Amending the Constitution & My Sleep Schedule: An Intern’s Take on the 130th Amendment Bill

 

Here we are, in August 2025, sipping our cutting chai in the corridors of power as Home Minister Amit Shah gracefully pirouettes in the Lok Sabha (or should I say, dances?), to introduce the Constitution (One Hundred and Thirtieth Amendment) Bill, 2025. The headlines scream: a bill to evict PMs, CMs, and ministers from office if they languish behind bars for 30 days straight, even before a single verdict lands. Let me spill the tea: this is not about democracy—it’s about decency. A measure that a minister cannot govern from a jail cell. Who’d have thought such a baseline standard would need constitutional reinforcement? There are days when the Parliament looks like a temple of democracy. And then there are days like the one when Amit Shah strode in with the 130th Constitutional Amendment Bill, 2025, when the Opposition turned the Lok Sabha into a low-budget reality show audition.

As an intern in the office of a Shiv Sena Member of Parliament, I had my notebook open, my pen ready, and my sarcastic heart prepared. I knew this day would not be about lofty ideals or the serene majesty of the Constitution. No, this was going to be about Opposition MPs tearing paper like toddlers denied toys, thumping desks like drummers without rhythm, and shouting "democracy in danger" with the same sincerity they use when filing affidavits that somehow forget to mention their Swiss bank accounts. The stage was set: Amit Shah introduced the 130th Amendment Bill—a proposal to disqualify Prime Ministers, Chief Ministers, and Ministers if they spend more than 30 consecutive days in jail for crimes punishable by five or more years. In simple words: no ruling from jail. A law so basic, so obvious, so common-sense, that only in Indian politics could it be controversial. Let’s decode this amendment, without the Opposition’s melodrama fogging our glasses:

• Clause One: If a minister, Prime, Chief, or otherwise, is arrested for a serious offence and spends 30 days in custody, their office is automatically vacated.
• Clause Two: Union Ministers are removed by the President on the advice of the PM. State Ministers get the Governor’s boot on the CM’s advice.
• Clause Three: Delhi, with its unique Article 239AA headache, is covered too.
• Clause Four: Leaders can return after acquittal. No permanent exile, just a time-out from governance while they’re negotiating with wardens instead of voters.

It’s elegant. It’s neat. It’s like putting a lock on the fridge so your cousin stops stealing the ice cream. But the Opposition? They reacted as if Amit Shah had tabled a bill to auction off Parliament to Adani.

The uproar was instantaneous. Papers flew, slogans echoed, moral outrage flooded the House like a Mumbai monsoon drain. M.K. Stalin of DMK thundered from Chennai, calling it a “black day” and branding the Bill as “dictatorial.” Irony alert: this is the same DMK whose leaders have taken “guest of honour” status in Chennai’s central prison more often than at Marina Beach rallies. Rahul Gandhi went into philosophical mode: “What about the presumption of innocence?” Presumption? Dear sir, in your party, presumption of competence itself is a myth. If we’re waiting for final verdicts, we’ll have 90-year-old ministers attending court hearings from stretchers while running governments through prison WhatsApp groups. Mamata Banerjee added her own theatrics: “This is targeting Opposition-ruled states!” Yes, Didi, because BJP-ruled states apparently don’t have jails. Never mind that the law applies to everyone—from Amit Shah to Akhilesh Yadav. But paranoia is a fine seasoning in political dal. Asaduddin Owaisi roared about civil liberties. Coming from a man who romanticises “strong” leaders with questionable entourages, that’s rich. And then there was Arvind Kejriwal, our jailbird emeritus, crying hypocrisy. He reminded everyone he’d spent 160 days behind bars last year. His complaint boiled down to: “If this law existed earlier, I couldn’t have been CM from Tihar.” Exactly, my dear Kejriwalji—that’s the point. If you looked closely, you could see the Opposition’s real fear shimmering like sweat: this bill isn’t about the BJP targeting them—it’s about snatching away their favourite hobby of playing “martyr from jail.” Let’s lampoon their objections one by one:

1. “Innocent until proven guilty!”
   True. But only in courts. Politics, however, is about perception. You can’t run a state from a jail cell and expect people to believe your innocence. Try telling your boss you’ll be working from Tihar “remotely.” Good luck.
2. “The Centre will misuse agencies!”
   Oh, the drama. If the Opposition is so confident arrests are politically motivated, then trust courts to give bail within 30 days. If bail doesn’t come, maybe the case isn’t as fake as they claim.
3. “This is Emergency 2.0!”
   The Emergency gave immunity to one Prime Minister—Indira Gandhi. This bill does the opposite: it drags PMs, CMs, and ministers within accountability. If this is dictatorship, then Rahul Gandhi is Karl Marx reincarnated.
4. “The people elected us!”
   Yes, and the people also expect their leaders not to treat jail cells like ministerial cabins. Being elected doesn’t mean a license to loot or launder. Even Sachin Tendulkar retires when he’s unfit—you can’t keep batting from a hospital bed, let alone a prison bunk.

