Do and Undo: The high-stakes game of scrapping public projects

Raju Korti
In the highly crooked landscape of Indian politics, there appears a pattern preceding most elections: the tendency of opposition parties to promise the scrapping of major projects introduced by the ruling party. The latest example is Uddhav Thackeray's Shiv Sena declaring it would scrap the Dharavi Redevelopment Project if elected to power. Similar reversals, some of which immediately come to the mind and mentioned here, illustrate this recurring "do and undo" phenomenon. 

A Wikipedia grab of Dharavi

While people, divided on party lines, rejoice in this specious but senseless assurances, it is conveniently forgotten what this means to the citizens, and more critically, for the state's financial health. Take for instance the Bullet Train project in Maharashtra linking Mumbai and Ahmedabad. It initially received support from the Maharashtra Government. However, after the Vikas Aghadi (MVA) coalition came to power in 2019, there were suggestions to reassess the project's land acquisition process and question its viability, especially given its cost. It slowed down the project and delays only added to complications and cost escalation. The project was re-railed with the change in the government. This back-and-forth delayed construction, shot up costs, and frustrated stakeholders. The story of Mumbai's Metro 3, is not different.

The Statue of Unity in Gujarat, the Aarey Forest Metro Car Shed (Mumbai), the three-capital proposal of Andhra Pradesh, the Farm Laws Repeal, Article 370 and Goa Mining Ban only underscore the frequent shifts in policy when rival parties assume power, often leaving the projects in limbo and leading to escalating costs and heartburns. The effects range from economic disruptions to loss of public trust, with each example reinforcing the need for stability and continuity in state policy, especially on large-scale initiatives impacting millions of citizens. But trust deficit means little to parties blinded with political gains and brownie points.

Projects like the Dharavi Redevelopment take hits from such flip flops that are purely meant to show needless one-upmanship. There is little thought for the implications this would have for residents living there in challenging conditions. For years, Dharavi's residents have looked to redevelopment as a pathway to improved housing and sanitation, job opportunities, and enhanced living standards. If halted, the delay would extend the community's struggles, keep them languishing in deteriorating conditions, and shaking their faith in government promises, which in any case, are taken with a bagful of salt. Dharavi, as it were, should not have been allowed to happen in the first place but the federal governance in India has always been about first allowing a problem to grow and then resolve it for seeking political gains.

Political leaders never tire of shouting hoarse about poverty in the country. Chest beating for the have-nots has now outlived its utility as a political rhetoric, and yet, this spools plays regularly. Nobody is even amused anymore. Beyond this political recreation, such policy reversals have severe financial implications. For those who couldn't care this way or that, the loss is finally recovered from them. 

Projects like the Dharavi Redevelopment involve years of painstaking planning, tendering processes, and substantial investments in preparatory work. When a new government decides to halt or reverse these projects, these sunk costs -- money spent without producing a tangible result -- add up. Not only the public bears these losses, the state also diverts resources from potentially productive projects.

In Maharashtra, significant resources were directed towards major infrastructure projects like the Mumbai Metro, Coastal Road, and regional economic hubs. Political promises to put on hold, halt, scale back such initiatives -- often to align with ideological or populist positions -- disrupt their envisioned benefits. The state loses both direct financial investments and the potential long-term revenue and growth these projects are meant to generate.

The key question is whether these policy reversals serve any larger ideological purpose. While some policy shift reflect genuine ideological differences, many reversals are driven by political motives to serve the interests of a particular class of people or constituency. The Dharavi Project, for instance, is less about ideology and more of a politically symbolic gesture -- asserting that the new regime can and will undo its rivals' work. Adani or what is often bandied as "crony capitalism" is just a front. 

This political manoeuvring comes at a high price -- not just financially but also in terms of continuity and stability. The administrative machinery, which spends months if not years planning and implementing projects, is thrown into disarray when new governments rewrite policy plans. 

Such a "do and undo" cycle also adversely impacts investor and public confidence. Consistent policy changes make it challenging for investors and tax-payers (read citizens), especially in real estate, manufacturing and infrastructure, to trust long-term commitments. If foreign investors and development partners feel uncertain about project stability, they may hesitate to commit capital to projects that could be terminated based on electoral outcomes. Moreover, this cycle restricts bureaucratic progress, diverting attention from growth-centric policies. Bureaucrats, unable to rely on continuity, tend to become wary in decision-making. It shifts their focus to adopting short-term safe policies over long-term, transformative initiatives.

