Seventy-five years have passed since India attained independence. After one hundred and fifty years of British colonial rule, this country adopted a democratic system founded upon a written Constitution. Despite its vast geographical expanse, linguistic multiplicity, cultural plurality, and enormous population, the Indian democratic experiment has, comparatively speaking, proved successful—this must be acknowledged. Many Western thinkers, sociologists, and political critics doubted whether such an experiment could endure for long. That doubt, however, has been decisively disproved.
Yet, within the very womb of this democracy, certain deeply pernicious tendencies have taken root—slowly but inexorably. Today they have grown so rampant that one is compelled to ask whether democracy has been reduced to a mere name. Particularly in light of the recent elections to local self-governing bodies in Maharashtra, what is unfolding no longer remains a matter of suspicion alone; it has nearly reached the level of an unavoidable conclusion.
Politics in Maharashtra today has become so fluid—fluid like a sewage drain—so unstable and so devoid of principles that it has become difficult even to identify which leader belongs to which party. A political worker no longer holds an ideology; for him political parties have become merely a temporary halts, convenient platforms, escalators to power.
In Maharashtra, on 24 December, the Thackeray brothers announced that they would contest the local body elections together. Following this declaration, Shiv Sainiks and MNS workers across the state erupted in celebration. Among the jubilant was a senior former corporator from Nashik belonging to MNS Party—an individual with long experience in party-hopping and a seasoned wrestler in this political arena. Before the echoes of that celebration had even faded, the same corporator joined the Bharatiya Janata Party. To abandon, within hours, the very leadership in whose name slogans were raised, applause thundered, and emotions overflowed—and to embrace another party—defies any psychological, ideological, or political explanation. Yet the corporator justified his decision as being “for the development of Nashik,” attempting thereby to soothe both his own conscience and the discernment of gullible citizens. He may well have succeeded—because gullibility has today become the strongest pillar supporting our democracy.
This is not an exception; it is a system. In post-independence India, the term “Aaya Ram, Gaya Ram” became synonymous with Indian politics. To curb this menace, the Tenth Schedule of the Constitution—the anti-defection law—was enacted. To some extent, it did prove useful; this cannot be denied. But it is here that the ingenuity of Indian politicians reveals itself: they rendered even this law ineffective. Instead of direct defections, a new game began under the guise of “party splits.” While paying ostensible respect to the letter of the law, the spirit of democracy was murdered, and the arithmetic of power was recalculated.
What transpired in Maharashtra just days before the nomination process for municipal elections would be an insult to language if described merely as “political chaos.” In the vocabulary of the Shiv Sena, it was nothing short of a “maha-rada”—a grand melee. Who was allying with whom, who was abandoning whom, lay beyond comprehension. Such a colossal disorder—such a spectacle—had never before been witnessed by Maharashtra. One could no longer tell whether this was an electoral process or a battlefield. Even in war, one can identify friends and enemies. Here, yesterday’s enemy becomes today’s ally, and today’s associate becomes tomorrow’s foe. The word “loyalty” has grown so obsolete that it survives only in speeches. Party workers who have laboured for years are sidelined, while candidates “downloaded and imported” overnight are handed tickets—because they possess money, connections, and the ‘capacity’ to win. What lies at the root of all this? Is it merely an individual moral decline, or does it point to a deeper, more entrenched structural reality? The question arises inevitably.
If one wishes to understand Indian politics, it cannot be examined merely through the framework of parties, elections, and alliances. Beneath these flows a far more ancient, long-standing, and civilisational struggle. The Indus Valley Civilisation and its successor, the Vedic Civilisation, rooted for nearly 3,900 years, have shaped the Indian collective psyche through two fundamentally distinct world-views. On one side stands the Indus inspiration—emphasising scientific temper, equality, civic reason, and systemic discipline. On the other stands the Vedic inspiration—anchored in spirituality, social hierarchies, sacrifice, Yadnya, rituals, symbols, and notions of sanctity.
In the post-independence era, the Congress largely represented the Indus Valley civilisational perspective, while the BJP represented the Vedic civilisational outlook. Within this ideological struggle, the question of right or wrong does not arise; these are two independent and distinct visions of the world. In a democracy, voters can choose parties aligned with whichever civilisational ethos they prefer through the electoral process. But today, in Maharashtra—and indeed across the country—this conflict has been relegated to the background.
