So, has Vice President Jagdeep Dhankhar betrayed his admirers—or merely overestimated his own importance in the power corridors of Delhi?
What began as a courteous resignation citing “health reasons” has spiralled into a political soap opera. Enter Arnab Goswami—the eternal disruptor, nationalist-in-chief, and prime-time cannonball—who blew the lid off with allegations that Dhankhar might be harbouring ambitions far beyond his constitutional brief. According to Arnab, this wasn’t a resignation; it was an attempted coup, a polite rebellion wrapped in protocol.
And for those who roll their eyes at Arnab’s decibel level, let’s not forget: beneath the shouting, he often carries facts—blunt, uncomfortable, and politically inconvenient ones. His claim? That Dhankhar reached out to none other than Congress’s chief motormouth Jairam Ramesh before dropping the resignation bomb. And that Congress, which can’t seem to put its house—or Rahul Gandhi—in order, saw Dhankhar as a more viable Opposition magnet than the confused prince of India’s grand old party.
Now that’s a plot twist.
Let’s rewind. Dhankhar began his political journey in the Congress, detoured through Janata Dal, and eventually found home in the BJP—thanks largely to the late Arun Jaitley’s persuasion. As Governor of West Bengal, he earned his stripes battling Mamata Banerjee’s Trinamool circus, standing up for the Constitution (and occasionally for common sense). His elevation to the Vice President’s office was seen as a reward for loyalty and legal acumen, a no-nonsense custodian of constitutional values.
But somewhere along the way, Dhankhar seemed to fancy himself not just a referee but a player-coach-umpire rolled into one.
Remember his now-famous assertion that Parliament is supreme—not the judiciary? At a time when courts were being stormed with PILs seeking Governors’ accountability, Dhankhar pushed back hard, subtly reinforcing that Governors and Presidents aren’t errand boys for state Cabinets. Admirers cheered. Finally, someone with spine, they thought.
But the same admirers are now rubbing their eyes.
Because here comes the Arnab narrative—Dhankhar as an ambitious outlier, who couldn’t digest being a constitutional showpiece and instead began courting relevance. What set off alarm bells? His decision to entertain a Rajya Sabha petition with just 63 signatures to initiate impeachment proceedings against Delhi High Court’s controversial Justice Verma—when the matter belonged, by convention, to the Lok Sabha. A technicality, sure, but one loaded with political undertones.
Then came Dhankhar’s dig at the government’s failure to address farmer grievances—on stage, in public, and in front of Union Agriculture Minister Shivraj Singh Chouhan, a BJP stalwart no less. Not exactly the behaviour of a loyal second-in-command. More like someone preparing to jump ships—or worse, float his own.
The Congress, naturally, couldn’t resist fishing in these murky waters. Never ones to let truth come in the way of a good conspiracy, they pinned the blame on Modi—as usual. Modi forced him out, they said. Modi can’t tolerate dissent. Modi is allergic to independent minds. The standard Congress playlist.
But Arnab flipped that narrative: what if Dhankhar wasn’t shown the door—but was politely escorted to it before he tried to open another one?
To be fair, Dhankhar’s record isn’t entirely villainous. For years, he was seen as a rare voice defending constitutional balance, not bending over backwards like other gubernatorial stooges. But politics is a brutal arena. And timing is everything. With Parliament in session and Opposition rage peaking, his exit under the pretext of “health” raises more eyebrows than sympathy.
Could Dhankhar become the next Satyapal Malik? Another post-retirement sage who suddenly finds his moral compass after years of cozying up to power? Possibly. Or perhaps he simply miscalculated—mistook momentary adulation as a green signal to play kingmaker.
Whatever the truth, one thing’s clear: Vice Presidents don’t resign for health reasons halfway through term unless the ailment is political. And in Delhi, political ailments are either contagious or terminal.
Sad that a man who once held the second-highest constitutional office exits with more suspicion than respect. A missed opportunity, or a quiet rebellion? Only time—and maybe Arnab’s next monologue—will tell.
