Today, the Prime Minister lands in Navi Mumbai to inaugurate a gleaming new international airport. Cameras click, drones hum, and television anchors shout themselves hoarse describing how “under his leadership” a dream has taken flight. Later in the day, he descends into the city to inaugurate the new underground metro line—another “visionary” achievement, they say.
Engineers, planners, and workers who actually toiled for years to make it happen, of course, are too sweaty and anonymous to be part of the frame.
But here’s what I wonder—since our leaders love standing before airports and metros and saying, “I take the credit,” shouldn’t they also stand before a few other places and say, “I take the blame”?
Picture this: a political leader, sleeves rolled up, standing at the broken Andheri bridge—one arm of the structure proudly seven feet higher than the other. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, flashing his best smile, “I take the blame!”
Or this: a political leader, sleeves rolled up, standing in Manipur, before the smouldering remains of burnt houses and shattered lives. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, putting his head down, “I take the blame!”
For the women who ran in fear, for the families torn apart, for the silence that stretched for months—I take the blame.
Or imagine him before a family who’s just lost their daughter to a brutal crime, saying, “Yes, I take the blame.”
Or maybe outside a jobless youth’s home, holding a press conference to declare, “I take the blame for your unemployment!”
Or a church burnt or a man lynched, and whispering, “I take the blame!”
Wouldn’t that be leadership worth applauding?
Sadly, that scene remains as fictional as a politician refusing a garland.
When bridges fall, when women cry for justice, or prices rise faster than a hot-air balloon, our leaders are suddenly missing in action, probably on a foreign tour hugging someone.
And what about us, the public? We applaud, we wave flags, we post selfies with the background of whatever they’ve just cut a ribbon for. “Wow, what a leader!” we say, not realizing that the person taking credit for the airport never lifted a hammer, never turned a bolt, never sweated a drop, nor even planned the airport. The real heroes are the nameless engineers, the labourers who worked through rain and heat, and the planners who fought red tape thicker than concrete.
But let a tragedy strike, and see how swiftly the credit disappears and the blame is passed like a relay baton—from minister to bureaucrat, bureaucrat to engineer, engineer to “act of God.” Nobody says, “I take the blame.” And maybe that’s the real tragedy—not just that mistakes happen, but that no one owns them.
So today, as flashbulbs pop and another ribbon is cut, maybe we should clap a little less and ask a little more. Because the true test of leadership isn’t how many airports you inaugurate—it’s how many broken bridges, broken systems, and broken hearts you stand beside and say, with humility and courage, “I take the blame.”
Until that day, dear reader, the only thing that seems to be flying higher than our airports… is political hypocrisy….!
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