"High spirits in the House of Udta Jhoomta Punjab"

Raju Korti
The latest stir inside the Punjab Legislative Assembly had less to do with legislative heft and more with olfactory speculation. The Opposition, led by the Indian National Congress, claimed that Punjab Chief Minister Bhagwant Mann addressed the House “drunk”, turning what should have been a sober exchange into a heady controversy. Mann, never one to shy away from theatrics, found himself at the centre of a debate where the proof, as they say, was not in the pudding but allegedly in the breath. The Assembly, usually echoing with policy arguments, briefly resembled a courtroom of whispers, winks, and raised eyebrows.

Mann (Wikipedia grab)

Yet, in a political culture that often thrives on exaggeration, the episode also revealed the Opposition’s flair for dramatic timing and the ruling side’s studied nonchalance. If governance is serious business, Punjab’s politicians reminded us that it is also, occasionally, comic theatre. Whether the charge holds water or evaporates like a fleeting scent, the incident has already added another anecdote to Mann’s colourful public persona, where the line between satire and statesmanship is, at times, delightfully blurred.

Thereafter, as a reminder of how enduring some impressions can be, I had written this on a blog on Mann on January 19, 2022: One must hand it to the propensity of the Aam Aadmi Party in choosing candidates that do full justice to the party's label. Going by that yardstick, its CM's face in Punjab, Bhagwant Singh Mann has to be the 'Aamest" of them all. I am presuming readers have caught on to the superlative degree. Mann's credentials are such that any journalist will give his right hand to write the man's colourful profile.

The 48-year-old MP from Punjab's Sangrur the same place from where the signatory to the historic Punjab accord, Akali Dal President late Harchand Singh Longowal hailed; has been making waves with videos that show him inebriated in the jostling crowds. Even as he is seen talking, his face flushed red, he is being held in place by supportive partymen.

There is a considerable outrage in certain quarters of Punjab that an "alcoholic" is being projected as CM's face. That too in a state that has already acquired notoriety for rampant drug abuse. Now we all know that an "alcoholic" is a sober version of the cruder "drunkard". But Sardar Bhagwant Mann dismisses all such ungenerous talk and is least bothered about the dubious reputation that precedes him.

The man has made it to the record books by arriving in the parliament drunk. It is a measure of his popularity that he still is a crowd puller with the theatrics that he used so effectively as contestant of a Laughter Show, incidentally hosted by another Sardar, Navjot Singh Sidhu. The comedy forum was fine but in the august House he clearly looked like a square peg in a round hole, if you forgive my penchant for some cheap pun. Bhagwant Singh Mann has earned the sobriquet "Pegwant Singh Mann" not for nothing.

I have no idea what is Mann's preferred brand and whether he goes for the country-made stuff or the imported one, but in 2019, Mann had reportedly promised not to touch alcohol again. Apparently, he reneged on that. Confronted by some snouty journalists about getting back to his drinking habits, Mann had a classic reply that would do any pulp film-maker proud: "At least I don't drink people's blood." Taking his justification forward, he also retorted that "no one is perfect. Look at the Congress CM. He sits with his Pakistani women friends and says cheers.

"You can't, of course, hold it against Mann for his indulgence. That may not have to do anything with his skills as a politician. I know many politicians who enjoy a drink. I particularly recall one 75-year-old politician from Maharashtra (now no more) who could down a full bottle of Scotch and still stand ramrod straight and speak minus the lisp that comes with it. Comparatively, Mann might be still learning to hold his glass.

To be even more fair to Mann, he has a number of cassettes even before the advent of digital and video era, and has hosted several satirical shows. The reason why AAP leadership dithered long before naming him as the CM face was because of its inability to find an alternative. The party, I suspect, was sort of pushed to an expedient corner with Mann winning elections consecutively in 2014 and 2019. Besides, Mann emerged as the majority choice in a phone-in poll conducted by the party.

As an aside it would be pertinent to recall the first two lines of a song tuned a few years back by one of the greatest composers of this century, Himesh Reshammiya. It is for you to decide whether the lines are chivalrous or uncharitable about the Punjabis. The lines say that after sunset, it is risky to toast the Punjabis with a glass in their hand as they tend to veer out of control. The lines run thus:
ओ ना पिलाना पंजाबियो को नाप तोल के
सूर्य अस्त, पंजाबी मस्त.

