"Parivartan"—a promise of transformation that once ignited hope—has now morphed into a tool for rebranding corruption under a new power structure. In Assam, the BJP did not uproot the existing political machinery; it absorbed and upgraded it.
The young turks of Assam politics—once operating cautiously under the shadow of the Congress old guard—have come of age. During Tarun Gogoi’s regime (2001–2014), real power was rarely concentrated at the top. Instead, it flowed through a strategic decentralization to middle-tier political operatives, who executed policy, patronage, and persuasion on the ground.
Among them:
Himanta Biswa Sarma (HBS) – sharp, calculating, and increasingly ambitious, emerged as the most influential mover
Roqibul Hussain – deft at navigating minority and land politics
Pradyut Bordoloi – technocratic in vision, key to industrial and urban planning
Bharat Narah – the voice and message manager, close to the CM
These leaders weren’t HBS’s pillars—they were parallel actors, each commanding their own turf within a complex Congress power web. Yet, it was HBS who stood out as the most adept at consolidating control, cultivating grassroots commanders, and manoeuvring through administrative and political zones like a chessboard.
The real fourth pillars of HBS’s rise were likely:
1. Bureaucratic networking
2. Field-level loyalty (contractors, student leaders, district operators)
3. Strategic media influence
4. Crisis management tactics (from floods to faction fights)
When BJP came to power, it didn’t tear this structure down. Instead, HBS brought it along, dressed in saffron and nationalism. The Congress-era decentralization was replaced by hyper-centralization under HBS, where control is tighter, optics sharper, and dissent more dangerous.
Thus, "Parivartan" became not a shift from corruption, but its evolution
One such episode unfolded in Upper Assam, in 2005 during a pipeline erection tender floated by Oil India Limited’s pipeline division. On the surface, it was a routine government contract. Beneath that, however, it was a battleground.
On one side, arrived a well-organized lobby team, backed by a powerful figure, flanked by one Congress MLA, and most notably, shielded by a strong student association with street muscle and media reach. They arrived with PSOs, their presence not just physical but symbolic—projecting strength, entitlement, and certainty of outcome.
In contrast, another individual walked in alone—no entourage, no visible muscle. But behind that solitary presence was the invisible blessing of a powerful minister, a silent endorsement that carried more weight than the shouting crowd.
What followed wasn’t a shouting match, but a quiet standoff—a classic scene from Assam’s shadow politics, where tenders are not awarded based on merit or transparency, but on political arithmetic: which camp holds the upper hand today, who owes whom a favour, and how far one can stretch influence without snapping it.
This episode wasn’t unique—but it was revealing. It showcased how Congress’s internal fragmentation often allowed outsiders or insiders-within to maneuver tactically. It also revealed how student bodies, originally built on ideals, often became instruments of political muscle and contractor politics.
Such scenes were training grounds for leaders like Himanta Biswa Sarma, who learned early that the key to power isn’t just position—it’s control over access, contracts, and perception.
Fast forward to today: under BJP, the stage has changed, the flags have changed—but the players, strategies, and backroom dynamics remain eerily familiar, just more disciplined, more centralized, and better managed for public consumption.