Whatever reasons may be offered for the Aam Aadmi Party’s defeat in Delhi—whether it was the BJP’s promises of more freebies than AAP, the shedding of ultra-nationalist slogans, or the successful demolition of Arvind Kejriwal’s “Mr. Clean” image—my recent interaction with a group of middle-class individuals highlighted a notable trend. Those who had just begun to sit on the fence were now once again returning to the BJP fold.
The discussion took place on the same day Union Finance Minister Nirmala Sitharaman announced the budget for the financial year 2025–26. The group consisted of middle-class individuals living in two-bedroom flats, owning a car and a two-wheeler, and being keen watchers of OTT movies and news.
Sitharaman, they noted, had declared that there would be no tax on income up to ₹12 lakh. Each member of the group, who until recently had been vocal about skyrocketing prices being “unacceptable”—with one even suggesting that the Congress should be brought back to power—now seemed to have changed their stance.
“What a good move,” said one of them. “Arvind Kejriwal had sought a ₹10 lakh limit, but Modi outsmarted him by increasing the relief from ₹7 lakh to ₹12 lakh.” None of them seemed to notice that the ₹12 lakh exemption came with certain conditions. If one chose not to claim deductions, the following tax structure would apply:
₹0 – ₹4 lakh: Nil
₹4 – ₹8 lakh: 5%
₹8 – ₹12 lakh: 10%
₹12 – ₹16 lakh: 15%
₹16 – ₹20 lakh: 20%
₹20 – ₹24 lakh: 25%
Above ₹24 lakh: 30%
Be that as it may, I found that this “shift” could also be viewed in the context of the ongoing 45-day Mahakumbh in Allahabad, now renamed Prayagraj. One of the group members had just returned from the Mahakumbh, and everyone seemed eager to hear about his experience. He and his wife had arrived there just a day after the stampede tragedy that officially claimed 30 lives.
Excitement was evident as people sought details about their holy dip at the Triveni Sangam, where the Ganga, Yamuna, and the mythical Saraswati rivers meet. The couple had traveled on a special Gujarat government-run state transport bus, which charged each passenger ₹8,200 for the Mahakumbh journey. The bus carried 46 men and women, all of whom “enjoyed” the two-day trip with rounds of antakshari, we were told.
However, I was more interested in understanding the atmosphere in the wake of the stampede tragedy. Was there panic? How were people reacting? The man who had returned shared his experience:
“After two days of travel, we got down at a spot about 25–30 km from where we were supposed to take the holy dip,” he said. “Security was very tight, but there was no panic. Soon after reaching Prayagraj, we proceeded towards the Triveni Sangam the same night. Those riding scooters and motorcycles were charging exorbitant fares if one chose not to walk. But we decided to walk on.”
He continued, “I took just one dip, while my wife took ten. It was complete chaos. With lakhs of people around, losing touch with a companion could mean never finding them again. Along the way, we sought the blessings of a Nagababa, to whom we paid ₹500. In all, we must have walked nearly 60 kilometers.”
The discussion soon shifted to the tragedy, where 30 people had officially lost their lives in the stampede. Interestingly, the group strongly believed that the Uttar Pradesh administration and police were not to blame. The consensus was that with such massive crowds, it was impossible to expect the authorities to control everything. “Small tragedies” like this, they argued, were inevitable at grand events like the Mahakumbh.
Sensing the strong views, I decided to listen as a “true” journalist rather than contradict them. The dominant opinion was that the people themselves were responsible for the tragedy. “What can the administration do if people don’t maintain discipline at such large gatherings? Even well-organized events can spiral out of control if people fail to behave,” they said.
The man who had returned—jokingly called “Mahakumbhi”—remarked that people were sleeping on the roads, in the sand, or anywhere they found space. “It was disgusting. These were the same people who died in the stampede. With lakhs of people present, one couldn’t expect the police to offer help in such situations.” However, none of them speculated that it was a conspiracy—an allegation later made by the Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister and other party leaders.
I was also told that a retired IAS officer and his wife had been on the same bus to Prayagraj, and that he had written a blog about his “exciting” journey. Since I knew this ex-official, I was curious about what he had written. Unlike his previous English blogs, this time he had written in Hindi, with a touch of Gujarati flavor. I used AI to translate it and forwarded it to him.
The ex-bureaucrat—a Dalit who disliked being identified as such—made only a passing reference to the deaths at the Mahakumbh. In a matter-of-fact manner, he noted in his blog that after the Amavasya (new moon) night tragedy, in which 30 people were “trampled to death,” the authorities had become stricter.
“Vehicles were parked far from the main area, and pedestrian movement was closely monitored. Our bus stopped at Jasra Underpass, about 20–24 km from our destination. Local youths were offering scooter rides for ₹300–500, but before we could negotiate, the police dispersed them,” he wrote.
He seemed more interested in describing the Mahakumbh as a spiritual experience. “Kumbh is a cherished dream for every Hindu. Although it is just water from a flowing river—one that can be bathed in at any time—this festival holds immense significance due to its connection with celestial alignments, making it uniquely popular,” he noted.
His blog explained the meaning of Kumbh (pot), which “symbolizes a gathering,” and provided an astronomical rationale for the Mahakumbh. “Our ancestors counted 45 stars in the Aquarius constellation and linked the Sun’s transition into Aquarius from Makar Sankranti, creating a grand 45-day festival. This festival traces its roots to the mythological tale of the churning of the ocean by gods and demons, which led to the emergence of the pot of nectar (Amrit Kumbh).”
He also recounted how, in 1987, as part of his administrative training, he had been sent to the Haridwar Kumbh Mela. At the time, his focus had been on managing the massive influx of pilgrims—ensuring smooth transportation, accommodation, food, sanitation, security, and traffic control. “Even a small administrative lapse could lead to major chaos,” he recalled. However, 38 years later, his focus had shifted toward the spiritual experience of walking for a higher goal.
The blog noted how 21st-century technology and social media had significantly amplified the Mahakumbh’s reach, but seemed to downplay the tragedy: “A growing economy allows for greater participation, and with each event, the government administration learns from past experiences, ensuring smoother execution. However, any unfortunate incident leads to widespread criticism.”
The blog continued with a detailed account of why he chose the Gujarat government bus instead of flying (airfares had “skyrocketed fivefold”), how the journey was filled with fun moments as passengers played games and sang bhajans mixed with film songs, and what they ate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It also described how they spent their first night at a beautiful Gujarat government-arranged resort “with accommodations comparable to a four-star hotel,” before finally reaching Prayagraj in the evening and setting off for the holy dip that very night.