For a third force has now become decisive. This force belongs neither to the Indus nor to the Vedic tradition. It is the force of opportunistic power politics, money culture, and ideological hollowness. For this force, ideology is merely a costume—changeable according to occasion. A party is merely a vehicle—to reach power. An election is not an opportunity to serve, but an investment—from which returns are expected within five years. Tragically, elements devoid of any ideological trace, driven solely by money and power, have entered the parties representing these two civilisational streams and have taken them in a stranglehold. One is compelled to ask today—what truly binds political parties together now: ideology and civilisation, or groups that have infiltrated them purely on the strength of money?
This condition is not confined to Indian democracy alone; similar patterns are visible across the world. Nobel Prize–winning economist Joseph Stiglitz once titled an article, “Of the 1%, by the 1%, for the 1%.” In that essay, he argued that Abraham Lincoln’s definition of democracy—“government of the people, by the people, and for the people”—no longer exists, and has been replaced by a system “of the 1%, by the 1%, and for the 1%.” It is a system that has become a puppet in the hands of the wealthiest 1 percent. I agree with this assessment one hundred percent. Democracy today has become the handmaiden of the rich, and the global deterioration it has suffered is mirrored in our local self-governing institutions as well. Therefore, the crying, rioting, sulking, wailing, aggression, appeasement of leaders, protests, confrontations, hunger strikes, public denunciations of one’s own party during campaign meetings, vandalising party offices, and the ultimate absurdity—swallowing the AB form—are not acts of social service. They are driven by the hunger for power and the financial benefits that flow from it. One does not need a Nobel laureate to explain this; all of it arises from the frustration of being deprived of anticipated economic gains. Stiglitz’s thesis today stands nakedly visible in Maharashtra’s local self-governing bodies. The outcry over denial of a ticket is not a cry for public service; it is a scream of anguish born of the fear of losing potential financial profit.
Today, party-switching does not occur for development, for public interest, or for the betterment of cities. It occurs solely for power—and for the money that power brings. There may be exceptions; but democracy does not function on exceptions. It functions on averages—and today that average is grotesque.
What is unfolding during elections in Maharashtra is not merely political news for any rational citizen who believes in democracy; it is a grave warning. The ideological struggle between the Indus and Vedic civilisations has been pushed aside, and a conquering “money culture” has seized control of politics. Even more tragic is the fact that both these great civilisations are being used merely as weapons to win elections, exploit emotions, and capture power.
The conflict between archaeological remains and sacred hymns has not disappeared; but it has now been overrun by a third intruder—the culture of money—which feels neither shame before the remains nor reverence for the hymns. And before this encroachment, the people remain asleep.
This is an extremely dangerous phase for Maharashtra, and by extension for Indian democracy. For when thought exits politics, only the arithmetic of money remains—and in that arithmetic, the human being is always deceived.
In municipal and local body elections today, party-switching is not seen as a means to improve public services, build infrastructure, generate employment, or maintain social harmony. The craving for power exists to increase one’s own wealth. There are exceptions—indeed, there are—but democracy does not run on exceptions. All corporators, as elected representatives, are expected to function as “guardians of the city.” Hence, the chaos, instability, and moral degeneration witnessed in Maharashtra during local body elections now provoke the unsettling question: has this become a political inevitability?
Whether to run governments or to win elections, alliances are formed and broken; yesterday’s opponents become today’s friends. Political workers cross ideological and civilisational boundaries to defect from one party to another. There is only one reason behind this—power. And power means more money, more influence, and greater personal gain.
The question is no longer whether the Indus civilisation flaunted by the Congress is superior or the Vedic civilisation wielded by the BJP; that debate itself has become a grotesque distraction, for democracy lies already asphyxiated—strangled by a rapacious” money-culture” that has subjugated both the parties and now rules Indian politics with impunity.
This is a tragic and deeply worrying reality. Even more unfortunate is the misuse of the ideological traditions of both the Indus and Vedic civilisations as mere tools to win elections, binding those ideologies to the yoke of money culture—while the people remain in a state of slumber. What is happening in Maharashtra during elections today is a matter that demands serious reflection from every progressive, rational citizen who believes in democracy.
-Mahesh Zagade
Mahesh Zagade, IASx 