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🖋️ From The Desk of Abhijeet Rane

  • dhadakkamgarunion0
  • Nov 10
  • 3 min read

🖋️ From The Desk of Abhijeet Rane

“If anything happens to Parth Pawar, assume the state government has fallen" is a clear, though thinly veiled, response to the Chief Minister's 'no one will be saved' remark regarding the Mundhwa land scam. This is a classic political bluff. The threat, however, is hollow. Even if action is taken against Parth Pawar and Ajit Pawar's NCP exits the 'Mahayuti' (Grand Alliance), Eknath Shinde's Shiv Sena will ensure the government's survival. Furthermore, Ajit Pawar rejoining the MVA (Maha Vikas Aghadi) wouldn't give them the requisite 145 seats, rendering the move pointless for both MVA and the NCP. This scenario highlights the strategic brilliance of Devendra Fadnavis. It explains why he brought Ajit Pawar's party into the alliance despite having sufficient numbers with Shinde's Sena. The current equation is deliberately structured for stability, leaving both Sharad Pawar and the Congress High Command strategically sidelined and frustrated. The ruling coalition leaders are clearly playing a smarter, long-term game.

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🖋️ From The Desk of Abhijeet Rane,

A Tale of Two Signals. In Siliguri, West Bengal, a momentary lapse at a traffic signal led to a gentle reminder, not a fine. The officers checked documents, explained the rules, and sent me off with warmth and respect. Contrast this with Maharashtra, where even a blink at a red light can trigger a fine frenzy. Here, traffic cops often act less like guides and more like toll collectors, armed with e-challan apps and zero empathy. Full documentation? Doesn’t matter. Courtesy? Rare. The difference is striking—one state treats citizens as humans capable of error, the other as walking wallets. If Bengal’s traffic police can uphold the law with dignity and dialogue, why does Maharashtra’s enforcement feel like a transaction booth? Reform isn’t about leniency—it’s about humanity.

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🖋️ From The Desk of Abhijeet Rane

Of Illness, Integrity, and Irony. When Manohar Parrikar, then Chief Minister of Goa, battled terminal illness, he chose duty over rest—attending office with tubes in his nose and resolve in his eyes. At that time, Sanjay Raut mocked the state’s condition, demanding Goa be declared “politically ill.” Today, irony knocks as Raut himself lies hospitalized with a rare ailment. Yet, Prime Minister Modi, setting aside political bitterness, sends him heartfelt wishes for recovery. That’s the difference between statesmanship and spite, between cultured restraint and performative outrage. True leadership isn’t measured by party lines but by grace in adversity. While some weaponize illness for headlines, others respond with humanity. In the end, it’s not just about health—it’s about the health of our character. And some, it seems, still test positive for dignity.

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🖋️ From The Desk of Abhijeet Rane

Rane’s Mahabharata in Konkan. In the political theatre of Konkan, the Kauravas aren’t myth—they’re multiplying. As factions dream of power, one strategist stands tall: Narayan Rane, the Krishna of coastal politics. Where Rane walks, victory follows. Yet, as Shiv Sena’s twin avatars flirt with unity under “Shahar Vikas Aghadi,” Rane’s fury erupts. His disdain for Rajan Teli and the Shinde camp is no secret—he sees them as discarded pawns, not worthy allies. With sons Nitesh and Nilesh on opposing fronts, the stage is set for a full-blown Dashavatara. Since 1997, Rane’s grip on Sindhudurg remains unshaken, his brand etched into the soil. But in this epic, even Krishna must choose which Pandava to guide—and how many colors to paint on the masks of ambition. Politics here isn’t just strategy—it’s mythology in motion.

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🖋️ From The Desk of Abhijeet Rane

The Divine Lords of Cricketdom. In an alternate universe, cricket wasn’t invented in England—it was whispered into existence by Sharad Pawar atop Mount Wankhede, while Rajeev Shukla descended with eleven World Cups tucked under his arm. Kapil Dev? Just a myth propagated by bat-wielding colonizers and their saffron-tinted scribes. Rahul Gandhi, the oracle of misplaced metaphors, declared Jay Shah couldn’t hold a bat—yet somehow holds the entire sport hostage. Meanwhile, Maharashtra’s double-horse cavalry gallops behind him, neighing in approval. Tendulkar? A third-grade impostor, say the enlightened ones, who believe Don Bradman once begged Pawar for batting tips. And as the Congress reels out clips like cricketing scripture, the true gods of the game remain buried beneath layers of nationalist propaganda and Manuwadi mischief. Ah, the glorious absurdity of political cricket—where satire bowls a perfect yorker every time.

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