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By:

Rajendra Pandharpure

15 April 2025 at 7:55:54 pm

The BJP’s Ganesha Gambit

Pune’s Ganeshotsav has become an enormous civic and political stage, and the ruling party has proved adept at occupying it. Pune: The city’s Ganeshotsav is entering its final phase, but the festival has already demonstrated something beyond its extraordinary crowds and familiar spectacle: the extent to which it has become a political stage. This year, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) has left a particularly visible imprint on the festivities, using an event that reaches deep into the city’s...

The BJP’s Ganesha Gambit

Pune’s Ganeshotsav has become an enormous civic and political stage, and the ruling party has proved adept at occupying it. Pune: The city’s Ganeshotsav is entering its final phase, but the festival has already demonstrated something beyond its extraordinary crowds and familiar spectacle: the extent to which it has become a political stage. This year, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) has left a particularly visible imprint on the festivities, using an event that reaches deep into the city’s neighbourhoods as an opportunity for public outreach. The political appropriation of the festival has not, however, been without a counter-current. Demands were raised for curbs on noise pollution, loudspeakers and the volume of dhol-tasha performances. The argument was not against Ganeshotsav itself, but for moderation - notably, a complete ban on DJ music and limits on the number of dhol and tasha instruments used by performing troupes. Familiar Troubles The festival’s reality has been rather different. Major roads have been occupied by mandaps. Processions celebrating the arrival of Lord Ganesha have unfolded amid punishing noise. DJ music, while subject to restrictions, has continued. Traffic congestion has become a familiar feature of the festival, with the movement of political leaders adding another layer to the city’s already strained roads. The Peth areas have remained crowded deep into the night. The Shrimant Dagdusheth Halwai Ganpati temple has drawn enormous crowds for darshan from the opening day. From the old city to housing societies and neighbourhood mandals, Ganeshotsav touches virtually every part of Pune. For a political party seeking a direct connection with citizens, few occasions offer such a ready-made network of people, institutions and local influencers. The BJP enters this festival with an unusually formidable organisational base. It has two MPs, seven MLAs and more than 100 corporators in Pune. Murlidhar Mohol, one of the city’s MPs, is a Union Minister of State. Chandrakant Patil is a Cabinet minister in the Maharashtra government, while Madhuri Misal is a Minister of State. The party’s presence also extends into the festival’s organisational architecture. Its influence is visible across numerous mandals, large and small. BJP MLA Hemant Rasane is General Secretary of the Shrimant Dagdusheth Halwai Sarvajanik Ganpati Trust. Kunal Tilak, a member of Lokmanya Tilak’s family, is a BJP corporator. The political and cultural histories of Pune therefore intersect in ways that are difficult to ignore. The BJP’s senior leadership has also made the most of the occasion. National President Nitin Nabin visited Pune to seek Lord Ganesha’s blessings, while Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis visited the city before and during the festival. Such visits are about more than religious observance. In a festival watched by millions and embedded in the city’s social life, political visibility comes almost automatically. There is also talk in Pune that the BJP provided substantial financial support to Dhol-Lezim troupes and their organisers, with claims that some major mandals received financial backing as well. These claims would require independent verification, but the perception itself points to the depth of the political contest around Ganeshotsav. BJP workers, according to local observers, have also sought to make their presence more conspicuous than that of festivities organised by housing societies. Useful Expedient The festival arrives at a politically useful moment for the BJP. The party has faced disquiet on several fronts. Young people have been agitated over the paper-leak controversy. Broader public dissatisfaction has been voiced over inflation and unemployment, while government policies relating to ethanol and charges associated with UPI transactions have also generated criticism. While a political party can defend a policy in a press conference and advertise its achievements, during Ganeshotsav, its workers can be physically present in neighbourhoods, among processions, mandals, cultural groups and devotees. Politics thus becomes less about argument and more about visibility. That is the BJP’s advantage in Pune. Ganeshotsav, after all, is not simply a sequence of religious rituals. It is an elaborate civic network involving local organisers, volunteers, cultural groups, businesses, residents and political representatives. Whoever has influence over that network acquires a powerful channel of communication with the city. The BJP appears to understand this particularly well. Its strength in Pune’s electoral politics has been reinforced by a presence that extends beyond elections and into the institutions and social spaces that organise public life. The irony is that the very scale of the festival that makes it politically attractive also magnifies the civic costs. The political value of Ganeshotsav and the civic burden it creates are therefore two sides of the same phenomenon. For Pune, the larger question is not whether politics has entered Ganeshotsav. It has done so for decades. The more consequential question is whether the festival’s extraordinary social capital will remain primarily a vehicle for political outreach or whether the same influence can be used to reconcile celebration with the ordinary civic needs of the city. For the moment, the BJP seems to have understood the first proposition better than most.

Why Scientists Publish

Jul 2
4 min read

Science was not created to produce papers. Papers were created to advance science.

AI generated image
AI generated image

Scientific publishing occupies a central place in modern research. Publications influence careers, funding decisions, institutional rankings, and scientific reputations. Researchers devote enormous effort to writing papers, reviewing manuscripts, and responding to reviewers. Universities celebrate publication counts, while funding agencies use them as indicators of productivity and excellence. Yet despite their importance, surprisingly little attention is paid to a simple question: what is the purpose of scientific publishing?


The answers commonly offered are familiar. Publishing communicates discoveries, establishes priority, builds reputation, attracts citations, and supports career advancement. While these functions are important, they are not the original reason scientific publishing came into existence. Scientific progress depends on researchers being able to examine, challenge, replicate, improve, and build upon the work of others. The purpose of scientific publishing is therefore to transform private discoveries into public knowledge.