Let’s remember: the 39th Amendment during Indira Gandhi’s reign made the PM’s election immune from judicial scrutiny. It was the original “Get Out of Jail Free” card for politicians. And today, when Amit Shah says no one should govern from behind bars, the same Congress that wrote the Emergency script calls it authoritarian.

Globally, too, this is common sense.

• Imagine Donald Trump running cabinet meetings from Guantanamo.
• Imagine Keir Starmer negotiating Brexit 2.0 via jail intercom.
• Imagine Vladimir Putin pretending to be jailed but secretly signing decrees from his cell.

Absurd, right? Then why is it only in India that Opposition thinks ruling from jail is a constitutional right?

Now, let me slip fully into my far-right skin. We’ve always believed politics isn’t about sweet-talking intellectuals in air-conditioned studios. It’s about standing up for ordinary people who don’t want crooks and fraudsters running the show. This bill speaks our language: discipline, morality, accountability. The Opposition whines that this bill is aimed at CMs in non-BJP states. Well, if their CMs love spending more time in court than in cabinet meetings, maybe the problem isn’t the BJP. It’s their addiction to scams.

The message is clear:

• Don’t steal, don’t launder, don’t scam.
• And if you do, don’t expect to keep your kursi warm while your backside is cooling on a jail bench.

Frankly, we like this bill because it exposes hypocrisy. The same Opposition that preaches about “criminalisation of politics” suddenly wants the right to govern from prison. Arre wah! What next? Demand that the Election Commission install polling booths inside Arthur Road jail?

Here’s the core truth: this bill doesn’t scare them because they think it’s undemocratic. It scares them because it takes away their political theatre of victimhood. Opposition leaders love being arrested. It gives them photos for posters, slogans for rallies, and sympathy from their cadres. A stint in jail is marketed as a badge of honour, proof of martyrdom. But the 130th Amendment flips the script: if you’re in jail, you lose your seat of power. No more running ministries via jailhouse pigeons. No more martyr-as-CM narratives. Just a simple truth—jail and governance don’t mix. Sometimes I think Opposition leaders secretly wanted to rename the Constitution: The Indian Penal Code for Politicians.

                                                        

Now, let’s be practical. This amendment needs a two-thirds majority. The BJP-NDA has numbers, but the Opposition bloc is already sharpening knives for the Rajya Sabha. Expect filibusters, court challenges, petitions, midnight vigils. But politically, even if delayed, this bill’s optics are golden. The government gets to say: “We tried to cleanse politics, they opposed it.” It’s the perfect narrative for 2029.  Let’s not hold back. Imagine this:

• Kejriwal printing “Jail-CM” visiting cards.
• Mamata Banerjee issuing cabinet orders through hawala channels.
• Stalin building a new political office inside Puzhal Central Prison with party flags on cell doors.

The absurdity writes itself. And yet, this is what the Opposition is defending. As I pack up my notes from that day in Parliament, one thought lingers. The Opposition isn’t scared for democracy. They’re scared for themselves. They know the old trick of crying “martyr” from jail will be outlawed. They know people might finally expect accountability. And so they shout, they tear bills, they scream “dictatorship.” But the people watching know better. They know this bill doesn’t weaken democracy—it strengthens it. Because in a real democracy, leaders govern from the House, not from a cell.

 So, after reading, re-reading, and then Googling half the jargon in the 130th Constitutional Amendment Bill, I can confirm one thing: law-making is equal parts philosophy, paperwork, and coffee. Amit Shah may have introduced a “historic” amendment, but for us interns, it’s mostly historic in terms of the number of sticky notes and underlines in the draft.

Of course, it’s inspiring to see democracy in motion—but between chasing down legislative references and wondering if the word “notwithstanding” is secretly Parliament’s favourite pet, I’ve realised something important: constitutional amendments may change the nation, but they also definitely change interns into night owls.

Still, I’ll admit—it’s thrilling to witness history unfolding from the corner desk. After all, not everyone gets to say they were there when the 130th Amendment was tabled… and not everyone gets to say they learned the art of balancing chai cups on a stack of Lok Sabha bulletins. 

The 130th Constitutional Amendment Bill, 2025 may or may not pass smoothly. But its idea will outlive the noise: governance is a responsibility, not a jail perk. From my Shiv Sena desk, I see this bill as a line in the sand. Either you stand with discipline and decency, or you cling to the fantasy of “jailhouse governance.” Opposition can keep their martyrdom melodrama. We’ll take morality, law, and a dash of satire with our vada pav. And when history writes this chapter, it won’t remember the paper-tearing theatrics. It will remember the day Parliament debated whether ministers should govern from jails. And it will laugh.