Wobbly Centre? Only on Paper

Politics in India is theatre — sometimes tragic, often absurd, and occasionally hilarious. Lies masquerade as truth, truth stands blinking, and the audience — the electorate — just watches. We like to think power is fragile. It is not. Power is iron, and only those who can hold onto it without flinching survive. Narendra Modi has done just that. The opposition? They are still fumbling with the instruction manual.

Everyone loves to declare, "The Modi government can fall." Sure, if you ignore reality. Nitish Kumar and N Chandrababu Naidu can scream, cajole, and haggle all they like, but even if they manage to topple the government, forming an alternative is another story — a nightmare of incompatible egos, fractured mandates, and endless horse-trading. The numbers may add up on paper, but governing? That’s a circus they can’t run. This is why Modi doesn’t break a sweat: the opposition can threaten, but they cannot deliver. Their incapacity is his armor.

Take Bihar — land of cunning, chaos, and calculators masquerading as politicians. Nitish Kumar has perfected the art of self-inflicted wounds. Every "no" he uttered to Modi — in 2013, 2014, 2018 — ironically strengthened Modi. Sometimes refusing someone is more empowering than agreeing. Nitish has been his own worst enemy and yet keeps returning to the arena, bruised but unbowed. And Naidu? The man has turned "exit and re-enter" into a political ballet, leaving Modi the patient maestro of the field.

The stark truth about Bihar politics: no one truly wants to fight. The field is empty. The election becomes easy because the opponent is half-hearted. Cricket offers a perfect metaphor: if the bowlers are generous, stay at the crease. Don’t fancy hitting sixes; let the game come to you. Modi has played this patiently, while the opposition keeps tripping over its shoelaces.

And then there is Modi’s Ashwamedh — a campaign that asserts presence rather than grabs land. His message is simple: stay calm, mind your business, hold your ground. Step forward when the opposition barks, and victory often comes without swinging a sword. Meanwhile, the opposition ponders, debates, theorizes, and wonders why Modi is strong, all the while standing in the shadows.

The opposition is like a pack of yapping dogs: lots of noise, little bite. They sniff, they bark, they threaten — but the one who stands firm, the one with patience and strategy, wins. Modi’s game is simple: hold, persist, and let them exhaust themselves. And exhaust they do, spectacularly.

This is why the government continues, why stability is its hallmark, and why 2024, 2025, or any year thereafter matters less than the skill of the players on the field. Truth may be troubled, but it is rarely defeated. Modi has mastered this lesson. Opposition leaders continue to expose themselves: cowardice, confusion, and indecision, over and over. In today’s India, politics is not about noise or theatrics; it is about controlling the field. And that, so far, remains Modi’s unbeatable game.

The lesson for the opposition is painfully simple: show up, stay in the arena, and fight. Otherwise, all the strategizing in the world is like a politician running around in circles while Modi sits calmly, letting the pack exhaust itself. Bihar may be chaotic, Nitish may fumble, and Naidu may pirouette, but the man who understands the field, the people, and patience, always wins.

In the theatre of Indian politics, Modi has not just survived; he has choreographed the play. The opposition is still rehearsing.