This is not politics in motion; this is conviction in decay – stage-managed, monetised, and performed without shame.
“AAYA RAM, GAYA RAM” (literally “Ram has come, Ram has gone”) is a famous Hindi expression that originated in 1967 to describe turncoats—politicians who make opportunistic switches in party allegiances. This phrase became the defining symbol of the rampant political instability and unprincipled defection that plagued Indian legislatures during the late 1960s.
The phrase originated in the newly formed state of Haryana in 1967, involving Gaya Lal, an independent Member of the Legislative Assembly (MLA) from the Hassanpur constituency. After winning as an independent, Gaya Lal joined the Indian National Congress. Within a fortnight, he defected to the United Front coalition, then back to the Congress, and then back again to the United Front – all within a span of nine hours by some accounts.
When Gaya Lal was brought back to the Congress party, then-leader Rao Birender Singh brought him to a press conference in Chandigarh and famously announced: “Gaya Ram was now Aaya Ram”.
This incident was one of many that led to the collapse of the B.D. Sharma government and eventually the dissolution of the assembly and the imposition of President’s Rule in Haryana in 1967.
The late 1960s was a period of significant political churn. Following the 1967 general elections, the Indian National Congress lost its absolute majority in several state legislatures, leading to a rise in coalition governments. Between February 1967 and March 1968, there were 438 reported defections in India, with over 50% of legislators changing parties by March 1971. This behaviour caused chronic government instability, as elected officials switched sides frequently for rewards or ministerial berths, breaking the trust of voters.
The phenomenon in the 1960s was so severe that it created a national outcry against unethical politics. To curb this, the “Aaya Ram, Gaya Ram” trend led to the 52nd Constitutional Amendment Act, 1985, which introduced the Tenth Schedule (Anti-Defection Law) to the Indian Constitution.Despite the 1985 law, the term “Aaya Ram, Gaya Ram” is still frequently used to describe flip-flopping loyalties in modern Indian politics. Gaya Lal himself continued to change parties throughout his career until his death in 2009, having joined the Congress, United Front, Arya Sabha, Bharatiya Lok Dal, and the Janata Party.
Cut to April 24–25, 2026. Raghav Chadha resigned from the Aam Aadmi Party (AAP) and joined the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP). His departure, accompanied by reports of other MPs and a statement claiming he was the “right man in the wrong party,” sparked significant political controversy and criticism regarding his shift in loyalties.
Raghav Chadha, a prominent AAP Rajya Sabha MP, reportedly switched sides in what has been described as a “coordinated political move”. Many social media users and commentators described this move as a sudden change, calling it “opportunism” and arguing that he had shown his “true colours”. A video of him previously criticising the BJP went viral shortly after the move, triggering debate about his past stance.
The move followed alleged growing internal differences and a public fallout with the Aam Aadmi Party leadership. The development is a major blow to the AAP, with critics questioning his ideological consistency. He had none. His best qualification may have been his gift of the gab, pinches of elitism in the way he carried himself, and someone who carried little conviction when he addressed Parliament.
The Politics of Defection
The Tenth Schedule (Anti-Defection Law), enacted in 1985 through the 52nd Amendment, disqualifies members who leave their party or vote against party whips, with decisions made by the Speaker. Conveniently, Parliamentarians left behind exceptions to the rule—and these have been used to the hilt.
A party can merge with another if at least two-thirds of its legislators approve, which protects members from disqualification. While aimed at ensuring stability, it can limit freedom of speech and reduce accountability.
Cut back to Goa 2017
The Goa election of 2017 remains a defining example.
In the 40-member House, the Congress emerged as the single largest party with 17 seats, while the BJP was reduced to 13—a sharp drop from 21 in 2012. Anti-incumbency was evident, with Chief Minister Laxmikant Parsekar losing his own seat. The BJP had been politically thrashed.
And yet, from Delhi, Amit Shah announced that the BJP would form the government. It was treated as a joke – until it wasn’t.
Shah arrived with a team in tow and, according to widely reported accounts, suitcases that were not light. Despite not being the single largest party, the BJP moved swiftly to assemble a coalition. Manohar Parrikar was brought back from his role as Union Defence Minister to lead the effort. Overnight the best political engineers created news spaces and a new political architecture.
