Advisory to Cong: Commentators Don’t Win Matches

The voter did not shout. He did not wave a flag or threaten rebellion. He merely shrugged and said, with devastating politeness: you have nothing to give us, and we don’t even have a vote to give you.

That single sentence explains the #Maharashtra local body elections better than a hundred panel discussions.

There was nothing dramatic about the outcome. No shock, no mystery, no hidden hand. It happened the way predictable things happen—slowly, quietly, and then conclusively. Twelve or thirteen months ago, the Assembly election had already rehearsed this script. The same style of politics was put on display again, and it produced the same verdict.

Across 288 local bodies—246 municipal councils and 42 nagar panchayats—the story repeated itself with mechanical regularity. The ruling Mahayuti alliance of the BJP, Eknath Shinde’s Shiv Sena, and Ajit Pawar’s NCP walked away with around 207 bodies. Counting may finish, figures may be rounded off, but the direction is irreversible. The BJP alone emerged as the largest force with about 117 victories. Shinde’s Shiv Sena secured close to 53, and Ajit Pawar’s NCP around 37.

The opposition Maha Vikas Aghadi, by contrast, was reduced to a footnote with roughly 44 bodies. Congress accounted for 28 of these, Uddhav Thackeray’s Shiv Sena managed nine, and Sharad Pawar’s NCP another seven. Other bodies went to others. Numbers, when laid out plainly, can be cruelly eloquent.

But the real story was not written in arithmetic. It was written in absence.

In hundreds of small towns and municipal wards, opposition leadership was conspicuous by its invisibility. No serious ground campaign, no sustained local meetings, no attempt to explain how these municipalities would actually be run. Politics was outsourced to television studios, YouTube channels, and loyal commentators who mistook volume for vigour.

On the ground, meanwhile, the ruling alliance did what Indian elections have always rewarded. They travelled. They met candidates. They attended forgettable meetings about drains, water supply, streetlights, and garbage. It was not glamorous, but it was tangible. In local body elections, ideology matters less than familiarity. The voter wants to know who will pick up the phone when the gutter overflows.

Instead of this dull labour, the opposition offered a slogan: the Thackeray brand. It was repeated so often that it began to sound like a solution in itself. Marketing was aggressive. The trouble was that marketing arrived without a product. When voters went looking, they found no clear municipal agenda, no visible leadership at the ward level, no sense of urgency.

Advertising can create curiosity. It cannot compensate for an empty shop.

At some point, even sympathy has limits. When a leader effectively signals that he has little to offer, the voter is entitled to reply in the same language. This election was not stolen. It was refused. The voter did not feel cheated; he felt unconvinced.

The numbers merely underlined that mood. In many of the places where the opposition did win, victories came not on party strength but on personal equations—local individuals with roots in the community. Party labels mattered far less there. By contrast, the ruling alliance converted organisation into scale. Their councillor count is estimated to be nearly three-fourths of the total seats contested, leaving the opposition with barely a fifth.

The familiar excuses followed, as they always do. EVMs were blamed. Voter lists were questioned. Money was alleged. These explanations have become a ritual, offering emotional relief without intellectual honesty. They explain everything except the central fact: voters did not feel a reason to vote for you.

A Marathi commentator captured it neatly. This was not Panipat. At Panipat, the Marathas fought and lost. Here, the leaders did not fight at all. Candidates were effectively told: if you want to contest, do it yourself. The party will cheer from a distance.

Media, especially regional media, then searched for a culprit and settled on the most visible face - Uddhav Thackeray. But it is difficult to blame someone for losing a match he never played. You cannot lose elections from your living room. You can only surrender them.

What makes these results instructive rather than tragic is their simplicity. The ruling alliance did not rely on passion or outrage. It relied on arithmetic, organisation, and the unromantic discipline of showing up. Their internal contests were managed, not denied. Strategy was stated openly: fight separately where needed, unite after results, ensure numerical dominance.

The opposition mistook this openness for chaos and paid the price.

The voter, so often described as emotional or misled, behaved with cold clarity. He weighed what was offered and found it insufficient. He did not demand miracles. He demanded effort.

Elections, like cricket, are unforgiving to spectators. Commentators do not win matches. Television debates do not fix potholes. You must bat, bowl, field, and accept the risk of failure.

The lesson of the Maharashtra local body elections is neither ideological nor moral. It is practical, almost boring. Power does not vanish. It simply moves towards those who bother to come out, stand in the dust, and claim it.