The Nirvik Bureau, Bhubaneswar, 24 December 2025
Crores blown on macho toys, citizens harassed at petrol pumps, and a minor raped and murdered in Chandbali—welcome to the state where governance is missing in action but the convoy is fully loaded.
Odisha, we were told, had voted for a government. Instead, it appears we have accidentally subscribed to a live‑action stunt show, starring Chief Minister Mohan Kumar Majhi—a man who treats the state like a rough patch of ground to test-drive his latest toys.
Take the great Mahindra Thar pilgrimage. Around five crore for the vehicles, and another neat seven crore to retrofit them into “All Terrain Vehicles”. Twelve crores, just so the rulers can feel like action heroes, while the ruled feel like extras in a disaster film. These ATVs, we’re told, can conquer any terrain—hills, rivers, mud. Sadly, the only terrain they have not been able to cross is the distance between the government and basic common sense.
If governance were measured in horsepower, Odisha would be a global superpower by now. But roads remain broken, hospitals starved, schools neglected, and yet the regime’s biggest visible achievement is turning official vehicles into safari toys. One doesn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or ask if the next Budget will be presented in a racing suit.
The hypocrisy does not stop at the parking lot. After splurging crores on fuel-guzzling monsters, the same government unleashed the “No petrol without PUC” order. Overnight, petrol pumps turned into miniature police stations. Citizens queued up like they were seeking parole, not petrol. Elderly people, daily wage earners, students—everyone suddenly became an environmental criminal until proven otherwise.
The message from the throne is crystal clear: pollution is a problem when your 10‑year‑old scooter emits a cough of smoke, but perfectly acceptable when the government’s shiny ATVs roar through town like migrating dinosaurs. One law for the king’s caravan, another for the commoner’s commute.
But all the farce collapses into something darker and unforgivable when we remember Chandbali.
A minor girl raped and murdered—that is not a “law and order issue”. That is a complete collapse of governance and morality. While the chief minister busies himself supervising vehicular vanity projects, predators roam free and a child’s life is snuffed out. What kind of rule is this, where every bolt on a Thar seems to matter more than the safety of a daughter of the state?
Satire, at this point, starts to feel inadequate. How do you lampoon a government that can track every PUC certificate but cannot ensure a child returns home alive? How do you parody a regime that is hyperactive about vehicle paperwork and nearly comatose about women’s safety?
We are asked to believe that the CM “does not know what is happening.” That might work as an excuse for an absent‑minded tourist, not for the man holding the highest elected office in the state. If he truly does not know, he is unfit. If he knows and still allows this rot, he is unwilling. In both cases, the result is the same: Odisha is being driven by someone who should not be anywhere near the steering wheel.
Today, Odisha looks like an accident scene carefully decorated with press releases and motorcades. The poor watch, the powerful pose, and the government’s idea of “all terrain” seems to be: drive comfortably over potholes, over public anger, and, finally, over the dignity of its own people.
At this rate, those ATVs will come in handy. When the edifice of governance finally collapses, at least the rulers will have the right vehicles to ride over the ruins—and wave to the people they failed, from a safe, elevated seat.
