The Rise and Quiet Fall of Madan Mitra in Bengal Politics

After serving his prison term, Madan Mitra had only just returned — both to his home and to public consciousness. A few late-night Facebook Live sessions, with his trademark golden sunglasses on, were enough to turn phrases like “Salmon Fish,” “If you abuse me, I’ll leave,” and “Oho, fantastic!” into viral internet content. T-shirts reading “Coming Live in 5 Minutes” started appearing among youngsters. Memes flooded Facebook asking whose comeback had created the biggest sensation among Bengalis — Sourav Ganguly, the Bhawal Sanyasi Raja, or Madan Mitra.

It was during this phase that an appointment was secured at Madan Mitra’s flat in Dakshineswar. The interview was scheduled for 2 PM. After the usual “What’s the matter? Who are you here to see?” routine, we were told, “Please wait a little, dada is coming.” He finally arrived around 6:30 in the evening. And the very first thing he said nearly pulled the ground from beneath our feet.

An emergency task had suddenly come up. The interview wouldn’t happen today.

It wasn’t that he had forgotten about the interview — he clearly remembered. But the matter was apparently unavoidable.

The assistant journalist (who was supposed to conduct the interview) and the photojournalist stared at me, while I stared back at them. Had we really travelled all this way only for the boat to sink right at the shore?

Then suddenly, perhaps on impulse, he said, “Can you take the interview while we drive? That way both problems get solved together. Your work gets done, and mine doesn’t get delayed.”

For any journalist, interviewing someone inside a car feels slightly more prestigious than doing it indoors. It creates the illusion of a personal closeness with the politician or celebrity involved — or at least many people like to pretend so. We grabbed the proposal instantly. Orders flew out immediately: “Tell them to bring the car. That one.”

I barely know car models, so I can’t name it. But “that one” was extremely flashy, very much “Madan-like.” Less a car, more a luxury lounge. Perfectly suited to his image. It resembled a Mahindra Thar-type vehicle. Inside were red and blue lights. The moment the door opened, a strong perfume hit the nose. Adjusting his somewhat heavy frame into the front seat with slight difficulty, he smiled and said:

“Happy now? Even if late, Madan Mitra keeps his word.”

At that time, the 2019 Lok Sabha election was approaching. Mamata Banerjee was loudly claiming “42 out of 42” seats for the party. In Madan’s voice, that slogan became a roar. They would definitely win all 42 seats.

Though this is standard practice in Bengal politics — “Whatever the leader says, the followers repeat a hundred times louder.”

Of course, the “42 out of 42” dream never materialized. Instead, the Trinamool Congress actually slipped onto the back foot that election. Yet the confidence in Madan Mitra’s voice was astonishing. I still remember how he held the collar of his glaring yellow kurta as if lifting it proudly and declared:

“Just as Hanuman’s chest reveals Ram and Sita when torn open, if my chest is opened, Mamata Banerjee will be seen inside.”

At that time, even the harshest critic couldn’t question Madan’s loyalty toward Mamata. Yet even before the rise of the Abhishek Banerjee era within the party, Madan had slowly begun becoming sidelined.

No ministry. No official power.

Whether it was the Singur protest stage or any major meeting, he used to hover around Mamata like a satellite. Of the other three “satellites,” Partha Chatterjee was now in jail. Mamata didn’t seem particularly shaken by his absence. Subrata Bakshi had always remained silent, reportedly playing more of a “yes-man” role. Firhad Hakim was still there, though without his earlier dominance.

Ministry or not, Madan remained Madan. Even without office, he could still summon five hundred young men with a single call. A patient could still be admitted into arguably the state’s best hospital, SSKM Hospital, merely through his influence.

The fact that he failed to get a patient admitted that day perhaps delivered him a harsh message:

“Your kingdom was lost long ago. Now understand that even royal respect is disappearing.”

People like Madan Mitra don’t need ministerial positions to remain in the Trinamool Congress. The aura of proximity to power itself is enough. SSKM — effectively Madan’s own stronghold — rejecting him was almost like someone shutting the gates of Eden Gardens in front of Sourav Ganguly himself.

No one knows how badly injured the accident victim that day actually was. But even if he didn’t say it aloud, it was obvious that Madan’s heart had been wounded and bleeding from the humiliation.

Perhaps even Madan himself now realizes that the center of power inside the party is shifting. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have openly fired shots at party spokesperson Kunal Ghosh over the SSKM issue.

The party that once reflected a classic Congress-style image — white kurta-pajamas and sneakers — is now leaning toward a generation dressed in jeans, T-shirts, and smartwatches.

People like Madan Mitra no longer fit comfortably within that structure.

Just as cricketers like Gautam Gambhir from Sourav Ganguly’s era ultimately couldn’t survive in MS Dhoni’s Spartan-style team culture, Madan Mitra may also be heading toward a similar fate within his own party.