Parrikar formed a government with the support of BJP MLAs, the Goa Forward Party, the Maharashtrawadi Gomantak Party, and independents – reaching the majority mark. The loaves of office were distributed. The biggest rewards went to the biggest players.
Politicians like to believe they are smart and people are fools. The people may be helpless against brute power and remain unorganised – but we are not blind. Not foolish.
The Congress argued that the Governor acted in a partisan manner by not inviting them first. Critics called it a “blatant breach of the people’s verdict” – a case where a rejected party used manoeuvring to seize power.
My cat would tell you that this was a fact. Not the defectors. So, one must ask—is my cat more intelligent than the defector? Parrikar maintained that his government was a coalition born of necessity. But what fractured was not the mandate – it was principle. An unwillingness to accept defeat, combined with a hunger for power, replaced democratic humility.
The government secured a trust vote on 16 March 2017. Institutions followed procedure. Democracy did not. The Governor – too often reduced to a postman—and the Speaker -frequently a chowkidar—surrendered democratic principles and handed victory to power. That era of “Aaya Ram-Gaya Ram” never ended. It simply evolved – adding incentives, scale, and sophistication.
One MLA who had campaigned viciously against Parrikar later pledged allegiance to him, declaring: “He is a changed man” (Or words to that effect).” The public had asked for a vote – not a character certificate. The public watched. It laughed. It remembered. It still laughs. One MLA threatened the Businessmen in the anti-CAA Movement with disruption to their business opportunities.
The role of the Speaker in disqualification cases remains deeply controversial, often inviting judicial intervention, as seen in states like Maharashtra. Proposals to shift this authority to an independent body like the Election Commission have been made—but institutional credibility itself now raises concerns.
The law has reduced small defections—but enabled large ones.
Political defection today reflects power-hungry behaviour, where elected representatives abandon ideology for personal gain, protection, or proximity to authority. It represents a shift toward “showroom politics,” where loyalty is displayed, traded, and upgraded.
Defectors treat parties as ATMs or protection walls. Ideology is invoked only when convenient—and abandoned when profitability changes.
The drivers are clear: office, money, survival, and alignment with power.
Some attempt to justify defections as acts of conscience or protest. These explanations have become predictable—and unconvincing. This claim is utter rubbish.
Defections are often highly lucrative. Ministerial posts, institutional positions, contracts, and financial inducements form part of the exchange. “Horse-trading” is not an allegation—it is a pattern. It is the rare legislator who resigns, topple governments, recontest under new banners, and return to power cleansed and rewarded.
The Tenth schedule stumbles
The Tenth Schedule was meant to stop this. Instead, it has been outmanoeuvred. What we are witnessing is not political realignment -it is political commerce. When defections become profitable and principles disposable, democracy is no longer a system of representation—it is a marketplace of transactions. The voter casts a ballot, but power rewrites the outcome. Until betrayal carries consequence and conviction regains value, this turncoat bazaar will continue to thrive—louder, richer, and more brazen with each passing election. And somewhere in that noise, the very idea of political integrity will not just fade – it will be systematically buried.
Raghav Chadha’s exit, then, is neither shocking nor exceptional -It is entirely in keeping with the grammar of our times. Draped in polish, fluent in rhetoric, and cushioned by a certain elitism that mistakes articulation for integrity, his defection feels less like a rupture and more like a delayed inevitability. This was always going to happen. When politics becomes a ladder rather than a commitment, the climb matters more than the cause. His betrayal is not just of a party, but of the very idea that public life demands conviction. And in that sense, he is not an outlier—he is a perfect product of the very bazaar we pretend to condemn.
This trend is often viewed as a “for-profit” decision by lawmakers, which can lead to political instability and the undermining of democratic principles. While these actions are financially beneficial to the individual defector, they often severely damage democratic stability by disregarding the mandate given by the voters.
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Ranjan Solomon is a writer, researcher and activist based in Goa. He has worked in social movements since he was 19 years of age. The views expressed here are the author’s own and Clarion India does not necessarily share or subscribe to them. He can be contacted at ranjan.solomon@gmail.com
