MP Rabindranath
It’s been barely a year since the TDP-led coalition stormed to power in Andhra Pradesh, and already, the glow of “praja ashirwad” seems to be fading into a fog of dysfunction. The Naidu-Pawan-BJP alliance, stitched together with electoral arithmetic and an overdose of anti-incumbency, is now struggling to pass the test of governance. Meanwhile, Y.S. Jaganmohan Reddy, banished to the Opposition benches, is pulling in mammoth crowds that any ruling party would envy. Is it nostalgia? Or is it a simmering voter unrest brewing under the surface?
Whatever the reason, the optics aren’t great for Chandrababu Naidu. Despite his image as the original CEO of Andhra, the seasoned pro-technocrat seems increasingly like a man walking on eggshells in his own government.
Let’s face it: this isn’t a coalition. It’s a tug-of-war. And leading the opposing end of the rope is none other than the maverick Pawan Kalyan—actor, crusader, and now self-styled coalition conscience-keeper. Rumour has it that every file Naidu pushes comes with an invisible watermark: “Subject to Kalyan’s mood.” From the appointment of corporation chairpersons to media advisors, it appears nothing moves without the Jana Sena supremo’s approval—and his caste calculus. What’s governance without a little screenplay, after all?
The delay in constituting key bodies like the Press Academy and other advisory panels isn’t just bureaucratic inertia; it’s a symptom of internal friction. Pawan Kalyan, it seems, wants his loyalists rewarded—preferably in posts that carry perks, visibility, and enough power to issue press statements every fortnight. Naidu, for all his administrative acumen, is discovering the limits of coalition dharma the hard way.
And then there’s the BJP—the silent partner with the loudest veto. Take, for instance, the promises made to Muslim minorities during the campaign—scholarships, welfare schemes, perhaps even symbolic gestures to placate a traditionally wary voter base. But BJP, with its allergic reaction to anything that smells like “appeasement,” is reportedly frowning from Delhi. So, Naidu must now perform the political equivalent of a tightrope walk—extend a hand to minorities without getting a rap on the knuckles from the saffron high command.
Worse, the flagship promises of unemployment allowance—Naidu’s version of manna from Amaravati—has quietly been pushed to the back burner. Budgetary constraints? Perhaps. Coalition confusion? Likely. Fear of setting a precedent that might become a financial black hole? Absolutely. But for the thousands of unemployed youth who rallied behind the TDP-JSP-BJP troika, the delay is déjà vu—and disillusionment.
Compounding the woes is Naidu’s succession dilemma. With age catching up, and the temptation to anoint son Nara Lokesh growing stronger, Naidu must navigate yet another minefield. The BJP, publicly averse to dynasty politics but privately pragmatic when it suits them, has already sent a warning shot. Amit Shah, the coalition’s not-so-silent godfather, is said to have cautioned Naidu against indulging the “baap-beta” model too blatantly. But old habits die hard. Lokesh has been quietly elevated, given strategic portfolios, and is increasingly visible, though always a step behind Pawan Kalyan, of course.
And therein lies the comedy: Naidu has two deputies—one biological, the other ideological. Both are pulling in different directions. The result? Governance by compromise, decision-making by delay, and leadership by committee.
Meanwhile, Jagan smiles and waves to the crowds that still love his swagger and freebies—never mind the audit trails. For now, he’s weaponizing public memory and rural resentment. If this government continues to trip over its own shoelaces, Jagan won’t need a comeback strategy. He’ll just have to wait.
Naidu might have survived the first year. But at this pace, it’s less a coalition government and more a reality show—with too many stars, not enough substance, and a script no one seems to agree on.
