For nearly a decade, the BJP projected itself as an invincible political force — disciplined, dominant, and unchallengeable. But history shows that power does not collapse overnight. It erodes quietly when restraint gives way to arrogance and accountability becomes optional.
a shocking breakdown of parliamentary decorum involving India’s Home Minister, and the troubling response that followed inside the House. This was not about one remark or one individual. It was about what institutions now permit — and what they no longer prevent.
We connect this episode to a larger pattern: the steady coarsening of political language during election campaigns, the silencing of opposition voices in Parliament, and the growing gap between power and public accountability. Using electoral data, state-level outcomes, and organisational trends, we trace how a party that once expanded relentlessly is now struggling to maintain momentum.
This video also explores cadre fatigue, regional limits — especially in southern India — and the visible exhaustion of ideological mobilisation, highlighted by the symbolic loss of Ayodhya. Together, these developments point not to sudden collapse, but to a deeper, structural decline.
Transcript" Today I will discuss about the mighty
fall of the Bhartya Chantaa party. The
moment when power lost its composure.
Hello and welcome to our YouTube
channel. What does this data say? I am
Ajay Praash.
For nearly a decade, we were told that
this was an unstoppable political
machine, a party with unmatched
discipline, a leadership that was
decisive, fearless, and always in
control. The BJP projected itself not
merely as a ruling party, but as a
permanent force, something inevitable,
something beyond challenge. But history
teaches us something very different.
Power does not fall suddenly. It does
not collapse with slogans or street
protest. Power begins to fall when it
loses composure. When it stops
persuading and starts abusing, when it
stops listening and starts silencing,
when it replaces accountability with
authority. And the clearest sign of that
loss of composure did not come from the
opposition.
It came from within the BJP itself on
the floor of the parliament from the
home minister of India.
Never in the 75 years of India's
parliamentary democracy have we
witnessed a moment quite like this. a
sitting home minister, not a fringe
leader, not a backbench MP, but one of
the most powerful men in the country
used downright filthy, abusive language
inside parliament. This was not a casual
remark. This was not an accidental slip
of the tongue. This was a deliberate
outburst delivered with the confidence
of someone who believed that
consequences are no longer applied. When
opposition members objected expecting at
least a withdrawal or an apology, what
followed was even more disturbing. Amit
did not express regret. He did not
attempt to defend his words on merit.
Instead, he turned to the speaker and
said in effect, "Delete whatever you
find objectionable from the record."
This one sentence tells us everything
about how power now sees the parliament.
Debate is no longer sacred. Decor is no
longer mandatory. Accountability can be
edited out. This was not strength. This
was the arrogance of power that believes
itself untouchable and arrogance
historically is always the final phase
before decline.
Let me clarify something carefully here.
Indian Parliament has seen heated
debates before sharp words sarcasm even
occasional unparliamentary remarks
across parties across decades. But what
makes this moment different is not just
that the language used. It is the
attitude towards accountability.
In the past when a line was crossed,
speakers intervened, words were
withdrawn and decorum was restored. What
we witnessed here was a home minister
treating parliamentary proprietary as
optional, suggesting that objectionable
words could simply be deleted later.
That shift from restraint to entitlement
is what marks institutional decline. The
danger is not that one minister crossed
the line. The danger is that the
institution did not push back. This
incident is not about one individual. It
is about what the institution now
permits. When behavior like this goes
unchecked, it signals that the
guardrails of parliamentary democracy
are weakening.
Now when a strong man starts cracking,
what makes this episode even more
revealing is what triggered it. Rahul
Gandhi did not abuse Amitsa. He did not
shout across the aisle. He did not use
unparliamentary language. Instead, he
did something far more unsettling for
insecure power. He mocked. He teased. He
provoked calmly, persistently, almost
playfully. And Amit Sha cracked. His
voice hardened. His body language
changed. He became visibly agitated,
rattled, unable to maintain composure.
Because power that is secure does not
tremble under mockery. Leadership that
is confident does not explode when
teased. Only power that senses erosion
behaves this way. What we witnessed was
not dominance. It was defensiveness. And
defensiveness is the psychological
fingerprint of decline. And just imagine
this gentleman Mr. Amit Sha wants to
become the prime minister of India
someday. And then we have a speaker who
just looks away. In any functioning
democracy, the speaker of the house is
meant to be neutral. The final firewall
protecting parliamentary dignity. But
what we have seen over the last few
years is something very different.
Opposition leaders are frequently
interrupted. Their microphones are cut
midsentence. They are warned,
admonished, and sometimes outright
silenced. Yet when the home minister
crossed every imaginable line, the
speaker chose silence. No intervention,
no reprimand, no defense of the house.
