Kamal Ghorui
She was looking tired, surrounded by central security forces who were pushing her own security detail further away, creating a distance that felt more than physical. At 71, the strain of the moment showed. Mamata Banerjee was speaking to media outside the Bhabanipur counting centre. She stood there in her white sari with the blue border, but with the drape no longer careful, as if even habit had given way under the weight of what was unfolding. She was alone too.
She was alone because, in that instant, she knew Bhabanipur was slipping from her grasp. Not just a constituency, but a space that had mirrored her journey, grown with her, carried her name like a quiet certainty.
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