Kolkata: With Trinamool Congress (TMC) supremo Mamata Banerjee refusing to resign, West Bengal governor R.N. Ravi dissolving the state assembly, and chief secretary Dushyant Nariala having managed the transition of power as approved by the governor, a lot has happened in the past week leading up to the formation of the new government on May 9. Parallelly, various pockets in the state reported post-poll violence. Midweek on May 6, just days ahead of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP)’s chief minister announcement, Suvendu Adhikari’s personal assistant Chandranath Rath was killed by miscreants in his car. The investigation is on. However, among these worrying signs of where the state is headed, the most talked-about discussion is something every Bengali household holds dear – fish. This new viral sensation is not the “machhe-bhaate Bangali”, the fish-rice identity typically associated with Bengalis; instead it is a song on TMC candidate from Bhangar, Saokat Molla, who was dubbed a “machh chor” or fish thief in it.This catchy song was all over social media just ahead of the elections, with its captivating words, rhythm, beats and the visuals using artificial intelligence. Its popularity even transcended class barriers. So much so that even after TMC’s defeat in the election, the song was played in victory rallies from Kolkata’s Ballygunge to North Bengal’s Balurghat, from Medinipur to Maldah as found on social media handles. Not only that, a parody version was made on now-former chief minister Mamata Banerjee and her nephew Mr. Abhishek Banerjee. A few lines of the original song go:“Notorious criminal Bhangore-te eshe/Bolir patha prarthi hoye Ꮶhoka gelo phense…Ꮇachh chor, machh chor (Տaokat machh chor)Bom bandha kaaj or (Տaokat machh chor)”(A notorious criminal has been made a scapegoat in Bhangar… Saokat is a fish-thief and he makes bombs.)And then: “1, 2, 3, 4 Saokat machh chorCanning’er haramkhor Saokat machh chor” (1, 2, 3, 4, Saokat is a fish thiefA scoundrel from Canning, Saokat is a fish-thief)Bhangar, a restive region of Kolkata suburb, is famous for its Bheri or fisheries and a huge chunk of the population there is engaged in this business. The long standing allegation was that Molla extracts almost the entire profit percentage of the poor fisher folks. His colleague-turned-rival from the same party, Kaizer Ahmed, had told a local Bengali channel, “Years back when Saokat was too poor to run his family, he used to steal fish and sell it to local markets to earn a livelihood. Thus, I named him machh chor.”Though Kaizer emphasised he did not have any role in this song, Saokat lost from his Canning (East) seat against Naushad Siddique, sitting MLA of the Indian Secular Front (ISF), an ally of the Left parties, by a margin of 32,000 votes. It was alleged that the song was created by the ISF, though the party never acknowledged it. Molla, visibly upset as he spoke on Bengali media channels, said, “This was done in bad taste and would go to court.”The “Machh-Chor” track is the kind of unapologetic, cheeky creation that turns local gossip into full-blown public theatre. With its mock-heroic tone and deliberately over-the-top accusations of fish theft, the song gleefully exaggerates the figure of the politician into a near-mythical, less a criminal, mastermind. With its mock-heroic tone and exaggerated accusations of fish theft, the song turns the politician into a comic, larger-than-life figure rather than a serious criminal mastermind. He was portrayed as a hapless, fish-greedy anti-hero caught in the court of public opinion.What makes it click is the razor-sharp use of everyday humour: the cultural sanctity of fish in Bengali life treated with the dramatic seriousness of an alleged “crime” feels both absurd and oddly grave. Beyond the fun, however, there’s also satire. The song shows how quickly narratives – whether true or not – spiral into viral verdicts in the age of social media. It’s caustic without being cruel, hilarious without trying too hard, and above all, a reminder that in Bengal’s political culture, even someone mocked as a fish-thief can suddenly become famous – if the song or slogan about them is catchy enough.After the resultsThe song became so popular that after counting of votes was complete on May 4, it was played everywhere – but by the winning party, BJP. Soon, a parody version of the song emerged, widely shared by BJP supporters:“Nandigramer damaal chhele Bhawanipur esheOpen challenge emon dilo Pishi gelo phensheFile chor, file chor, Mamata ta file chorPishi chor, bhaipo chor, chorer daler sabai chor.Chal chor, Goru chor, haater dal-er sabai chorChor chor chor chor.”