🎭 Political Theatre | Karur stampede raises questions on state’s crowd management; Sangh Parivar marks 100 years with coin and stamp

Dearest Readers, the stage of politics is never without its grand performances, and the past sennight has presented a striking sequence of dramas. From the tragic stampede in Karur that cast a shadow over Vijay's star-lit ambitions, to the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh’s century-long march into history—commemorated with coins and controversies alike—India has had no shortage of drama. Karnataka's corridors whisper of succession plots, Ladakh’s icy winds now carry the chill of broken trust, while across the oceans, Washington reels under yet another government shutdown, with Donald Trump playing both ringmaster and storyteller in equal measure.

In these pages, dear readers, we shall unravel these tales, each a thread of power, pride, and peril, stitched together in a tapestry where tragedy and theatre walk hand in hand. So sharpen your gaze, for in this stage of politics, as in society, appearances are everything—yet truth is often the guest least welcome at the banquet.

Act I: Much ado about Karur - When stardom turned tragic

Adoration, when left unchecked can be as dangerous as hatred. In Karur, it proved dreadful, churning forty-one lives.

When Vijay, the star who traded cinema screens for political daises, held a rally, the gathering was less a campaign and more a carnival. His Tamiliga Vettei Kazhagam (TVK) issues instructions ahead of every event - do not scale trees, do not cling to lampposts, do not tail the leader's bus. His supporters, brimming with devotion, arrived not as citizens but as fans. And therein lies the tragedy - what should have been a disciplined crowd became a stampede waiting to happen.

On that evening, Vijay arrived four hours late, his bus shrouded in darkness as if anticipation were a viable substitute for timeliness. Instead of soothing the gathering, the gesture drew them in like moths to a dimly lit flame. A branch snapped under the weight of viewers, causing panic and pandemonium to spread throughout the assembly. Politics, not spectacle, nor policy, but personality, claimed lives.

Critics contend, with some justification, that Vijay has failed to mold his followers into responsible cadres. He likes their enthusiasm but does not temper it. He wonders why limitations disproportionately affect his party, but he never asks himself why his followers frequently breach the boundary between allegiance and lawlessness. Even after Karur, there was little more than silence — two token posts on social media, compensation announced, but no genuine outreach to grieving families. A leader’s worth, after all, is not in the size of his audience but in the weight of his response.

Act II: A coin for your thoughts – RSS at 100 and the currency of commemoration

A century is no small feat, whether for kingdoms, dynasties or for the Sangh parivar. The Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), having crossed this milestone, has chosen a mark it not merely with speeches and ceremonies but with coin and stamp — currency as commemoration, and symbol as spectacle.

Prime Minister Narendra Modi himself unveiled the centenary tributes: a postage stamp and a Rs 100 coin, each bearing the image of Bharat Mata in regal splendour, flanked by a lion and bowing swayamsevaks. Rare indeed is the moment when devotion, politics and numismatics meet upon the same stage. “For the first time’, declared the PM, “the Mother of the Nation graces our coinage.” One could almost hear the rustle of history taking its seat in the gallery.

Many leaders including Tamil Nadu CM M K Stalin expressed dissent condemning the release of special postage stamp and commemorative coin and said India should be rescued from the "pitiful state" of celebrating an organisation.

Yet, as in any theatre worth attending, applause was not unanimous. Former President Ram Nath Kovind, at Nagpur’s Vijayadashami gathering, chose to remind the audience that great figures — Gandhi and Ambedkar among them — had once admired the Sangh’s discipline and simplicity. His words lent weight to the centenary as more than ritual, a reminder of continuity across generations. Meanwhile, others in the political chorus raised voices of dissent, questioning whether such an honour was fitting. Thus the commemoration, like many a play, revealed both its admirers and its critics.

But for now let us set aside the strife and reminisce on the imagery itself. A coin, after all, is more than metal. It is rather a totem cast in alloy, destined to travel from hand to hand, silently declaring an image, a motto, a story. In this instance, the motto very literally etched upon it reads - “Rashtraya Swaha, Idam Rashtraya, Idam Na Mama” meaning - "everything is dedicated to the nation, everything is the nation's, nothing is mine". One might say it is less a motto than a soliloquy, and now a whispered vow captured in metal.

Act III: The stage of succession – Karnataka’s coronation whispers

Power, dear readers, is a crown both coveted and cursed. It glitters temptingly in the torchlight, yet weighs heavily upon the brow. And in Karnataka, whispers of succession echo through the corridors: who shall inherit the CM throne and when??