This principle distinguishes science from many other human activities. Businesses often derive value from protecting information, and governments may classify information in the interests of national security. Science, by contrast, advances through openness. A scientific claim acquires significance only when it can be scrutinised by others. Publishing is therefore not merely a record of scientific work but an essential part of the scientific process.


For much of history, there was no formal system for achieving this objective. In the seventeenth century, scientists communicated primarily through personal correspondence. As scientific activity expanded, discoveries travelled too slowly, and knowledge remained scattered across private networks. A decisive step came in 1665 with the launch of Philosophical Transactions by the Royal Society of London, widely regarded as the world’s first scientific journal. Its significance lay in establishing a durable principle: scientific discoveries should be publicly recorded, permanently preserved, and made accessible to others. Institutions that later became associated with scientific publishing evolved to support this goal. Peer review helped assess credibility, citations linked new discoveries to earlier work, and archives preserved knowledge across generations.


The success of this model transformed science. Modern scientific progress would have been impossible without a system that allowed knowledge to accumulate across generations and national boundaries. Charles Darwin’s influence, for example, rested not simply on developing the theory of evolution but on placing his ideas into a global scientific conversation where they could be debated, criticised, tested, and refined. Scientific knowledge derives its power not merely from discovery but from dissemination.


During the twentieth century, however, scientific publishing acquired functions beyond the communication of knowledge. Governments and institutions increasingly needed ways to evaluate scientists, allocate resources, and identify promising work. Publications provided visible, measurable indicators. Papers could be counted, citations tracked, and journals ranked. What had begun as a mechanism for sharing discoveries gradually became one for assessing researchers. Publication records became tied to grants, promotions, awards, and professional recognition.


In a sense, scientific publishing became a victim of its own success. A mechanism created to communicate knowledge evolved into one for measuring scientists. This shift was understandable, even necessary, in large research systems. Yet it also introduced a subtle danger. When publications become targets rather than tools, researchers may optimise for producing papers instead of advancing knowledge. Publication counts, citation metrics, journal rankings, and impact factors are useful indicators, but they remain proxies rather than purposes.


The contemporary research ecosystem illustrates this tension. Researchers publish not only to communicate discoveries but also to secure funding, obtain promotions, improve rankings, and strengthen professional reputations. Social media has added another dimension, encouraging scientists to publicise their work to ever larger audiences. Public engagement is valuable, especially when research has broad societal implications. Yet publishing and publicity are not synonymous. The aim of scientific publishing is not to make scientists visible but to make knowledge accessible.


The economics of publishing have introduced further complexities. Much of the world’s research is publicly funded. Scientists conduct research, write manuscripts, review papers, and serve as editors, yet access to many publications remains restricted by costly subscriptions. This creates an obvious paradox: a system designed to disseminate knowledge can also limit access to it. The growth of open-access journals, institutional repositories, preprint servers, and broader open-science initiatives reflects continuing efforts to resolve this contradiction. At heart, these debates concern the same question that confronted scientists centuries ago: how can knowledge be shared most effectively?


The future of scientific publishing is likely to be shaped less by journals than by new forms of scientific communication. Digital repositories, collaborative platforms, and artificial intelligence are already transforming how knowledge is created, shared, discovered, reviewed, and evaluated. Increasingly, researchers communicate through datasets, software, protocols, and preprints alongside traditional papers. In some respects, science may even return to its earliest traditions. The first scientific communities exchanged ideas through letters; future researchers may use digital networks and AI-assisted systems to engage in direct global collaboration on a scale unimaginable to earlier generations. The technologies will change, but the underlying purpose will not.


More than 350 years after the first scientific journal appeared, the central question remains unchanged. Scientific publishing exists because knowledge confined to an individual mind, laboratory, or institution cannot fully contribute to scientific progress. Papers, citations, rankings, and prestige may all emerge from the system, but they are consequences rather than its reason for existence.


As scientific communication continues to evolve, journals may change, impact factors may diminish, and entirely new ways of sharing knowledge may emerge. What must endure is the principle that gave rise to scientific publishing in the first place: knowledge achieves its greatest value when it is shared. Any system that serves this purpose advances science. Any system that loses sight of it, however sophisticated its metrics or prestigious its journals, risks losing sight of why scientific publishing exists at all.


(The writer is an ANRF Prime Minister Professor at COEP Technological University, Pune, and former Director of the Agharkar Research Institute, Pune. Views personal.)

3 Comments


Publishing is the outcome of writing and writing is outcome of better thinking. Thinking is never always be uniform in the past, present and future, publishing makes it uniform and democratize the scientific temper. The measurement parameter should be the measurement of length of the gap filled by any individual through thinking-writing-publishing(TWP). In the age of TRP, TWP would be another scaling to check critical thinking, and the scientific method.

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I think scientists publish their work so they can share discoveries, promote collaboration, and let other people check their results. Open communication kind of helps research move forward faster too, not just slower in theory. It’s similar to book printing services Australia , because when the material is presented in a proper, professional way, people can more easily find it, interpret it, and use the helpful knowledge and ideas that are inside.

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“The future of scientific publishing is likely to be shaped less by journals than by new forms of scientific communication.”

So long as publishing in journals continues to be the basis on which scientists are assessed, what is the incentive for scientists to adopt those new forms of scientific communication? I doubt whether those who set up journals such as the _Philosophical Transactions_ and contributed to them depended on their bread for publishing.

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