(A naughty boy from Nandigram [referring to Suvendu Adhikari, his residence and home-turf] came to BhawanipurThrew open such a challenge to Aunt [Mamata], she got corneredFile thief, file thief, Mamata is a file-thief, She is a thief, her nephew is a thief; in a party of thieves, everyone’s a thief. Rice-thief, cattle-thief…) This election has seen a striking evolution in political communication, with parties increasingly using artificial intelligence to produce campaign music videos that are faster, more targeted, and expressively sharper than ever before. Thus, once famous election-graffiti on the walls of Bengal has taken a backseat.The TMC and BJP have their own anthems – “Jatoi karo hamla, abar jitbe Bangla” (Whatever attack you unleash, Bengal will win again) and “Paltano darkar, chai BJP sarkar” (Change is needed, bring BJP government) – respectively. Communist Party of India (Marxist) (CPI(M)) in Bengal evolved the legacy of Gana Sangeet with new age political communication. For instance, songs like “Ami Bachabo Bangla” carry an almost slogan-like urgency, invoking resistance with lines like: “kaaj chai, adhikar chai, notun kore lorai chai” (we want work, want rights and a new battle to fight), directly addressing the unemployment and economic distress, which was among the main concerns of voters in West Bengal.While the CPI(M) and the Congress relied more on traditional protest songs for their campaign, they too gradually incorporated AI-assisted editing and distribution techniques, albeit with less scale or virality. Meanwhile, the TMC built an intense ecosystem around songs like “Abar Jitbe Bangla” and “Je Lorchhe Sabar Daake”, using AI to generate multiple audio versions, remix tracks and hyper-local edits tailored for different districts and demographics, particularly women beneficiaries of welfare schemes and first-time voters consuming content on reels and WhatsApp. These videos typically combine archival footage of Mamata Banerjee with synthetically enhanced crowd sounds, rapid AI-assisted editing and mobile-first formats, creating emotionally reverberating narratives centred on continuity, Bengali identity and welfare delivery.The BJP leaned more heavily on AI for cinematic, narrative-driven videos under themes like “Viksito Bangla”, where music functions as a dramatic backdrop to visually constructed contrasts between a “failing present” and a “developed future”, often using AI-generated imagery, stylised reconstructions and even controversial deepfake-like elements to amplify allegations and evoke fear or dissatisfaction. After their win, BJP released a victory song, “Paltechhe eibaar, elo BJP sarkar” with catchy music and words. In the middle of the song, Prime Minister Narendra Modi makes an appearance chanting “Joy Ma Kaali”. Often, the lyrics to the campaign songs are tailored to constituency-specific grievances, blending humour and critique, and sometimes even borrowing familiar folk or popular melodies to ensure recall. What stands out is how these songs are no longer confined to rallies. They circulate widely through WhatsApp forwards, Facebook reels, and roadside loudspeakers, creating a low-cost but high-frequency campaign presence. Across the board, these AI-enabled music videos are engineered for platform-specific consumption as short, high-impact clips – for WhatsApp and Instagram – and longer narrative hybrids for YouTube – making them highly shareable and difficult to regulate. In that essence, the CPI(M) campaign music today sits at an interesting crossroads – ideologically old-school in content, but eager to keep pace with an algorithm-driven, attention-fragmented political battlefield in styles.The result is that campaign music in Bengal is no longer merely cultural expression but a data-driven, algorithmically optimised tool of political persuasion, where AI not only accelerates production but also personalises messaging, blurring the line between creativity and manipulation, and raising serious concerns about misinformation, synthetic amplification, and the emotional conditioning of voters.More AI-made campaign songsThough not directly affiliated with any political party campaigns, two more AI-enabled creations and songs that were widely circulated were about the ghastly rape and murder of a junior doctor at R.G. Kar Medical College and Hospital in August 2024. The incident had triggered an unprecedented public outcry across Bengal and outside as people from all walks of life – cutting across class, gender and political lines – took to the streets demanding accountability and justice. The massive participation under “Reclaim the Night” or “Raat Dakhal” became a powerful assertion of women’s right to safety in public spaces, drawing millions into protests that were as much about grief as they were about anger at systemic failure. Yet, a lingering perception remains that justice for the young doctor is still elusive. To ‘ensure’ justice for her daughter, the mother of the victim joined BJP and contested from Panihati constituency in North 24 Parganas, about 50 kilometers away from Kolkata. Her move drew mixed reaction among the masses. As she argued that proximity to power is often necessary to secure justice, many viewed it with discomfort, almost as a betrayal of the movement’s apolitical moral force.This sense of disillusionment then found expression in two songs – Aami Kono Daler-i Noi and Aajke Tomar Du Haat Rakte Maakha – both of which emerged from the collective grief and anger around the R.G. Kar case but differed sharply in tone, target and emotional register.