By Kumkum Chadha
Till Rajiv Gandhi was alive, the word Amethi spelt magic in north India. There were standing instructions: no one from Amethi should be stopped at the gates of 10, Janpath—then Rajiv Gandhi’s home. Ditto at the prime minister’s house on Race Course Road, now rechristened Lok Kalyan Marg. Being from Amethi—the prime minister’s constituency—meant automatic VIP status.
That was forty years ago.
In the years that followed, Amethi began to fade. After Rajiv’s assassination, the constituency clung to the Gandhis—electing them repeatedly—but something vital had been lost. When the Congress slipped into Opposition, Amethi too lost its sheen, its special status. Then in 2019, came the final blow. Betrayal and disillusionment culminated in the electorate voting out Rahul Gandhi—their own MP—in favour of BJP’s Smriti Irani. It was seismic.
The media labelled her a “giant slayer,” not for the win alone, but for the symbolism: a Gandhi had been defeated in his family bastion.
Fast forward to 2024. The Congress fielded a man many had never heard of outside the power circles of the party—Kishori Lal Sharma, a long-time Gandhi aide and loyalist. Pitted against Irani, then a sitting MP and Union Minister, his chances were seen as laughable.
But Kishori Lal pulled off the unimaginable. He didn’t just defeat Irani—he stripped her of the very tag that had defined her: the “giant slayer.” This time, the shoe was on the other foot.
Today, the new MP from Amethi is being celebrated in Congress circles as the new giant slayer. The irony wasn’t lost on anyone: a man dismissed as “a servant of the Gandhis” had brought down a cabinet minister. His critics, including Irani, may have scoffed at his perceived sycophancy. But Kishori Lal wears his devotion as a badge of honour.
“Whatever I am today is because of them,” he says in an interview, referring to the Gandhis. “The Gandhis had my back. They handpicked me and rewarded me for my devotion. I will never forget what they have done for me.”
So, was Irani wrong in calling him a servant? And critics who say he is subservient? “I will not comment on what Irani has said. That is her value system, upbringing and sanskar (culture). I am a volunteer and not a servant either of the party or the Gandhis. But yes, I am a loyalist,” he says calmly.
Kishori Lal recalls a moment that sealed his decision to contest: “What I can never forget is what Priyanka Gandhi said to me when I was reluctant to fight the elections. She said that for decades I had worked during the elections of every member of the Gandhi family. Now it is their turn and I should not stop them (the Gandhis) from doing their bit.” He fought back tears recounting that memory.
Call it loyalty, call it servitude—or to borrow LK Advani’s memorable phrase, the “willingness to crawl when asked to bend”— Kishori Lal doesn’t flinch. He owns his allegiance. “I have a voice in that family,” he says, brushing aside talk that he is merely a rubber stamp.
And with Priyanka Gandhi Vadra, the bond goes beyond politics. It is rooted in an affectionate nickname: bhaiya. “I have always referred to her (Priyanka) as Bhaiyaji. Whenever I send her a message, I refer to her as Bhaiyaji and she calls me Kishori Bhaiya,” he explains.
“Actually, it was during the 1999 elections when she came to Amethi with Soniaji. I asked the SPG how to address Priyanka. They said she always called them Bhaiyaji and so we started saying Bhaiyaji to her. We felt she liked it. So that stuck.”
During the 2024 campaign, a picture of the two breaking bread went viral—the image captured the closeness that has always defined their relationship.
To say Kishori Lal is a Gandhi loyalist is, perhaps, an understatement. He is a devotee. A man who has elevated the Gandhis to a near-divine status. It echoes the sentiment once expressed by former President Giani Zail Singh about Indira Gandhi: “She made me President. If she asks me to pick up the broom and sweep the floor, I will.” Ask Kishori Lal about the parallel and he is evasive: “They will never ask any such thing. They are too graceful to demand anything like this.”
In Amethi, Kishori Lal is seen as a “beech ka aadmi”—someone from within the community. But that identity has layers. He proudly asserts his Punjabi roots: “My Aadhaar card, my voter ID, everything is from Ludhiana and I belong to Punjab,” he says.
So is he a parachute candidate, dropped into Amethi from elsewhere? “Not at all,” he says. “Of the 62-plus years of my life, I have spent 40 in Amethi. My Punjab roots are alive, but now I am an Amethiwala. I belong here.”
In his own eyes, he may still be just Kishori Bhaiya. But for Amethi—and the Congress—he is now much more. A reminder that in politics, devotion can sometimes defeat might.
—The writer is an author, journalist and political commentator