative influence curtailed by Ajit Pawar’s aggressive style. Ajit "Dada" controlled the bureaucracy and the purse strings, often leaving Shinde’s MLAs complaining about stalled files and delayed funds. How the new reality would unfold is not yet clear. With Sunetra Pawar being a political novice inducted primarily for "sympathy" and "legacy" management, Shinde is now the sole experienced administrator alongside Fadnavis. The "administrative friction" that plagued Shinde’s faction is gone. In cabinet meetings and operational governance, Shinde’s voice will likely carry significantly more weight, as he is no longer competing for airtime with a heavyweight like Ajit Pawar. Finance Dilemma The decision by Chief Minister Fadnavis to retain the Finance and Planning portfolio—rather than handing it to Sunetra Pawar—is the single most critical development for the Shiv Sena. The good news is that Shinde’s MLAs will no longer have to beg an NCP Finance Minister for development funds—a major grievance that had threatened internal revolts in the Sena camp. However, it can also turn out to be the bad news, since financial power will be completely centralized within the BJP now. Previously, Shinde could subtly play the BJP and NCP against each other to extract resources. Now, he faces a monolithic BJP command center. If Fadnavis tightens the purse strings, Shinde has no "second door" to knock on. The BMC Bargaining Chip The immediate effects of Shinde’s new fears were seen in Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC) and other Municipal Corporations in the MMR, where insteady of bargaining for a larger share of power, the Shiv Sena under Shinde appeared to be content with whatever it got from the BJP and quietly accepting it. This was very unlikely of their track record till now and contrary to the party insiders who were very aggressive till last week sending out signals that Shinde would bargain strongly for the demands like Mayoral post in Mumbai to assert the ‘rights of Marathi Manoos’.

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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