In Punjab, the most predictable drama isn’t in the weather or the harvest — it’s in the way politicians change once they gain or lose power. Their transformation is so quick and so visible that ordinary people often joke that even the seasons take longer to shift. When they are in power, they move with a confidence that fills every room they enter. Their convoys stretch across the road, their speeches echo with promises, and their schedules become so tight that meeting them feels like trying to book a ticket for a sold‑out show.
During this phase, the public becomes a distant background. Politicians wave from behind tinted windows, speak from high stages, and talk about development as if they alone carry the weight of the entire state on their shoulders. Their words are grand, their tone is firm, and their presence feels larger than life. It is a performance polished by years of practice — a blend of authority, pride, and carefully measured smiles.
But the moment power slips away, the atmosphere changes. The same leaders who once travelled with long convoys now walk through narrow streets with folded hands. Their voices soften, their smiles widen, and their steps slow down as if they are rediscovering the very people they once overlooked. They sit on charpais, drink tea at roadside stalls, and greet villagers with a warmth that feels almost poetic. It is as if losing power brings them closer to the ground — literally and emotionally.
In these moments, a gentle comedy unfolds. The public watches with quiet amusement as leaders suddenly become approachable, friendly, and deeply concerned about every small issue. A broken streetlight, a pothole, a missing drain cover — everything becomes a matter of urgent attention. Their social media fills with photos of simple meals, village visits, and heartfelt captions about “staying connected to the roots.” The contrast is striking, yet familiar.
Punjabis understand this cycle well. They have seen it repeat across generations, with different faces but the same script. There is a soft humour in the way people observe these shifts — not out of anger, but out of experience. They know that before elections, leaders become sweeter, more visible, and more emotional. And after elections, the distance slowly returns.
In the end, the story remains the same. Power comes, power goes, but the performance continues. The public watches, smiles, and moves forward, knowing that another season of the same drama will arrive soon enough. And perhaps that is the most poetic part of all — the way life in Punjab blends seriousness with humour, politics with everyday reality, and truth with a touch of gentle satire.