Mann calls himself a social drinker that many assert gives drinking an elite status. I am hoping that he does become the chief minister without giving up on any of the traits that make him so uncommonly common. It is worth the fun. AAP's pride will be people's envy.

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The unquiet prospect of a refugee tide into Bangladesh!

Raju Korti
I find myself looking at the unfolding West Bengal assembly elections with a sense of déjà vu, layered with unease. Elections in India are often intense, but this one feels distinctly more turbulent, almost existential. For Mamata Banerjee and her Trinamool Congress, the stakes are nothing short of political survival. For the Bharatiya Janata Party, it is an opportunity to breach what has long been a formidable bastion. Exit polls, as always, speak in discordant voices, yet there is a perceptible suggestion of a churn, even a possible upheaval.

The exodus after 1971 war (file grab)

What concerns me is not merely who forms the government in Kolkata, but the chain reaction such a verdict could set off beyond India’s borders. For decades, West Bengal has been both a destination and a transit point for migrants from Bangladesh. Estimates have varied widely, often coloured by political interpretation, but even conservative assessments suggest that several million undocumented Bangladeshi migrants reside in the state. Some figures place this number between 3 million and 10 million, though precise data remains elusive due to the very nature of undocumented migration.

If a new political dispensation were to pursue a stringent policy of identification and deportation, the implications would be immediate and profound. A reverse migration of even a fraction of these numbers would place extraordinary pressure on Bangladesh, particularly Dhaka. This is a country already grappling with economic headwinds, currency stress, and periodic political unrest. Its population density is among the highest in the world, exceeding 1,200 people per square kilometre. Urban centres are stretched, infrastructure is fragile, and employment generation struggles to keep pace with demographic realities.

To suddenly absorb a large influx of returnees, many of whom may have lived in India for years or even decades, would not merely be an administrative challenge. It would be a humanitarian, economic, and political test of considerable magnitude. Housing, employment, healthcare, and social integration would all come under strain. The spectre of informal settlements expanding around Dhaka and other cities is not difficult to imagine. Nor is the potential for social friction, particularly if returnees are perceived as outsiders in their own country.

At moments like this, history offers both perspective and caution. In 1971, during the Bangladesh Liberation War, India received an estimated 10 million refugees fleeing violence in what was then East Pakistan. States like West Bengal, Assam, and Tripura bore the brunt of this influx. India, despite its own economic limitations at the time, opened its borders and treated these refugees as guests. Camps were set up, international assistance was mobilised, and an enormous humanitarian effort was undertaken. The strain was immense, but it was managed with a combination of political will and societal resilience.

The parallel is not exact, but it is instructive. Then, India was the recipient of a refugee tide driven by conflict. Today, Bangladesh could potentially face an inward surge driven by policy enforcement across the border. The difference lies in preparedness and context. India in 1971 had the moral clarity of a humanitarian crisis unfolding next door. Bangladesh today would be dealing with a more complex situation involving identity, legality, and economic capacity.

Yet, it would be simplistic to assume that such a scenario is inevitable. Deportation at this scale is not merely a political decision. It requires legal processes, bilateral coordination, and verification mechanisms that are often painstakingly slow. Questions of documentation, proof of origin, and human rights obligations complicate any mass exercise. Even if the political intent is strong, the administrative execution is likely to be gradual and contested.

There is also the alternative scenario. If the Trinamool Congress retains power, the status quo may largely persist. Migration, both legal and undocumented, would continue to be managed in the ambiguous space it has occupied for years. Demographic shifts would remain a subject of political debate rather than immediate policy action. For Bangladesh, this would mean avoiding a sudden shock, though the underlying issues of cross-border movement would remain unresolved.

Between these two possibilities lies a spectrum of outcomes, each carrying its own implications. What is clear to me is that migration in this region cannot be viewed through a narrow electoral lens. It is deeply entwined with history, geography, economics, and human aspiration. Any abrupt attempt to redraw these patterns risks triggering consequences that extend far beyond the immediate political moment.

As I reflect on this, I am struck by the irony of borders that once opened to receive millions in a time of crisis potentially becoming conduits of return under very different circumstances. The subcontinent has lived through the upheavals of partition, war, and displacement. It has also demonstrated an ability to absorb and adapt. The question now is whether that collective memory will guide a measured approach, or whether the pressures of contemporary politics will push the region into another phase of uncertainty.The answer, perhaps, will not emerge from the ballot boxes alone. It will depend on how responsibly power is exercised once the votes are counted.