Maharashtra A State That Tests Its Leaders, Then Rewards Them
Maharashtra, as a state, evaluates a person—especially a politician—not just by their skills but by pushing them to the limits of patience and perseverance. Only a rare few gain true popularity, but once they do, Maharashtra rewards them generously—be it with power or a lasting legacy.
The state has accepted only a handful of leaders, those whose humanity shone through both their strengths and flaws. One such leader was Eknath Shinde, former Chief Minister of Maharashtra. While there are many well-known political figures across the state, very few become topics of everyday conversations among the general public—people who aren’t politically inclined. Earning both admiration and affection from common citizens is a true sign of a people’s leader—something that modern-day PR agencies and consultants often try to manufacture but rarely succeed.
Many try to make a naturally dark-complexioned person appear fair, but it’s impossible unless at least 50-60% of the qualities come naturally. It’s far easier to expand an already established business than to build something new from scratch and make it big. Shinde's greatest assets were his simplicity, generosity, responsiveness, and humble nature. But instead of nurturing these strengths, he veered into a more cunning and opportunistic style of politics—which was never in his nature and certainly not what built his reputation.
His real strength was not in political equations or party structures but in the hearts of the people, in his personality and work ethic. It is unclear how Shinde and his team of consultants failed to grasp this simple truth.
When Maharashtra got a new Chief Minister, the public had mixed feelings. Even when the election results were out, people remained uneasy. Why did it take 1–2 months to form the government despite such a decisive victory? Who was responsible? And for what reason?
Organizations, campaigns, and narratives can help win elections and secure majorities, but they cannot guarantee complete control of power or eliminate effective opposition. That requires something else—a leader with charisma, someone the public rallies behind with emotion and belief.
When a caretaker tries to claim ownership of the pond, the original owner gets nervous. This might have been the case with Shinde. First, it was Shiv Sena, then the immense popularity he gained—this made him a liability rather than an asset to BJP and Devendra Fadnavis. With Raj Thackeray’s occasional backing, BJP subtly reminded Shinde of his limitations. Yet, Shinde respected the Thackerays but also challenged them politically.
Meanwhile, BJP used both Uddhav Thackeray and Ajit Pawar—directly or indirectly—to keep Shinde in a constant state of insecurity.
Shinde's actions in government—his allocation of funds, stance on Maratha reservations, medical outreach, media presence, and administrative activism—earned him admiration. From being seen as a secondary leader, he became a popular figure in his own right. That was both surprising and threatening to his allies. So, post-elections, BJP launched a massive media blitz worth thousands of crores, claiming the victory was due to Hindu vote consolidation, RSS outreach, or Fadnavis’ strategy.
People may have appreciated the narrative, but they weren’t fully convinced—because one key factor, Eknath Shinde, was conveniently omitted from the victory analysis.
After the elections, Shinde—once calm and composed—seemed rattled. He abandoned his usual poise and leaned towards confrontation and power politics, which simply wasn’t his style. A selfless, empathetic leader who helped anyone in need was now sulking and retreating from administrative duties. This shift in perception marked the beginning of his political decline.
Had he stayed out of government, Shinde might have thrived even more—perhaps done even greater things in alignment with his natural temperament and leadership style. But by choosing power over principles, he lost the very image that made him stand out. And this suited everyone—BJP, Ajit Pawar’s NCP faction, and even his rivals.
When Fadnavis returned as Chief Minister, he appeared transformed—calm, respectful towards the opposition, and collaborative in tone. This might reflect a personal shift or political calculation. But more likely, it showed a desire not to fall short in comparison to the previous CM, Shinde.
Upon returning to power, Fadnavis quickly centralized most administrative powers—especially those departments that once empowered Shinde. He then allowed older corruption allegations tied to Shinde’s allies to resurface. With diminishing administrative control, a damaged public image, and a less favorable media, Shinde began to appear like a weakened, ordinary politician.
Though he continued to expand his party by inducting new leaders, his image as a generous, people-centric CM was fading. What had once been his unique strength was now slipping away—marking the slow decline of his political journey.