“Aami Kono Daler-i Noi”, which translates as “I do not belong to any party”, is focused on the perceived co-option of a people’s movement. The lyrics carry a sense of moral rupture, accusing unnamed actors of betrayal, possibly pointing towards political appropriation or the shifting positions of those once seen as part of the justice movement. Lines like, “Jatoi kakima aajke korun aswikaar, sedin raate aamrai chhilam chhiniye ante bichar (Aunty, today you may deny everything, on that fateful night we were there to ensure justice)” and “Bichar cheye raatjaga aami aaj-o bicharheen (I have spent sleepless nights to seek justice, but still I didn’t get it)” reflect the voice of a protester who feels abandoned, where the outrage has turned inward, questioning integrity and intent. The anger here is politically layered: it is less about the incident alone and more about what justice has come to mean in a power-driven landscape.In contrast, the second song is far more direct and harsh. The tone is stimulating, almost slogan-like, echoing the urgency of street protests. The first two lines of the song is, “Aajke tomar du haat rakte maakha/shato bar dhule tabu bhore thake daage (Today your hands are stained with blood/Wash it hundred times and it will still be stained)” draws on a distinctly Shakespearean imagination, where guilt is not merely political but almost metaphysical – staining hands in a way that cannot be washed away. The recurring imagery of “du haat rakte maakha” unmistakably echoes Lady Macbeth’s fanatical cry in Macbeth – “Out, damned spot!” – suggesting a conscience so burdened that no performance of innocence can erase it. In the song’s visualisation, shadowy frames, stark lighting and slow, accusatory close-ups heighten this sense of moral decay, as if power itself has turned into a haunted chamber. The betrayal hinted in the lyrics thus transcends immediate politics, entering the realm of tragic inevitability – where those complicit, whether by action or silence, are condemned to carry the mark of blood long after the noise of protest fades.Whereas the first song mourns betrayal within, the second externalises blame. It resonates with the immediacy of the crime and the perceived failure of systems meant to protect. Together, these songs trace an evolution of public sentiment, from a collective outrage against violence to a more fractured, introspective critique of how such movements are absorbed, redirected, or even compromised. It’s not that Bengal has never had songs or rhymes around elections. Figures like Dada Thakur, also known as Sarat Chandra Pandit (1879-1968), a renowned Bengali satirist, poet, journalist and publisher, was master of this craft. He would compose verses spontaneously as others would jot them down. A resident of Jangipur, Murshidabad, he even published a paper called Jangipur Sangbad. It is rumoured that Dada Thakur once propelled a humble snack-seller, Kartik Chandra Saha, into municipal politics after the latter’s quarterly tax was abruptly doubled from three annas to six. Repeated attempts to petition the Municipal Commissioner had also failed. That’s when Dada Thakur reportedly told him: “They ignored you? Fine. We’ll place you right there – and win using this very injustice.”The town buzzed when a telebhaja-chanachur (Bengali fried snack mix) seller entered the fray against a respected local elite. Everyone knew whose brain was behind it. The campaign’s real weapon was Dada Thakur’s witty songs and rhymes. One of them still lingers in public memory: ভোট দিয়ে যা/ আয় ভোটার আয়/ মাছ কুটলে মুড়ো দিব/ গাই বিয়োলে দুধ দিব…। (Come, O voter, come vote – cut fish and you’ll get the head, milk when the cow calves) It was a mix of humour, bait and satire, and when results came in, Kartik Chandra won comfortably.Times have changed, of course. Today, machines often try to replace human wit. Yet, this election season in Bengal is flooded with catchy songs. The core instinct remains unchanged: attract the voter with something striking and personal – promises, handouts or spectacle – and right there, Machh Chor found its place in the political marketplace.After all, who can deny the symbolic and now strategic importance of fish in this election and beyond?