Modi Missing in Action: When the 56-Inch Image Deflated

 

Modi Missing in Action: When the 56-Inch Image Deflated

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iHbn_6yYcgY

Hindi Version: https://rakeshinsightfulgaze.blogspot.com/2026/02/56.html

Have you noticed that someone important is missing from Parliament?

Not a junior minister. Not a backbencher. Not someone whose absence would pass unnoticed.

The missing figure is the very leader whose government proudly took credit for every achievement listed in the President’s address. The man whose image is attached to every success, every slogan, every poster. And yet, when it was time to face Parliament after that speech, when questions were due, he chose not to show up.

Narendra Modi was missing in action.

If India had a Saturday Night Live-style show, this episode would have written itself. The title would be obvious: “Modi MIA.” The sketch would open with thunderous applause for achievements, followed by an empty chair where accountability was meant to sit.

What followed was even more revealing. Instead of the Prime Minister explaining his absence, others rushed to explain it for him. In today’s India, protecting the image of one man appears to be a collective obligation. Ministers, party leaders, and eventually even the Speaker stepped forward to justify why the Prime Minister could not enter Parliament.

And the justifications were extraordinary.

According to the Speaker of the Lok Sabha, the Prime Minister stayed away because he could have been physically attacked by women Members of Parliament from the opposition. This was not satire. It was offered as a serious explanation.

As if elected women MPs had nothing better to do than assault the Prime Minister in full view of the nation, inside Parliament, on camera, guaranteeing instant arrest, certain jail time, and the end of their political careers.

The story did not end there. Statements circulating widely on YouTube went further, suggesting that although these women MPs carried no weapons, they could still pose a threat because they “have teeth” and could harm him. This was presented as a legitimate security concern.

At that point, satire steps aside. Reality has done its work better.

One is reminded of Kalidas, not the poet, but the silence before the poet. A figure elevated while others spoke on his behalf, inventing meaning, supplying explanations, and expecting the audience to accept gestures as wisdom.

The difference here is simple and stark. Kalidas, at least, was present. Here, the throne itself was empty. The real reason for the Prime Minister’s absence is neither mysterious nor dramatic. He did not stay away because of imaginary threats. He stayed away because Rahul Gandhi was prepared to speak and to quote.

Not rumors. Not rhetoric. But a book written by a former Army Chief. That book does not claim that the Army acted independently. It describes the opposite. As the situation along the border deteriorated, the General repeatedly reached out to the Defense Minister, the National Security Advisor, the External Affairs Minister, the Home Minister, and the Prime Minister himself. These calls were made because the moment demanded a clear political direction.

Only after sustained pressure after these consultations is the Prime Minister described as having pushed responsibility downward, telling the General to do whatever he felt was necessary.

That is not delegation. That is abdication under pressure. Political authority exists precisely for such moments. Hard decisions cannot be postponed indefinitely and then outsourced when clarity is required. When outcomes are favorable, politicians rush forward to claim credit. When decisions carry risk, responsibility is quietly shifted elsewhere.

This is why Parliament suddenly became inconvenient, not because of women MPs, not because of imagined danger, but because facts were about to be spoken.

History offers a sharper contrast.

In 1971, when India faced an existential military crisis, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi was travelling abroad to secure international support. When the call came that action was required, she did not disappear. She did not defer. She did not hide behind advisers. She took the call and gave clear orders. Political responsibility was exercised openly and owned fully.

That is what leadership under pressure looks like.

For years, Modi’s political image has been built on strength projected through speeches, slogans, and spectacle. But strength without accountability is just performance.

A leader who avoids Parliament because he fears questions is not strong. A leader whose absence requires absurd explanations is not confident. And a leader who transfers political responsibility downward when pressure mounts, then refuses to discuss it, is not brave.

You may call this leadership strategic. You may call it cautious. You may even call it clever.

But calling it courageous would be a mistake. Because courage, at the very least, requires one simple thing: showing up and owning the decisions you were elected to make.