For over three decades, Ajit Pawar occupied a singular space in Maharashtra’s politics—never the chief minister, yet rarely out of power; often controversial, yet repeatedly indispensable. His sudden death in a chartered aircraft crash near Baramati on January 28, 2026, ended one of the most consequential political careers the state has seen since the 1990s. What remains is a legacy layered with administrative clout, electoral dominance, sharp political instincts, and unresolved debates about power and accountability.
This is the story of Ajit Pawar not as a list of posts held, but as a political force—how he rose, how he ruled, how he split a party that bore his family name, and why Maharashtra kept returning to him.
Ajit Pawar was born on July 22, 1959, in Deolali Pravara in Ahmednagar district, into the powerful Pawar family of western Maharashtra. His uncle, Sharad Pawar, would go on to become a four-time chief minister and a national political figure. But Ajit’s early grooming did not happen in Delhi or Mumbai drawing rooms—it happened in the cooperative sector.
In Maharashtra, cooperatives are not just economic institutions; they are political training grounds. Sugar factories, district banks, irrigation boards—these bodies decide livelihoods, credit, and local influence. Ajit Pawar entered this ecosystem early, winning a seat on the board of a cooperative sugar factory in 1982. By 1991, he had become chairman of the Pune District Central Cooperative Bank, a position he would hold for 16 years.
This cooperative grounding shaped his politics: transactional, localised, numbers-driven. He learned early that power in Maharashtra is built less on speeches and more on control over institutions that touch everyday rural life.
If Sharad Pawar built Baramati as a symbol, Ajit Pawar turned it into a fortress.
He entered electoral politics in 1991, winning the Baramati Lok Sabha seat before vacating it later that year. From there, he shifted decisively to state politics. Beginning with a 1991 by-election, Ajit Pawar won the Baramati Assembly seat seven times consecutively—1995, 1999, 2004, 2009, 2014, 2019, and 2024—often with massive margins.
Baramati was not just a constituency; it was his laboratory of governance. Roads, water projects, cooperative institutions, educational campuses—supporters credit him with relentless attention to local development. Critics argue this also entrenched a patronage-heavy model where loyalty was rewarded and dissent marginalised. Either way, the result was unambiguous: Baramati stayed with Ajit Pawar.
Ajit Pawar was never known as a great orator or ideological thinker. His strength lay in administration and execution.
Over the years, he handled some of Maharashtra’s most powerful portfolios—irrigation, water resources, rural development, planning, finance. He served as deputy chief minister six times under governments led by ideologically opposed leaders: Prithviraj Chavan, Devendra Fadnavis, Uddhav Thackeray, and Eknath Shinde.
This ability to survive across regimes earned him two reputations: among allies, a reliable administrator who “got things done”; among critics, a political survivor willing to bend with power winds. Ajit Pawar himself seemed unbothered by either label. Governance, in his worldview, was managerial—not moral or ideological.
Power at Ajit Pawar’s scale inevitably attracted controversy.
His tenure as water resources minister placed him at the centre of allegations related to irrigation projects and the Lavasa township, where leases and approvals were questioned by activists and opposition leaders. In 2012, claims of large-scale irregularities in irrigation spending led to intense public scrutiny. While no conviction followed, the episode cemented his image as a politician who thrived amid accusations.
In 2013, during a severe drought, a remark attributed to him—suggesting he could “urinate into a dam” to solve water shortages—sparked outrage. Pawar apologised, calling it the biggest mistake of his life, but the comment lingered as evidence of his abrasive public style.
More recently, in 2024, allegations surfaced that he had called the Pune police commissioner in connection with a fatal Porsche crash involving a minor. Pawar denied interfering, saying the call was routine oversight as guardian minister. The episode reinforced long-standing criticism that his proximity to the system blurred lines between authority and influence.
Yet none of these controversies broke his electoral hold or decisively ended his career. Ajit Pawar’s political resilience became part of his myth.
November 2019 offered the first glimpse of Ajit Pawar’s willingness to act independently of his uncle.
In a dramatic early-morning move, he joined hands with the BJP and took oath as deputy chief minister alongside Devendra Fadnavis. The government collapsed within days due to lack of numbers, and Pawar returned to the Nationalist Congress Party fold. At the time, the episode was dismissed as a miscalculation.
In hindsight, it was a rehearsal.
The real rupture came in July 2023.
Backed by a majority of NCP MLAs, Ajit Pawar split the party, joined the BJP–Shiv Sena (Shinde faction) alliance, and once again became deputy chief minister. The move triggered a bitter battle with Sharad Pawar over the party’s name, symbol, and legacy.
When the Election Commission ruled in February 2024 in favour of Ajit Pawar’s faction, awarding it the NCP name and symbol, the split became institutionalised. Sharad Pawar’s group was forced to rebrand.
Politically, Ajit Pawar had achieved what few thought possible: wresting formal control of a party founded by his uncle. Symbolically, however, the victory was incomplete. While his faction retained legislative strength and later performed strongly in assembly and local body elections, the moral authority of the Pawar legacy remained contested.
On the morning of January 28, 2026, Ajit Pawar boarded a chartered Learjet 45 from Mumbai to Baramati. He was scheduled to address public meetings ahead of local elections.
The aircraft attempted to land at Baramati airport amid marginal visibility. After a go-around and a second approach, it crashed near the runway threshold and burst into flames. Pawar, his security officer, an attendant, and two crew members were killed.
Investigations by the Aircraft Accident Investigation Bureau and DGCA began immediately. Preliminary information pointed to visibility challenges and the limitations of Baramati’s uncontrolled airfield. Sharad Pawar publicly urged that the tragedy not be politicised, calling it an accident and an irreparable personal and political loss.
Maharashtra observed three days of state mourning.
Ajit Pawar’s legacy defies simple judgement.
To supporters, he was a tireless administrator who understood the mechanics of governance better than most—someone who delivered infrastructure, controlled chaos, and kept the system moving. To critics, he embodied the darker side of regional power politics: opacity, institutional dominance, and politics without ideological compass.
Historically, he may be remembered as the archetype of Maharashtra’s modern power broker—neither mass leader nor Delhi-centric politician, but a master of the state’s unique ecosystem of cooperatives, coalitions, and constituencies.
He never became chief minister. Yet for over thirty years, Maharashtra rarely functioned without him at its centre.
In death, as in life, Ajit Pawar leaves behind unanswered questions—not just about the crash that killed him, but about the future of the political structures he shaped, controlled, and ultimately transformed.
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