Didi vs Dada, land vs industry
Asansol (West Bengal): “In the runup to (assembly) elections, candidates promise that they will reopen a factory or other that was earlier folded up, with empty tracts of land lying unused. This time, I find that pitch has subdued. I guess that the politicians are either fed up or fear rebuke from the people for making false promises,” says 68-year-old Tej Naran Mishra, who once worked in a sprawling factory that made the popular Sen Raleigh bicycles, and is closed for decades. The factory lies vacant, and the adjoining area has residential quarters but most of the households may not have valid official documents.
However, if one hears the pitches made by the ruling Trinamool Congress, and opposing BJP, industry seems to be a crucial debate point in the ongoing election campaigns. Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee talks about growth wrapped in welfare logic and rhetoric. This comes naturally to a leader, whose rise coincided with the demonstrations against the Tata’s Nano (small car) project in Singur, and a bid by the Salim Group of Indonesia to build a chemical hub in Nandigram nearly 18 years ago. She stopped the industrial acquisitions of 997 acres in Singur, and 14,000 acres in Nandigram.
Riding on her pro-farmers’ land stance, and anti-industry protests, Mamta became the chief minister in 2011, and has ruled for 15 years. But as West Bengal goes for the state polls in April 2026, she focuses on welfare-driven growth, with claims that the state now attracts huge investments in steel, petrochemicals, and tourism. Among Trinamool Congress’ key promises are “10 Protigya (pledge)”, which include jobs for youth, housing, social schemes, and balancing welfare with selective industrial expansion. In 2025, leading business houses committed investments of Rs 1.33 lakh crore, and the state’s industrial growth was 7.3 per cent, or higher than the national average.
The BJP, pulls no punches when it talks about industry. It frames the state of the state as one that suffers from an “industrial desertification,” initially under the Left Front regimes for 34 years, and later under the incumbent CM for 15 years. For almost 50 years, businesses deserted West Bengal, and left behind an industry-bereft desert. For the BJP, Singur is a symbol of missed economic opportunities, not political ascendancy. Hence, it promises industrial revival within a year. But it treads the ground carefully, and claims it will be done without farmland acquisitions. It offers the potential of “double-engine growth.”
Thus, there seems to be a two-way battle for industry at several levels. In the political arena, it is about putting welfare before industry, and putting industry before politics. In the minds of people like Tej Mishra, the debate is about new investments, which requires vast tracts of land, or revival of the closed-down factories, where land is available in abundance, either in their original shape or new avatars. While fresh acquisitions are emotive issues, as land is still crucial for the people, re-using land is a legal and political minefield. Both are complex issues, which can transform into unmanageable political hot potatoes.
Let us start this political-industrial journey, as we hit the campaign trail in West Bengal, with the closed-down Sen Raleigh factory, where tools, parts of machinery, and building materials have been stolen over the years. “My father worked with the company since the late 1950s. It was an ideal workplace, and offered several amenities to the workers. But when the founder, Sudhir Kumar Sen, died in 1959, the fortunes went up and down,” remembers Mishra. The state-of-the-art factory, spread over 1.25 lakh sq ft, made 2,00,000 cycles a year, and could make “even aeroplanes,” had a brand that ruled the bicycle market.
In December 1971, there was a lockout to modernise the factory, and upgrade the machinery. It reopened in 1973, but was nationalised two years later. Production continued under the state-owned Cycle Corporation. Several litigations led to its closure in the 1990s. “In 1990, my father died and, as the eldest of the three brothers, I took up a job at the same factory. Soon, there were strong rumours of a closure. The exodus started with 600 employees, and another 250 quit. Finally, only 154 were left. We reached out to MLAs, and others, for compensation, which came to INR 4-5 lakh per person,” says Mishra.
Like Mishra, Asish Bagh, 61, was a second-generation employee at the Burnpur-based unit of Burn Standard Company Ltd (BSCL). Bagh joined in the 1980s, after his father’s death, just like Mishra. After going through ownership changes, and mergers, BSCL was nationalised in 1975, just like Sen Rayleigh. In 2010, the former’s engineering units at Howrah and Burnpur came under the control of the ministry of railways. “Burn Standard was associated with several iconic structures, and civic facilities, like the Howrah Bridge, Vivekananda Setu over Hooghly, and Dakshineswar Kali Temple,” says Bagh.
One of his current pastimes is to watch the wagons of a goods train, and see if they carry a plate above the wheels with the name, Burn Standard. “The outer shells of cannonballs in the second World War were made by us, as is the casing of the Brahmos,” he claims. Ironically, the takeover by the railways happened when Mamata Banerjee was the central railways minister. On April 4, 2018, the Centre closed down BSCL due to poor physical and financial performance for more than 10 years despite financial assistance and other support.
In yet another irony, the company made a profit, albeit small, of INR 98 crore in 2017-18. Bagh claims that it had assets worth INR 2,600 crore, parts of which were disposed arbitrarily, including prime locations in Kolkata. Bagh stays at the company’s residential quarters, with his wife, and a son. But there is no electricity and water. Promises made to restore them before the assembly elections are broken. Bagh’s family, and others like them are dubbed squatters. “Perhaps, the number of voters in the few polling booths in the area this place perhaps is not enough to convince the candidates to help us,” he laments.
Therein lies the conundrum. It may not be viable to use the land to revive the closed-down units. If new industries are set up, it may lead to a variation of Singur or Nandigram, although it is not farmers’ land, but is occupied by former employees, as in Bagh’s case, or by newcomers and migrants, as in Sen Rayleigh case. Both sets are voters, whose numbers may be small, but their eviction cries may be loud.
(The author has more than three decades of experience across print, TV, and digital media); views are personal