For a so called "progressive and Numero Uno" Maharashtra to emerge from the "do and undo" trap, a bipartisan approach to major policy decisions could be a step forward. Instituting bipartisan committees to vet large infrastructure projects before they commence, or establishing special legislative approvals for major reversals, could introduce checks on politically motivated policy reversals. Additionally, involving citizen advisory boards and local representatives in decision-making can create a direct connection between policy decisions and public sentiment. This could ensure that the people's needs are prioritized over political gains. The moot point is can this happen in a country where larger public interests are sacrificed for myopic political gains?

Maharashtra with its rich history and vast economic ambitions, cannot afford to allow its growth trajectory to be dictated by cyclical political rivalries. But can collaborative governance ever happen in a country where petty rivalries divide and rule hapless citizens?

Pawar Play: The art of saying goodbye without leaving

Raju Korti
I first bumped into Sharad Pawar way back in 1975 in Sangli when I was pursuing my second year in Engineering. I was 19, and he at 34 was emerging as a promising young politician under the tutelage of the astute Yashwantrao Chavan. In the prosperous Western Maharashtra belt, powered by its cooperative movement and influential agrarian leaders, Pawar appeared as a face of a new era -- a striking figure in Ray Ban sunglasses and blue jeans, carrying a dash of flair and a fairly impressive knowledge of Marathi Literature. As the years passed, he evolved effortlessly into a shrewd leader with an uncanny ability to attract the masses. Yet, his early image of youthful dynamism gradually gave way to a reputation for strategic cunning and complex political manoeuvring that would become his hallmark.

As the young man in his stylish avtaar walked with a confident gait and an assured demeanour, I could see he was markedly different from the seniors in his league -- Sangli's sugar baron Vasant Dada Patil, Walve's sugar baron Rajarambapu Patil and Shirol's Ratnappa Kumbhar. But little did I have an inkling that he would leave them all behind one day -- for good and bad reasons. 

This rather longish preamble of history is necessitated in the view of what I have to write about him today, although those who have seen him all these years, would see through him and his penchant for political machinations, as nothing surprising. The 83-year-old Nationalist Congress Party leader today hinted at retirement from active politics, stating that he may not contest future elections. He expressed his intentions to pass on the party baton -- particularly the progress of Baramati -- to his successor Yugendra Pawar. Speculations over Pawar's final innings in electoral politics have been circulating for some time now, and was raked up again by nephew Ajit Pawar.  

The Pawar Vs Pawar fight for Baramati might be seen as a referendum on Sharad Pawar's continuing influence over voters, as it sees his grandnephew Yugendra Pawar, do a battle against nephew Ajit Pawar whose rebellion forced a split in NCP. The fact, however, is it is not about his fighting further electoral battles but about his leadership. His hint of stepping away from active politics after his current Rajya Sabha term sparks questions about the authenticity of his statement, especially given his past record of unpredictability in critical political moments. All along, he has skilfully pivoted on similar retirement pronouncements before, keeping both allies and adversaries on the edge and guessing. 

Pawar's narrative of passing the torch to younger leaders, specifically positioning Yugendra Pawar for Baramati, could well be another strategic move to rally his support base amid the purported family rift triggered by Ajit Pawar. Remember, the stories of the nephew being planted in the Devendra Fadnavis' camp during the early morning swear-in and how he (the nephew) pulled the rug from under Fadnavis' feet and returned to his party fold before the incumbent chief minister had even managed to rub his sleep-deprived eyes.

Pawar's political conduct is such that people are forced to read something into it even when there is none. The timing of Pawar's statement to bow out of active politics coinciding with Ajit's defection and the upcoming assembly elections, raises a legitimate talking point: Is this a genuine exit or yet another tactic to consolidate the NCP's legacy under his proxy successors. Better still, another ploy to throw dust in the eyes of his adversaries; always unable to read his wrong 'uns.

It would not be altogether surprising that given his past hints, his retirement announcements might be a calculated manoeuvre to command greater authority over his party's trajectory. His refusal to retire during the 2023 NCP split, when he famously declared "Na tired hu, na retired hu", displayed a characteristic resistance to being sidelined -- especially by familial dissenters. When he announced his resignation as party chief last year, it was retracted as swiftly, illustrated his penchant for leaving his audience guessing.

In that light, Pawar's latest remarks could well serve his intentions of killing several birds with one stone: appeasing for generational leadership change, asserting his influence within the NCP amid Ajit Pawar's blow-hot-blow-cold power play, and perhaps most importantly, creating space for his allies without formally stepping down. The political chessboard he has crafted shows he has mastered the art of remaining in the game, even if he hints otherwise.

In politics, retirement is less a final act and more of a recurring plot twist. So, as Pawar hints at his last bow, there is every reason to surmise that it could be just another intermission before the next act. After all, in the grand theater of Sharad Pawar's career, curtains quite never close. They just get dramatically drawn back. Come rain or no rain.