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By:

Abhijit Joshi

31 August 2024 at 10:09:24 am

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...

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 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.)

Third Horizon

Mumbai has always grown by shedding its skin. From the original seven islands to the sprawl of Navi Mumbai, the city’s history is one of outward leaps to relieve inward pressure. The proposed ‘Third Mumbai’ project, the brainchild of Union Minister Nitin Gadkari, is perhaps most ambitious of these expansions. Spread across more than 320 sq. km in Raigad, it promises to turn 124 villages in Uran, Panvel and Pen into a new economic frontier. The question is not whether Mumbai needs such an outlet. It plainly does. The question is whether it can be built without repeating the mistakes of the past.


On paper, the project is alluring. Anchored by the Navi Mumbai International Airport and the Mumbai Trans Harbour Link, and bolstered by plans for a parallel Pune-Mumbai expressway and water transport, Mumbai 3.0 aims to create a logistics and services hub with global ambitions. The blueprint reads like a planner’s wish list and includes data centres, fintech clusters, an ‘Edu City,’ mixed-use neighbourhoods and transit-oriented development. In a region where congestion chokes productivity and real estate prices exclude all but the wealthy, the promise of a planned, polycentric city is hard to resist.


Yet Indian urbanisation has often stumbled not in vision but in its execution, especially where land is concerned. The Mumbai Metropolitan Region Development Authority’s (MMRDA), which recently announced a land acquisition blueprint, is offering landowners a menu of options: cash compensation, Transferable Development Rights (TDR), Floor Space Index (FSI), or a 22.5 percent of developed land.


The rhetoric, emphasising “participatory” and “people-centric” development, reflects a shift away from the heavy-handedness that has marred earlier projects. If done in this spirit, it will be eminently sensible politics. It is also sound economics.


Still, voluntariness in land acquisition is a delicate claim. Social pressure, information asymmetry and unequal bargaining power can blur the line between consent and compulsion. Farmers, asked to submit Aadhaar-linked documents and navigate online consent systems, may find themselves at a disadvantage against a well-oiled bureaucracy.


Officials say mangroves, forests and Coastal Regulation Zone areas will be avoided. In a region as ecologically fragile as coastal Maharashtra, that is necessary but not sufficient. The cumulative impact of large-scale urbanisation on water tables, flood patterns and biodiversity rarely respects neat administrative boundaries. Mumbai’s own recent history of flooding offers a cautionary tale of what happens when development outruns ecological prudence.


Then there is the familiar risk of speculative urbanism. Grand plans often promise inclusive growth but deliver enclaves for the affluent. That said, the inclusion of both luxury and affordable housing, and the emphasis on transit-oriented design, are encouraging.


Mumbai’s economic gravity demands new space. Third Mumbai could, if executed well, relieve pressure on the island city, deepen regional integration and create a template for more rational urban growth in India. 


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