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By:

Abhijit Mulye

21 August 2024 at 11:29:11 am

High-stakes chess beneath the surface

BJP Candidates coming out after filing their nomination for the upcoming Legislative Council Polls from Vidhan Bhavan in Mumbai on Thursday. Pic: Bhushan Koyande Mumbai: Typically, when a ruling coalition enjoys a formidable and comfortable majority, elections to the Rajya Sabha and the State Legislative Council are quiet, predictable affairs. They are often viewed as mere formalities, rarely capturing the public imagination or dominating front-page headlines. Historically, these indirect...

High-stakes chess beneath the surface

BJP Candidates coming out after filing their nomination for the upcoming Legislative Council Polls from Vidhan Bhavan in Mumbai on Thursday. Pic: Bhushan Koyande Mumbai: Typically, when a ruling coalition enjoys a formidable and comfortable majority, elections to the Rajya Sabha and the State Legislative Council are quiet, predictable affairs. They are often viewed as mere formalities, rarely capturing the public imagination or dominating front-page headlines. Historically, these indirect elections only become newsworthy under specific conditions: either the ruling coalition is plagued by internal fissures, or the opposition is too fragmented to put up a united front. In Maharashtra, however, the political landscape remains highly volatile. Recently, the Rajya Sabha elections became the center of intense media scrutiny, and over the past week, the Legislative Council polls followed suit. Although all ten candidates—nine from the ruling alliance and one from the opposition Maha Vikas Aghadi (MVA)—are now set to be elected unopposed, the intricate backroom maneuvers that led to this truce kept the state’s political circles buzzing. Interestingly, the reason for this heightened news value can be traced to both a subtle tug-of-war within the ruling combine and a visibly weakened opposition. Shifting Strategy The maneuvering within the opposition ranks has been particularly telling. A major focal point of the election buildup was the anticipated candidacy of Shiv Sena (UBT) Chief Uddhav Thackeray. After generating considerable hype and speculation about a potential return to the legislature, Thackeray ultimately chose to withdraw from the electoral fray. This sudden pullback forced a rapid recalibration within the MVA. Initially, the Congress party had adopted an aggressive posture, declaring its intention to field a candidate if Thackeray decided against contesting. However, following closed-door deliberations with Shiv Sena (UBT) leadership, the Congress quietly backed down. Why the state Congress leadership so readily acquiesced to this sudden change in strategy, sacrificing a potential seat, remains a mystery and a subject of intense debate among political observers. On the other side of the aisle, the ruling Mahayuti coalition maximized this electoral opportunity to consolidate its political base, reward loyalists, and balance complex regional equations. The Nationalist Congress Party (NCP) strategically paved the way for the political rehabilitation of former Congress legislator Zishan Siddique by nominating him to the Legislative Council. This calculated move introduces a prominent new Muslim face for the party, likely intended to fill the leadership vacuum in Mumbai left by veteran leader Nawab Malik. Meanwhile, Chief Minister Eknath Shinde used his nominations to send a definitive message about the premium he places on loyalty. By securing another term for Dr. Neelam Gorhe, Shinde demonstrated that those who stood by his faction would be adequately rewarded. Furthermore, by bringing Vidarbha strongman Bachchu Kadu into the fold, Shinde has attempted to anchor his party’s future and expand its footprint in a region predominantly controlled by his senior alliance partner, the BJP. The Bharatiya Janata Party, playing its characteristic long game, meticulously ensured that its list of six candidates struck the perfect organizational, social, and political balance. Battle for LOP Despite these broader alliance strategies, the most consequential nomination in this electoral cycle is arguably that of Ambadas Danve. Barely six months after completing his tenure in the Upper House and stepping down from the prestigious post of Leader of the Opposition in the Legislative Council, Danve has been nominated once again by the Shiv Sena (UBT). With his return to the house, there is a strong possibility that he will reclaim his former post. This specific development highlights a much deeper crisis within the Congress. Following Danve’s brief retirement, the Congress had naturally emerged as the largest opposition party in the Upper House. This mathematical advantage theoretically paved the way for their Kolhapur strongman, Satej “Banti” Patil, to lay claim to the Leader of the Opposition’s chair. However, the sudden defection of Congress MLC Pradnya Satav, who switched loyalties to the BJP, severely dented the party’s numbers. Her departure brought the Congress’s strength in the house just below that of the Shiv Sena (UBT). Stripped of its numerical superiority overnight, the Congress was relegated to being a mute spectator, unable to assert its rightful claim. Internal Dissent This series of tactical defeats has triggered palpable frustration within the Congress’s state unit. One senior Congress leader, speaking on the condition of anonymity, expressed deep disappointment with the state leadership’s inability to protect the party’s interests. “Everyone has personal political ambitions, but leaders must learn the ways to collectively move ahead and strategize,” the leader remarked, attributing the party’s current stagnation in Maharashtra to this lack of cohesive vision. In short, these Legislative Council elections have delivered one message loud and clear: even when everything appears calm and stable on the surface, the relentless machinery of politics continues to churn behind the scenes. No political player in Maharashtra can afford to rest assured or sit idle under the illusion that there are no major state elections until 2029.

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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