By Nanditha Subhadra
In the sweltering political kitchen of Kerala, where Congress just won a golden ticket after years of wandering the wilderness like Moses with a faulty GPS, the high command has decided the perfect response: radio silence. Absolute, majestic, Oscar-worthy silence. While three heavyweights—K.C. Venugopal, Ramesh Chennithala, and V.D. Satheesan—engage in a gladiatorial cage match for the Chief Minister’s chair, Delhi’s wise sages are busy… meditating? Counting paper clips? Perfecting the ancient art of doing precisely nothing?
This is peak Congress. Voters handed them an astounding mandate on a platter garnished with optimism and anti-incumbency spice. Any normal party would have declared a CM before the ballot ink dried. But this is Rahul Gandhi’s Congress—where even simple decisions require a pilgrimage, multiple consultations with astrologers, and perhaps a unanimous resolution from the universe itself.
Rahul, the eternal Modi-slayer, the man who spares no opportunity to paint the Prime Minister as the root of all evil, suddenly develops acute decision-making paralysis when it comes to his own backyard. The same leader who delivers fiery speeches about “saving democracy” from authoritarian dragons can’t pick one leader from three in a state he supposedly cherishes. Is he too busy drafting his next “Bharat Jodo” sequel? Or is he simply polishing that world-famous shrug-and-smile combo that has become his signature move? “Modi ji is destroying institutions!” he thunders. Yet here we are, watching institutions of governance in Kerala rot in indecision while the high command sips filter coffee and watches the circus.
Enter the family reinforcement: Priyanka Gandhi Vadra, the shiny new MP from Wayanad. One expected her to swoop in like a Bollywood deus ex machina, drop a decisive word, tweet something inspirational, or at least pose dramatically with a coconut. Instead? Crickets. Strategic invisibility at its finest. The Gandhis have elevated “high command” to a Zen state where inaction becomes action, and silence becomes profound wisdom. In reality, it just smells like fear of annoying one faction or the other.
The provided input captures it perfectly: grown men clawing at each other like contestants on a particularly vicious season of Bigg Boss, while Delhi binge-watches with popcorn. Neutral voters who actually swung the verdict are now regretting their life choices. “We voted for change,” they whisper, “not a never-ending CM audition.” At this pace, by the time Congress crowns its leader with appropriate fanfare and three rounds of internal surveys, Pinarayi Vijayan’s LDF will have renamed every road in the state after themselves using Congress’s mandate as the construction material.
This isn’t leadership; it’s a telenovela written by overcaffeinated scriptwriters on strike. A decade in the opposition wilderness, a miraculous revival in Kerala, and still the party proves it suffers from chronic allergy to power. Rahul’s constant Modi-bashing now rings hollower than an empty campaign promise. Attacking the man in Delhi with theatrical outrage is easy when microphones are on and crowds are cheering. Making a basic administrative call in your own stronghold? Apparently requires divine intervention, multiple WhatsApp groups, and possibly a unanimous vote from every regional satrap in the country.
The man without a spine when it actually matters has once again proved he’s a joker in the deck—flashy when attacking opponents, comically limp when exercising authority. Congress’s legendary talent for dithering isn’t a bug; it’s the core operating system. Who needs governance when you can master the noble art of procrastination? Kerala sits waiting with bated breath, or perhaps that’s just the collective yawn emanating from the high command’s chambers.
Bravo, Rahul ji. In a country starving for decisive action, you’ve turned opportunity into farce yet again. The voters gave you the stage. Instead of performing, you’re still deciding which costume to wear. The curtain is up, the audience is restless, and the only thing missing is a clown horn to perfectly soundtrack this spectacle. At this rate, even the LDF must be sending thank-you cards.