This selective enforcement is not a
procedural issue. It is institutional
partisanship. And when institutions stop
acting mutually, political decline
accelerates because power begins to
operate without restraint. This
parliamentary breakdown did not emerge
out of nowhere. It followed months, in
fact years of a steady lowering of
political language led from the very
top. During the election campaign, the
prime minister of India repeatedly used
rhetoric that would once have been
unthinkable for some someone occupying
that office. Statements like Mongal
Sutra Le were not policy arguments. They
were fear-laden insinuations
deliberately crafted to provoke anxiety
among women. Similarly, claims like null
reduce serious economic and fiscal
debates into crude theft metaphors
designed to scare rather than to inform.
Strong governments campaign on outcomes,
employment, prices, growth, governance.
Weak governments campaign on fear. What
will be taken away? Who will threaten
you? What you might lose. Political
language is never accidental. It is
always diagnostic. And this language
told us clearly that the BJP no longer
trusted its own record to carry out a
sensible argument. Now let us move away
from behavior and look at data because
rhetoric cannot shout down numbers. In
2014 the BJP won 282 seats, an absolute
majority that reshaped Indian politics.
In 2019, it expanded that dominance to
303 seats, riding a wave of nationalism
and centralized leadership.
In 2024,
that dominance ended. For the first time
in a decade, the BJP failed to secure a
majority on its own and became dependent
on allies to form a government.
This is not a technicality. It is a
psychological shift. A party built on
the idea of absolute control does not
wear coalition dependence very
comfortably. Let us be precise and
honest here. Yes, the BJP won Rajasthan
in 2023 assembly election. But that
victory itself tells us something
important. It was not a sweeping Modi
wave. It was driven largely by local
anti-ing incumbency against the
Congress, cast arithmetic and leadership
churn. Rajasthan was won but it was not
owned. Elsewhere the picture is far less
flattering. Karnataka was lost
decisively. Himachel slipped away.
Punjab saw the BJP reduced to
irrelevant. Maharashtra is held together
not by popular mandate but by defections
and internal fractures. Bihar survives
through dependence on allies not
dominance. West Bengal remains a wall
the BJP has failed to breach. This is
not expansion. This is containment. The
BJP is no longer marching forward
confidently. It is fighting to hold the
ground.
For decades, the BJP prided itself on
its scatterbased structure. Booth level
workers mattered. Local leaders
mattered. Organizational loyalty
mattered. Today that structure is
exhausted. Decision making is
centralized to the point of suffocation.
Local leadership is sideline. Second
line leaders are deliberately kept weak
to avoid internal competition.
CAD are expected to work endlessly but
without a voice influence or respect. No
political organization can survive
indefinitely as a one-man show. Cader
fatigue does not announce itself loudly.
It appears quietly as disengagement,
silence, indifference. And when
leadership finally notices, it is
usually too late.
And then there is the southern wall that
the BJP hasn't been able to break. After
10 years in power, the BJP remains
marginal across much of the south. Tamil
Nadu continues to reject it. Kerala
keeps it at an arms length. Telangana
offers inconsistency, not consolidation.
Andhra Pradesh remains transactional not
organic. Despite enormous resources and
relentless campaigning, the BJP has
failed to produce credible massbased
southern leadership. Parachuting faces
without local legitimacy does not build
parties. It exposes desperation. A
national party that cannot genuinely
expand beyond its cultural comfort zone
is not rising. It has reached the
plateau.
If there was one moment that should have
forced deep introspection within the
BJP, it was Aayodhya. The Ram mandr was
built. Symbolism reached its peak. The
campaign was emotionally charged and yet
the BJP lost the Ayodha seed. This was
not a rejection of faith. It was fatigue
with overuse of religion as a substitute
for governance. Faith mobilizes once
livelihoods matter every day. Aayodhya
was not just an electoral loss. It was a
warning. The pattern has now become
unmistakable.
Put all of this together. A home
minister abusing parliament. A prime
minister using fearbased rhetoric. A
speaker abandoning neutrality. Electoral
erosion. CAD burnout. Regional
stagnation. Ideological fatigue. This is
not collapse. This is decline. And
decline is far more dangerous than
defeat because it tempts power to double
down on arrogance instead of reform. The
PJP will not disappear overnight. Power
rarely does. But when power starts
abusing, instead of arguing, when it
needs institutions to shield it, when it
edits the record, instead of answering
questions, the fall has already begun.
Not with a bank, but with a loss of
dignity. And history has never been kind
to parties that mistake dominance for
permanence.