Chief Minister Siddaramaiah, ever the seasoned performer, assures his audience that he will complete the full five-act play of his tenure. “Why should I not offer flowers at Mysuru Dasara next year?” he muses, with the calm defiance of one who has outlived countless prophecies of downfall. Predictions, omens, even crows upon his car — none have yet managed to write him off the script.

Yet even as he steadies the crown, another figure waits in the wings. Deputy Chief Minister D K Shivakumar — loyal colleague, formidable organiser, and in the eyes of many supporters, the king-in-waiting. One og his admirers declared, swearing by divine witness, that Shivakumar would “definitely become Chief Minister, 200%.” Politics, after all, thrives on exaggeration as much as conviction.

Thus unfolds Karnataka’s quiet drama: Siddaramaiah, the reigning lead, intent on playing his role to the final curtain, and Shivakumar, the ambitious understudy, cheered on by a chorus growing louder by the season. But, as ever, the ultimate playwright is not in Bengaluru but Delhi — the Congress high command, whose quill will decide whether this tale remains in harmony or descends into rivalry.

For now, the Chief Minister smiles, the Deputy bows, and the audience waits with bated breath. The stage of succession is set, though the final act is yet unwritten.

Act IV: Cry, My beloved mountains – Ladakh’s winter of discontent

Mountains are meant to stand eternal — silent, steadfast, unyielding. Yet even the Himalayas have been made to echo with discontent. Ladakh, carved out of Jammu and Kashmir with promises of development and dignity, now finds itself betrayed by the very script it once applauded.

The Leh Apex Body (LAB) and the Kargil Democratic Alliance (KDA), once willing partners in dialogue with Delhi, have now walked away from the table altogether. Why? Because the actors of power chose, instead of dialogue, the language of arrests, curfews, and bullets. When a movement led by climate activist Sonam Wangchuk — a man celebrated abroad for his vision of sustainability — was met with the heavy hand of the National Security Act, the people of Ladakh realised that their pleas for statehood and Sixth Schedule protections were being treated not as democratic demands but as dangerous dissent.

The September 24 clashes, in which four lives were lost, were a grim reminder that fragile trust can be shattered more swiftly than ice on a frozen lake. Internet blackouts, curfews, and sweeping accusations of “anti-national” intent have done little to calm the mountains. Instead, they have deepened the sense of alienation, as though Leh and Kargil were distant provinces rather than integral parts of the republic.

For years now, the ABL and KDA — Buddhist-majority Leh and Muslim-majority Kargil, rarely on the same page — have stood united in their demands: statehood, constitutional safeguards, and proper representation in Parliament. This rare alliance should have been cherished, even celebrated. Instead, it has been stonewalled.

The tragedy, dear reader, is that the Himalayas are patient, but their people are not endlessly so. Winter comes early in Ladakh, and with it silence — the silence of snow-covered roads and shuttered passes. Yet beneath that silence, the embers of anger remain alive, waiting for spring. One cannot help but fear that unless the script is changed, Ladakh’s story may shift from a demand for dignity to a dirge of disillusionment.

The mountains cry, and this time, it is not the wind.

Act V: Enter the Trumpet – Of wars claimed and Governments shut

Once again, the POTUS, Donald Trump claimed to have “settled” the great rivalry between India and Pakistan, that simmering conflict which has resisted decades of diplomacy and outlasted generations of statesmen.

According to Mr. Trump, peace was achieved in a single night of talks, with Washington as the deus ex machina. He repeats the tale so often one wonders if he believes it himself, or if repetition, like applause, makes a claim feel true. Alas, New Delhi has politely but firmly reminded the world that the ceasefire was the product of direct talks between the two militaries, not of Trumpian intervention. But why let facts intrude when one has a flair for theatrics?

As if to prove that spectacle is his métier, America itself now finds its government in shutdown — a stage darkened not by failed lights but by failed negotiations. With Republicans and Democrats locked in their familiar duel over budgets, hundreds of thousands of federal workers are left unpaid, while services stagger under the strain. Museums shutter, parks grow wild, and researchers are sent home mid-experiment. And yet, from the podium, Trump assures his audience that perhaps Americans might soon receive rebate cheques, dividends of tariff revenues, as though economic disruption were merely the overture to a grand giveaway.

It would be comical, were it not so costly. Analysts whisper that each week of shutdown trims away at the American economy, while ordinary citizens shoulder the burden. And still, the actors in Congress argue their lines, unmoved by the growing impatience of their audience.

Thus, dear reader, Act V closes not with triumph but with absurdity: men boasting of wars they did not settle, and a nation stumbling through a shutdown of its own making. The trumpet sounds, but instead of heralding glory, it blares a discordant note — fitting, perhaps, for a play that has confused governance with spectacle.

Exit stage left,

DH Newsletter Team