The enduring charm of the Bangalore Derby

 BTC in Freefall: A Farce Masquerading as Reform

 

By Sharan Kumar

 

Oh, what a masterstroke of governance we witnessed when the government so magnanimously asked the previous circus—sorry, managing committee—led by the ever-controversial Aravind Raghavan to resign last year! And in its infinite wisdom, it handpicked an ad hoc committee to “set things right.” Because obviously, the best way to fix a rotting house is to set it on fire and hope it rebuilds itself.

 

Then, in the last year’s elections held in December, half the posts went to “elections” while the government kindly nominated the rest—because nothing screams democracy and integrity like handpicked cronies. And did this brilliant fusion of elected wisdom and government oversight rescue the club from its drunken stagger off the straight course? Did it achieve anything? Don’t make me laugh. If anything, it’s managed the truly remarkable feat of going from terrible to downright catastrophic.

 

Some of these government-nominated saviour and freshly elected messiahs are so committed to their duty that they’re busy perhaps in betting or activity they are supposed to keep off. Not running the club. Not reforming anything. No, they’re too busy sidling up to professionals, begging for hot tips like desperate gamblers in a shady casino. Because obviously that’s the priority.

 

And let’s talk about the chairman. Ramesh Manjunath. A man so strong, so decisive, he apparently needs the twin towers’ permission just to figure out whether to sit or stand. Weakest chairman ever? That’s being polite. Watching him try to lead is like watching a deer try to conduct an orchestra—confused, panicked, and utterly out of his depth. He couldn’t make a firm decision if his life depended on it. Meetings under him turn into group therapy sessions where everyone airs grievances but no one actually fixes anything. It’s leadership by consensus, except no one agrees on anything and he’s too busy nodding sagely to notice.

 

Meanwhile, the managing committee is a veritable gallery, with baggage enough to sink a freighter. The sport? Compromised. The Siddaramaiah government’s “reform” agenda? A roaring, pathetic joke. They’ve managed to push the club so far down it’s scraping rock bottom—and still digging.

 

And let’s not forget the pièce de resistance: Aravind Raghavan and his twin. Despite being told to resign, despite criminal charges, Aravind and his twin continue to hold so much sway the committee can’t so much as sneeze without their approval. I have honestly never seen a more spineless, idea-starved bunch than this committee.

 

The secretary? Oh, he’s a real gem. Less interested in doing his job than in mere survival—like some bureaucratic cockroach. Under his sterling leadership, we’ve had financial scandals so stinky they forced the Chief Finance Officer out of the door. The administrative officer and track in-charge were suspended over “grave charges”—but don’t worry, the committee and secretary are carrying on as if it’s all just fine. Nothing to see here. Move along.

 

Let’s revisit that moment of brilliance when the Stewards had to decide an objection. Three Stewards voted to uphold it. But no, ad hoc Steward Jagadeesh—famously a punter with trainer connections—wanted it overruled. The chairman, in all his mighty wisdom, followed like an obedient puppy. And then Jagadeesh demonstrated his deep knowledge of the rules by arguing that the chairman’s casting vote should be used... in a 3–2 situation. Because apparently, math is hard. By the way, Jagadeesh was suspended by another club once. So naturally he’s government-nominated here. Because why not hire the fox to guard the henhouse?

 

Newly elected Steward Mahesh Medappa? Oh, he’s smooth. He talks nicely. Polished manners, charming smile—he could sell sand in the desert. But actually, stand for anything other than his own prohibited interests? Don’t hold your breath. He’s the sort of steward who promises “clean racing” while winking at the bookmakers. Then there’s Shivashankar, the aspiring chairman who changes his mind so often you’d think he’s auditioning for a weather vane. He means well—bless his earnest little heart—but his thinking is so convoluted it makes a pretzel look like a straight line. Give him a simple problem and he’ll solve it in twelve contradictory ways before deciding it can’t be solved at all. Meetings with him are like philosophy seminars: lots of profound-sounding talk, absolutely no useful conclusions.

 

And what an absolute treasure trove of talent we have in Dayanand Mandre—forever controversial, practically breathes betting slips, and specializes in making life miserable for everyone around him. Then there’s government nominee Aravind Katarki, whose claim to fame is being such a dedicated punter he can’t take a stand to save his soul—even if his chair were on fire. He nurses ambitions of becoming the Chairman and hence cannot hurt a fly as well.

 

Not to be outdone, there’s our esteemed doctor on the committee, so obsessively glued to the racing scene he seems blissfully unaware there’s a whole world beyond the paddock fences. The famed laparoscopic surgeon is still to find the route in the tricky world of horse racing and its intricacies. He might be brilliant in the operating theatre, but here he’s fumbling with the anatomy of turf politics like it’s an alien species.

 

And let’s not forget Harish Nayak. The only time anyone actually hears his voice is when he pipes up to ask, “What’s good to play today?” As the clubhouse in-charge, you’d think he’d care about the basics—like, say, not serving the vegetarian special with an extra helping of cockroach garnish. But clearly, sanitation is too boring when there are betting tips to chase.

 

Meanwhile the Senior Stipendiary Ravishankar is practically being shown the door. No one qualified to look after the track. Professionals complain it’s so slippery and patchy it’s like racing on a banana peel. Horses are stumbling in actual races, because apparently safety is for losers.

 

Pathetic doesn’t even begin to cover it. This isn’t a club—it’s a tragicomedy playing to a half-empty house. The only solution? Scrap the entire rotten setup, bulldoze it, and start over without any of these existing BTC members anywhere near the controls.

 

Because if this is reform, give me the old mess back—it was at least honest about being a mess.