In the forest-fringed belt of Jhargram, where electoral undercurrents often shift quietly before erupting at the polling booth, a welfare scheme once celebrated as a leap toward digital empowerment is now stirring unease inside rural households.
Launched in December 2020 at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, the smartphone initiative spearheaded by Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee aimed to bridge the digital divide by transferring Rs 10,000 directly to students of Classes XI and XII. The scheme, which reached nearly 9.76 lakh beneficiaries in the 2023–24 academic session, was once hailed as a timely intervention to sustain education in a locked-down world.
However, in Dudhkundi and neighbouring villages of the Jhargram Assembly constituency, the narrative has taken a sharply different turn.
For many mothers, the smartphone has morphed from an educational tool into a perceived social disruptor. Beneath the shade of roadside trees and within mud-walled courtyards, conversations are no longer about online classes but about growing anxieties over adolescent exposure, unsupervised communication, and an unsettling rise in elopement cases among teenage girls.
Mallika Mahato’s story is echoed across households—of daughters forging connections beyond parental oversight, of aspirations shaped as much by digital interactions as by textbooks, and of families grappling with consequences they feel ill-equipped to manage. “It was meant to build her future, not take her away from us,” she says, her words carrying the weight of a sentiment now rippling through sections of rural women voters.
“In the past year alone, five teenage girls from our area have fled their homes with their paramours. Just yesterday afternoon, a Class XI student went missing, and we later discovered she was with a boy from a nearby village. The two had connected through an online social networking platform, which the girl accessed using her smartphone,” said homemaker Usha Mahato.
Asked why she would still withhold support from the ruling TMC despite receiving Rs 1,500 a month under the popular Lakshmir Bhandar scheme, Usha Mahato’s response was brief and unequivocal. “The financial assistance is our right. It cannot come at the cost of our daughter’s future, which is being ruined by Mamata’s smartphone project,” she said.
Neighbouring Sapdhora village reflects a similar disquiet. Mothers argue that with schools functioning normally post-pandemic, the rationale behind distributing smartphones has weakened. Instead, they view the scheme as exposing impressionable adolescents to choices they are not yet mature enough to navigate.
Before the upcoming Assembly election, this simmering discontent has not gone unnoticed in the political arena.
The opposition, particularly the BJP and the CPI(M), has swiftly moved to weaponise these concerns. What was once projected as a flagship welfare success of the ruling TMC is now being reframed as an example of policy miscalibration— an initiative that, rival parties allege, overlooked the socio-cultural realities of rural Bengal.
Mallika, Usha and several others belong to communities classified under the Other Backward Classes (OBC), which constitute nearly 25 per cent of the electorate in the Jhargram Assembly constituency—a segment that has historically played a decisive role in shaping electoral outcomes.
“The smartphone scheme is likely to backfire this time. Jhargram is headed for a fierce contest on April 23, during the first phase of the Bengal polls. The TMC is far from being in a comfortable position here, particularly in urban pockets. The BJP secured leads in 11 out of 18 wards of the Jhargram municipality in the 2024 Lok Sabha elections. Now, this smartphone issue could dent the TMC’s support base among the rural backward classes,” said Prashanta Das, a district secretariat member of the CPI(M).
The TMC candidate Mangal Soren dismissed the Opposition’s claims, asserting that such attempts would prove futile. “Voters have witnessed a range of development works in this region, which remained neglected during the Left Front’s 34-year rule. The people of Jhargram have already rejected the Left Front and will not embrace the BJP’s divisive politics,” he said.
On the other hand, BJP candidate Lakshmikanta Shau exuded confidence about his prospects. “The TMC’s dole politics will not hoodwink voters this time. The people of Jhargram will vote against the corruption under TMC rule,” he said.
As the state inches closer to the 2026 Assembly elections, Dudhkundi’s murmurs may well evolve into a broader electoral signal. In a region where development narratives often collide with deeply rooted social structures, even well-intentioned schemes can acquire unintended political consequences.
Whether this discontent remains a localised grievance or crystallises into a decisive voting factor will depend on how effectively it is amplified — and countered — in the days leading up to the polls. In Jhargram, the smartphone has ceased to be just a device; it is fast becoming a symbol in the battle for perception, trust, and ultimately, power.
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