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Back in the politically charged 1980s, a young, firebrand student leader
roared through the dusty lanes of Sambalpur. His name? Suresh Pujari. His
enemy? The Marwari businessman, symbolic of a so-called capitalist stranglehold
on the local economy. His weapon? The loud, defiant slogan—“Marwari hatao,
Odisha bachao!”
It was the age of campus revolutions, the era when ideology was worn like a
badge of honour and not merely as a selfie filter. Pujari, then a spirited
voice of the youth, rallied against what he called the monopolisation of trade,
power, and influence by a select few merchant families. The speeches were
fiery, the marches intense, and the slogans dramatic enough to make Che Guevara
smirk from his grave.
But that was yesterday.
Fast forward to today, and behold the same Suresh Pujari, now swearing in
as Odisha’s Revenue Minister under the saffron flag of political pragmatism.
And guess who’s applauding from the front rows? The very same Marwari
businessmen, now partners in progress, co-hosts in investor summits, and
co-drafters of "Vision Odisha 2030". Oh, how the slogans have aged —
from revolution to resolution, from boycott to bhai-saheb, and
from resistance to ribbon-cutting.
One might call this political maturity. After all, governance demands
diplomacy, economic pragmatism, and yes — friendly ties with the business
community. But when a man makes a U-turn so spectacular that it leaves his own
ideology behind like a torn protest banner, the public deserves more than
silence. They deserve a footnote, if not a full confession.
Suresh Pujari’s transformation is not just personal — it is emblematic of a
wider phenomenon where rebellion is not crushed, but cleverly accommodated.
Once a voice for the marginalised, he is now a polished spokesperson for “ease
of doing business.” The rebel has become the receptionist. The crusader now
manages the accounts.
To be fair, Pujari is not alone. Indian politics is a museum of ideological
conversions. From firebrand leftists who now host Ambani’s sons at weddings to
Dalit leaders who quote Adam Smith in Parliament, transformation is no longer
news—it is the very nature of the beast. But what makes Pujari’s case uniquely
ironic is the unapologetic manner in which he has embraced the same ecosystem
he once vilified.
In the corridors of Bhubaneswar’s Secretariat, murmurs are rife. “He’s only
doing what’s needed for Odisha’s development,” some say. Others shrug and add,
“Who else will bring in the money if not the Marwaris?” True. But that begs the
question—was it development he was protesting against in the first place? Or
was it exclusion? Monopoly? Exploitation?
Pujari, had he retained a sliver of that student fire, could have carved a
new path — one that engaged with capital but without losing sight of justice
and equity. But alas, the man who once marched barefoot in student rallies now
walks carefully-polished corridors, escorted by industrialists offering CSR
brochures and MoU drafts.
This isn't just about hypocrisy; it's about the erosion of memory.
Political history, especially in Odisha, has rarely been kind to those who
stood on principles. But to see those principles traded at the altar of
convenience is to witness not evolution, but erosion.
Kuldip Nayar would have likely asked: “Where is the line between change and
compromise?” Khushwant Singh would have chuckled and remarked, “The only
ideology that survives in politics is the ideology of power.” Between the two
lies the tragicomedy of Indian democracy — and the curious case of Suresh
Pujari.
One can still picture the younger Pujari — sleeves rolled up, eyes burning
with ambition, chanting slogans against capitalist encroachment in front of
Marwari-owned shops. Today, the same hands are busy signing land lease
documents and chairing business conclaves, where the keynote address begins
with, “We welcome our Marwari brothers who have contributed immensely to
Odisha’s economy.”
Of course, people change. Contexts change. The economy, too, demands new
frameworks. But what doesn’t change — or at least shouldn’t — is the soul of
public service. When revolts become resumé points, and slogans become stepping
stones, we are no longer building a democracy. We are curating a theatre.
The story of Suresh Pujari should be taught in political science classes —
not as a lesson in betrayal, but as a cautionary tale in ideological drift. It
shows how political careers are often less about transformation and more about
transaction. Where once there was a barricade, now there’s a banquet.
And while the Minister might sleep soundly on starched bedsheets in his
Lutyens-style Bhubaneswar bungalow, one wonders if the ghost of that old
Sambalpur student ever knocks at night, asking:
"Did the revolution lose its way… or did you change the map?"
The question lingers — unanswered, perhaps deliberately — in the corridors
of power.
[Author’s Note]
Siddhartha Shankar Mishra is an Advocate at the Supreme Court of India and
writes on law, politics, and society. He can be reached at ssmishra33@gmail.com.
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