Rahul Gandhi’s gaffes hand the BJP easy wins again

You’ve got to admire Rahul Gandhi—the fourth-generation heirloom politician and the Congress party’s perennial hope of returning to power—for his unshakable self-belief.

Mocked on an industrial scale, as I revealed in my investigative book I Am a Troll: Inside the Secret Digital Army of the BJP, Gandhi has lost three consecutive general elections. He is prone to cherry-picking issues and gaffes from the get-go, yet he perseveres, unsinkable in his supreme self-confidence—perhaps a result of generational entitlement.

Let me confess to readers of my SWAT analysis: analysing Rahul Gandhi, part of my job as a columnist, often feels like savaging a dead sheep. Given the state of India’s opposition, you sometimes feel complicit as a member of the fourth estate for even attempting to equate the gushing coverage the Modi government receives with the harsh scrutiny the opposition endures—blamed, often unfairly, for all of India’s woes.

The opposition is pilloried daily in a way reminiscent of how mothers-in-law were traditionally supposed to berate their hapless daughters-in-law in joint families. On what passes for our “news channels,” the anchor assumes the role of a stern, finger-wagging matriarch, with the opposition spokesperson cast as the “bahu” (daughter-in-law) and the BJP contingent doubling up to shriek at the assigned victim.

But even I — shock-proof as I am to Gandhi’s serial gaffes — was stunned when he echoed none other than Donald Trump, President of the United States and a leader given to hyperbole like no other. Gandhi repeated Trump’s claim that India’s “economy was dead in partnership with Russia.”

The comment sparked nationwide outrage, made worse by the fact that a 25 per cent US tariff had been imposed on India. Trump linked the tariff to India’s purchase of Russian oil, and the Aam Aadmi (common man) saw no benefit — since all gains went to refiners, both public and private, while the Centre refused to lower fuel prices or taxes.

Instead of taking a measured approach, Gandhi went overboard: “I agree with Trump that the Indian economy is dead, killed by Modi to help his friend Adani.” This statement left even Congress loyalists scrambling to contain the fallout. Did it make any sense — or did it merely hand the BJP another opportunity to box him into the familiar “anti-national” corner?

Consider how far Gandhi’s political stock has fallen: the BJP now dares to paint a man—whose great-grandfather Jawaharlal Nehru led India to independence, whose grandmother Indira Gandhi was assassinated by terrorists, and whose father Rajiv Gandhi died in an extremist suicide attack—as unpatriotic.

There was ample room for legitimate criticism of the Modi government on its foreign policy mishandling that led to the tariff hike. Gandhi could have raised valid questions about why the common man saw no benefit from India’s cheap Russian oil imports, even as fuel prices and taxes soared. That would have resonated with every Indian struggling to make ends meet.

Instead, Gandhi fumbled, conflating Trump’s “dead economy” jibe with Gautam Adani. I agree with Gandhi on the need to flag crony capitalism — but this was not the moment. India’s economy is far from dead, and every leader should be concerned about what such high US tariffs mean for the future, especially since the US is among our most valuable strategic partners. Gandhi could have even questioned whether Apple’s shift to manufacture in India would now be affected. But he resorted to the tired Modi-Adani narrative, even though the situation is far more complex and perilous.

And the gaffes kept coming.

At a public rally, Gandhi alleged that the late Arun Jaitley, then Finance Minister under Modi, had threatened him over his opposition to the farm laws. The BJP—and Jaitley’s son, Rohan Jaitley—quickly pointed out that Jaitley had died a year before the laws were enacted.

Gandhi wasn’t lying, but he ended up with egg on his face for doing what he always does: speaking without research or preparation. He is not a naturally articulate public speaker. Yet, instead of taking lessons, working on his delivery, or using a teleprompter—now the norm for most global leaders—he prefers to ad-lib and land himself in trouble.

What he likely meant was the land acquisition bill from Modi’s first term—a rare moment where Gandhi landed a political punch with his “suit-boot ki sarkar” jibe. Jaitley was alive and active at that time and had indeed met Gandhi. But getting his facts mixed up turned a valid memory into a political self-goal.

The BJP successfully flipped the narrative, branding Gandhi an “unreliable liar.” Imagine that — from a party that blames Nehru nearly every day for all of India’s problems, including Kashmir and the economy. Imagine Gandhi giving the BJP the opportunity to say, “leave the dead in peace.” This, from a party that regularly invokes Aurangzeb — dead for 300 years — to attack Indian Muslims. A party that rode to power by weaponising historical grievances now had the moral high ground to advise Rahul Gandhi not to speak ill of the dead.

His foot-in-mouth syndrome has reached epic proportions.

Even as Nehru is pilloried daily by pliant TV channels, they frothed with glee at Gandhi’s gaffe. Frankly, if you want to be Prime Minister of India, can you afford to be this casual, this sophomoric, this unprepared in your public communication? In an era of powerful sound bites, Gandhi’s throwaway lines force his party’s spokespersons to clean up in paragraphs.

As Leader of the Opposition in Parliament, Gandhi could have used his position to ask tough questions: about Operation Sindoor, about Trump’s repeated claims of brokering a ceasefire between India and Pakistan. Gandhi could have asked: why did India agree, if it was winning? He could have demanded clarity on Trump’s claims.

Instead, he chose to agree with Trump’s worst take: that India’s economy is “dead.”

The tragedy is that no one in Gandhi’s palace coterie dares to correct him — let alone challenge him. He and Modi share an unfortunate similarity: both seem to have an aversion to admitting they are not always all-knowing. Both are imperious and surrounded by yes-men. The difference? One is an underwhelming politician, and the other has a dream rival.