When Tukaram Mundhe walked into Maharashtra's Food and Drug Administration on May 25, 2026, few expected the appointment to matter much. On paper, it looked like another routine posting for an officer already infamous within the state's bureaucracy, his 25th transfer in a 21-year career. Some analysts even read it as a quiet demotion, a way of parking a famously inconvenient IAS officer somewhere he couldn't cause trouble. Six weeks later, that assumption looks almost laughable.
In his first month alone, Mundhe turned a department long criticised for sluggishness into what one report called a "regulatory blitzkrieg." Under the banner "Safe Food, Safe Drug, Safe Maharashtra," he mobilised food safety inspectors across every major division of the state, Mumbai, Pune, Nagpur, Nashik, Konkan, Amravati and Chhatrapati Sambhajinagar, and set them loose on an enforcement drive the state hadn't seen in years. The results were immediate and, for an agency once accused of dozing through most of the calendar year, startling.
Within the first week, FDA teams had already raided more than 50 establishments and arrested nearly 100 people. By the time the department tallied its first month of action, the numbers had scaled up dramatically: over 22 lakh kilograms of adulterated and banned goods seized, worth close to ₹29.11 crore, 235-plus FIRs registered, more than 350 arrests made, and 274 illegal or non-compliant establishments sealed. The FDA's own running tallies, released in bursts through late May and June, traced a steady escalation: ₹1.58 crore in goods seized in the first week, ₹3.27 crore inside the first fortnight, nearly ₹12 crore by late June, and the total climbing further from there.
The scale of what inspectors found was, in itself, the story. Synthetic milk and dairy rackets were unearthed feeding into Mumbai's supply chains. In Jalfaon and other districts, raids exposed unhygienic manufacturing units producing khoya, paneer and sweets under conditions inspectors described as unfit for human consumption. Elsewhere, teams seized artificially ripened mangoes treated with banned chemical agents, mislabelled edible oil, adulterated jaggery, banned gutkha and pan masala, and even nearly 6,000 kilograms of toxic industrial methanol traced to a Bhiwandi warehouse allegedly supplying bootleg liquor makers, a seizure that followed close on the heels of a hooch tragedy in Pune and Pimpri-Chinchwad that had claimed at least 18 lives.
Mundhe's methods were as aggressive as his targets. He invoked the stringent Maharashtra Control of Organised Crime Act against those running illegal nicotine and gutkha trade networks, treating what had often been waved off as petty adulteration as organised criminal enterprise. He also took on bigger names: simultaneous raids across seven divisions targeted products made by Patanjali's Divya Pharmacy, seizing medicines worth over ₹51 lakh over allegations of misleading advertising. Patanjali pushed back in the Bombay High Court, alleging selective targeting, a claim the state government denied, even as it assured the court it would temporarily hold off on further action against the company.
That episode captured the pressure building around Mundhe. As the crackdown widened, business lobbies representing food, dairy and pharmaceutical interests reportedly began lobbying hard for his removal. In the state assembly, legislator Jitendra Awhad went so far as to allege that an "international drug lobby" was mobilising ₹250 crore to secure Mundhe's transfer, a charge that triggered a rare moment of cross-party unity, with MLAs from multiple parties standing up to defend the commissioner and press the government to let him continue. Facing that pressure, the state government made a public commitment on the floor of the legislature that Mundhe would stay in his post.
Yet the fine print told a different story. Even as ministers publicly reaffirmed Mundhe's position, the government quietly relieved him of his additional charge as Guardian Secretary for Parbhani district, a post he had held since February, replacing him with another officer. The official explanation was procedural: as head of an independent commissionerate rather than a line department, he was no longer structurally eligible for the role. Few in Maharashtra's political circles were convinced. Most read it as exactly what it appeared to be, an attempt to quietly clip the wings of an officer whose reach and popularity had grown uncomfortably large, even while the government avoided the optics of removing him outright.
For Mundhe himself, the political manoeuvring seems to have changed nothing. He has continued to describe his approach as a three-pronged "E3" strategy: empower citizens, enable compliant businesses, and enforce the law without exception, and has repeatedly said that genuine businesses have nothing to fear, while those operating illegally "have nowhere to hide." Whether the administration's patience holds as the lobbying intensifies remains an open question. But for now, Maharashtra has a food regulator that raids first and negotiates never, and a government caught between publicly backing him and privately trying to rein him in.
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