Why would a politician refuse to sack a spokesperson who has offended multiple communities, embarrassed allies, triggered multiple FIRs, and caused resignations within his own party?
Because sometimes in politics arithmetic counts for more than outrage. 🧵
Rajkumar Bhati, a spokesperson of the Samajwadi Party, made remarks that angered Brahmins and later comments that upset both Jats and Gurjars.
The backlash came from rivals, allies, community groups, and even sections of his own party.
Under normal circumstances, he would likely have been removed.
The Samajwadi Party has sidelined or distanced itself from controversial figures before.
This time, it didn't.
The reason lies in western Uttar Pradesh.
After Jayant Chaudhary and the RLD moved away, the Samajwadi Party lost its easiest route into the region's influential Jat vote.
It needed a new social coalition.
Akhilesh Yadav's answer was a Gurjar-Muslim-Dalit strategy.
And Rajkumar Bhati became the face of that effort.
Over the past year, he has led a sustained Gurjar outreach campaign across western UP.
The problem is that political organisers are not easily replaceable.
Bhati isn't just a TV spokesperson.
He is one of the party's few Gurjar leaders with regional visibility, community networks, organisational reach, and public recall.
So Akhilesh Yadav faces a dilemma.
Sack Bhati and risk damaging months of Gurjar outreach.
Keep Bhati and absorb the political cost of his remarks.
The party appears to have chosen the second option.
The gamble is that the Gurjar consolidation project matters more than voters already unlikely to support the SP.
The risk is that the controversy spreads beyond those boundaries and starts hurting the coalition itself.
The question, hence, is this:
Whether the political benefit Rajkumar Bhati brings to SP is greater than the political damage he causes.
Akhilesh Yadav has effectively bet that the benefit is greater.
In 2021, Mukesh Ambani announced a 40 GWh cell gigafactory at Jamnagar, scaling to 100.
In May 2026, Reliance is back in talks with CATL — to buy finished cells and package them into Indian boxes, with press releases still calling it manufacturing. 🧵
Reliance is not alone. Exide's cells are licensed from SVOLT, Amara Raja's from Gotion and Highstar, Tata's Agratas from AESC — the Chinese-owned maker that has a board seat.
Every conglomerate that set out between 2021 and 2023 to build cells has retreated to assembling them.
Licensing now, R&D later, has been a plausible playbook — CATL was a TDK licensee, Samsung SDI started on Japanese chemistry.
But the trick is to pair the licensing with R&D investment at scale, and the Indian conglomerates have done the licensing without the R&D.
India says it wants to become a deep-tech and manufacturing power. It has IITs, startups, research grants, and now even a ₹1 lakh crore innovation fund.
So why do so few Indian technologies become real products? 🧵
A big reason is that India’s research system splits innovation into separate worlds.
Universities do “research.”
Industry does “products.”
The difficult middle — turning a lab prototype into a usable technology — belongs to nobody.
This middle stage is called the “valley of death.”
A university may build a promising battery, chip, laser, or automotive system prototype.
But taking it from experiment to manufacturable product needs:
A major Indian OEM donated engines to a university lab.
No specs, no joint team, no embedded engineer for integration. Just hardware tossed over to the lab. That's industry-academia "collaboration" in India.
Here's why it is that way. 🧵
India follows NASA's TRL system — a 9-level readiness scale.
Academia owns TRL 1–3.
Industry owns TRL 7–9.
And the middle 4–6? That is nobody's job. That middle is where ideas go to die.
Industry sits at TRL 7 like a dissatisfied customer — "Why would I use this? It's not market-ready."
Fair. But you were never in the room when it was being built.
In Bengaluru, a man spent three months and 25 visits trying to get his eKhata.
After multiple rejections, the ARO finally told him in Kannada, 'give something.' He refused.
By then his exhausted father had quietly paid ₹90,000 to an agent. The eKhata had not arrived. 🧵
On a ₹5 crore property deal in India, the state collects roughly 5.68% in stamp duty and registration charges.
All it gives back is a record that the transaction happened. It does not confirm that the seller had the right to sell or that the buyer is safe from later claims.
Around 60% of India's 5 crore pending court cases are property-related. The average land acquisition dispute takes twenty years to reach the apex court.
The reason is structural. India still uses presumptive titling, which records transactions without confirming ownership.
One woman cleaned floors for Rs 4,500/month. The other stitched leaf plates in a forest village to survive.
On 4 May 2026, both won seats in the West Bengal Assembly — by margins of 12,000 and 32,000 votes.
This is what actually happened. 🧵
Neither had money, land, or a political family.
What they had: years of going door to door, on bicycles, in constituencies where backing the wrong party could get you hurt.
They built their base the slow way. The unglamorous way.
One lost in 2021 and went back to cleaning houses.
The other won — and spent 5 years as an opposition MLA with no funds released, stones pelted at her vehicle, and threats serious enough to need security inside her tarpaulin home.