Take, for instance, a prominent politician who emerged as a loud voice of dissent following his exclusion from the party's candidate list. Tears streamed down his face as he stood before his supporters, accusing the party he served for over fifteen years of deception.
“I gave my life to this party. They didn’t even inform me they were giving the ticket to someone else,” he said in an emotionally charged address.
There are dozens of videos still on social media, showing him starting his campaign speeches with the haunting refrain:
“I have been betrayed. Now it is up to you, the people, to decide whether I deserve to be punished or supported.”
The public, gripped by sentiment and stirred by his apparent victimhood, rallied behind him. Posters were hoisted. Volunteers marched. Sympathy transformed into hope. But the drama faded as quickly as it had begun.
Months after the election concluded—and after his defeat—he quietly rejoined the same party. No public statement. No remorse. The betrayal that once served as a battle cry had now evaporated.
He wasn’t the only one. Other seasoned leaders followed suit, each citing personal loyalty and public service, and expressing emotional hurt at being sidelined. The tone of their campaigns turned from political to deeply personal.
In another notable defection during the lead-up to the polls, a former party member—disillusioned after being denied a ticket—switched sides and contested the elections under the banner of a rival party. The party he joined, riding a wave of momentum, was seen as a strong contender to sweep the assembly elections.
In the middle of the campaign trail, a scuffle also broke out between supporters of the party he had left and those of his new affiliation. Police intervened and later confirmed minor injuries as well as violations of the Model Code of Conduct by both groups.
At the time, the scuffle was painted as ideological resistance—a fight for justice and legitimacy. But after failing to secure a seat, the rebel quietly made his way back to his old political home.
A Cartoon That Said It All
The shifting narratives weren’t lost on the region’s artists and observers. Famed cartoonist Bashir Ahmad Bashir captured the mood perfectly in one of his recent works.
The cartoon shows a politician entering a party office after having quit. A man asks him:
“After quitting the party, don’t you feel ashamed returning again?”
To which the politician responds:
“Not at all.”
The Quiet ‘Ghar Wapsi’
The most striking aspect of this political theatre, however, months later, when these same leaders quietly rejoined their parties—roughly six months after their public exits.
There were no press statements, no apologies, and no clarifications.
Even more surprising was the fact that the public, which had rallied emotionally behind them just months earlier, raised no questions. The silent acceptance of these returns has left political analysts and citizens puzzled.
From Emotions to Strategy
What initially looked like sincere expressions of disappointment now seems, to many, like carefully planned political strategies. The heavy emotional appeals, the public tears, the accusations of betrayal—all of it, some argue, may have been tools to maintain relevance and salvage voter support.
“We are watching politics becoming more performative,” said one political analyst from Srinagar. “There’s no shame anymore in switching loyalties, crying betrayal, and then returning as if nothing happened.”
And yet, the lack of public accountability or media questioning allows the cycle to continue without disruption.
Why This Should Concern Us All
This isn’t just about a few leaders—it’s about a deeper issue that should concern every voter. When politicians exploit public sentiment, exit their parties dramatically, only to return silently, it sets a worrying precedent.
These are the questions voters need to start asking:
Why did they return after making such emotional exits?
What changed in five months?
Was the betrayal genuine, or was it a campaign tactic?
Should parties accept such leaders back without public clarification?
If these questions remain unanswered, the risk is not just voter disillusionment—it’s the normalisation of political doublespeak.
A Culture of Convenience?
Over the years, Kashmir has witnessed numerous political shifts. But what’s being seen now—this recurring cycle of exit, emotional appeal, defeat, and silent return—feels different.
The term ‘Ghar Wapsi’ may be used lightly by some, but it represents a deeper unease: a politics where ideology takes a back seat to personal survival, and where public emotion becomes a tool, not a trust.
As the dust settles on the recent elections, one thing is clear: it’s not just politicians who need to reflect—but voters too. Until there is a culture of accountability and transparency, this cycle of quiet returns will likely repeat itself—again and again...
[Umer Rashid, is a Kashmir-based journalist, has been immersed in covering the complexities of the region for over a decade. With a keen eye for detail and a passion for storytelling, Umer brings forth compelling narratives that reflect the multifaceted reality of Kashmir. For inquiries or collaborations, he can be reached at umerrashid44@gmail.com.]