One must truly admire Telangana Chief Minister A. Revanth Reddy for his breathtaking honesty. In an era where politicians have mastered the art of deception, here is a leader who lays bare uncomfortable truths—so much so that even his own party might wish he had a little more political finesse and a little less transparency.
Whether it stems from his upbringing or an ingrained habit of plain-speaking, his recent candid admissions have handed his political opponents enough ammunition to keep firing for months. I say this as someone who has spent six decades in the profession, covering the grand old party extensively.
Take, for instance, his latest revelation—an open admission on a TV channel that his government cannot implement the much-publicized six poll guarantees due to financial constraints. Apparently, this inconvenient truth only dawned on him after assuming office. A classic case of post-victory enlightenment, one might say.
One would expect a party that has ruled the country for over six decades to understand that extravagant promises come with a price tag. Yet, it took Revanth Reddy to spell it out—on a public platform, no less.
And just when one thought he couldn’t be more ‘honest,’ he went a step further. In a now-viral video, he assured his party legislators that they would each receive Rs 6000 crore to ‘empower’ their karyakartas who had worked tirelessly to ensure the Congress party’s win in 2023. A noble sentiment, indeed. But his adversaries, rather uncharitably, are asking: Whose money is this? Taxpayers’? And more importantly, where is it coming from? If Telangana’s financial situation is as dire as the CM himself admits—Rs 18,000 crore revenue, Rs 6,500 crore on salaries, another Rs 6,500 crore on loan repayments—what magical hat is he pulling this Rs 6000 crore from?
The Opposition, as expected, has already started connecting the dots. Is this sudden generosity linked to the alleged plans of selling off 400 acres of prime government land near Gachibowli? Revanth Reddy’s critics are quick to remind him that, once upon a time, he had passionately opposed such land sales as an Opposition leader. Back then, he had warned that selling government land would leave the state with nothing for future infrastructure or public projects. But now, as Chief Minister, he appears to be singing a slightly different tune.
Even his stance on minority appeasement has raised eyebrows. At the recent reopening of a park on erstwhile Nizam’s land, many expected him to shower praises on the last Nizam—just as his predecessor K. Chandrasekhar Rao did. Instead, he highlighted the contributions of the Kakatiya kings to Telangana’s development. A bold move, no doubt, but one that puts him at odds with his party’s long-standing politics.
Perhaps this unusual streak of honesty stems from his formative years in the ABVP, the disciplined student wing of the BJP, or his political grooming in the relatively less corrupt and more structured TDP. Either way, his straight talk seems to be an awkward fit within the Congress culture, which has thrived on well-calibrated narratives rather than blunt truths.
And this is where Revanth Reddy now finds himself—stuck between the devil and the deep sea. On one side, his confessions are making life difficult for his party high command, which thrives on plausible deniability. On the other, his opponents are gleefully collecting every admission, repackaging them into damning political attacks. If this continues, he might need to take a few lessons from his Karnataka counterparts—Siddaramaiah and D.K. Shivakumar—who have mastered the art of political ambiguity without ever breaking a sweat.
Because in politics, honesty is not always the best policy. Especially when it’s this honest.
