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By:

Abhijit Mulye

21 August 2024 at 11:29:11 am

The Unequal Cousins

Raj Thackeray’s ‘sacrifice’ saved Shiv Sena (UBT) but sank the MNS Mumbai: In the volatile theatre of Maharashtra politics, the long-awaited reunion of the Thackeray cousins on the campaign trail was supposed to be the masterstroke that reclaimed Mumbai. The results of the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC) elections, however, tell a story of tragic asymmetry. While the alliance has successfully helped the Shiv Sena (UBT) stem the saffron tide and regain lost ground, it has left Raj...

The Unequal Cousins

Raj Thackeray’s ‘sacrifice’ saved Shiv Sena (UBT) but sank the MNS Mumbai: In the volatile theatre of Maharashtra politics, the long-awaited reunion of the Thackeray cousins on the campaign trail was supposed to be the masterstroke that reclaimed Mumbai. The results of the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC) elections, however, tell a story of tragic asymmetry. While the alliance has successfully helped the Shiv Sena (UBT) stem the saffron tide and regain lost ground, it has left Raj Thackeray’s Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) staring at an existential crisis. The final tally reveals a brutal reality for the MNS - Raj Thackeray played the role of the savior for his cousin, but in the process, he may have become the sole loser of the 2026 mandate. The worse part is that the Shiv Sena (UBT) is reluctant to accept this and is blaming Raj for the poor performance of his party leading to the defeat. A granular analysis of the ward-wise voting patterns exposes the fundamental flaw in this tactical alliance. The vote transfer, the holy grail of any coalition, operated strictly on a one-way street. Data suggests that the traditional MNS voter—often young, aggressive, and driven by regional pride—heeded Raj Thackeray’s call and transferred their votes to Shiv Sena (UBT) candidates in wards where the MNS did not contest. This consolidation was critical in helping the UBT hold its fortresses against the BJP's "Infra Man" juggernaut. However, the favor was not returned. In seats allocated to the MNS, the traditional Shiv Sena (UBT) voter appeared hesitant to back the "Engine" (MNS symbol). Whether due to lingering historical bitterness or a lack of instructions from the local UBT leadership, the "Torch" (UBT symbol) voters did not gravitate toward Raj’s candidates. The result? The UBT survived, while the MNS candidates were left stranded. ‘Second Fiddle’ Perhaps the most poignant aspect of this election was the shift in the personal dynamic between the Thackeray brothers. Decades ago, they parted ways over a bitter dispute regarding who would control the party helm. Raj, refusing to work under Uddhav, formed the MNS to chart his own path. Yet, in 2026, the wheel seems to have come full circle. By agreeing to contest a considerably lower number of seats and focusing his energy on the broader alliance narrative, Raj Thackeray tacitly accepted the role of "second fiddle." It was a pragmatic gamble to save the "Thackeray" brand from total erasure by the BJP-Shinde combine. While the brand survived, it is Uddhav who holds the equity, while Raj has been left with the debt. Charisma as a Charity Throughout the campaign, Raj Thackeray’s rallies were, as always, electric. His fiery oratory and charismatic presence drew massive crowds, a sharp contrast to the more somber tone of the UBT leadership. Ironically, this charisma served as a force multiplier not for his own party, but for his cousin’s. Raj acted as the star campaigner who energised the anti-BJP vote bank. He successfully articulated the anger against the "Delhi-centric" politics he accuses the BJP of fostering. But when the dust settled, the seats were won by UBT candidates who rode the wave Raj helped create. The MNS chief provided the wind for the sails, but the ship that docked in the BMC was captained by Uddhav. ‘Marathi Asmita’ Stung by the results and the realisation of the unequal exchange, Raj Thackeray took to social media shortly after the counting concluded. In an emotive post, he avoided blaming the alliance partner but instead pivoted back to his ideological roots. Urging his followers to "stick to the issue of Marathi Manoos and Marathi Asmita (pride)," Raj signaled a retreat to the core identity politics that birthed the MNS. It was a somber appeal, stripped of the bravado of the campaign, hinting at a leader who knows he must now rebuild from the rubble. The 2026 BMC election will be remembered as the moment Raj Thackeray proved he could be a kingmaker, even if it meant crowning the rival he once despised. He provided the timely help that allowed the Shiv Sena (UBT) to live to fight another day. But in the ruthless arithmetic of democracy, where moral victories count for little, the MNS stands isolated—a party that gave everything to the alliance and received nothing in return. Ironically, there are people within the UBT who still don’t want to accept this and on the contrary blame Raj Thackeray for dismal performance of the MNS, which they argue, derailed the UBT arithmetic. They state that had the MNS performed any better, the results would have been much better for the UBT.

Cinematic Genius, Tragic Life

Guru Dutt was born Gurudutt Padukone in Bangalore on 9 July 1925. His father, Shivshankar Rao Padukone, had married Vasanthi in 1923. The family, part of the Saraswat Mangalorean community, later moved to Bombay, where Dutt spent his early years in a modest Matunga flat. Shivshankar changed jobs often, and the family struggled financially. Dutt, the eldest of five, was followed by Atmaram, Lalitha, Devi, and Vijay. His name was eventually shortened to Guru Dutt.


In 1929, Vasanthi moved to Calcutta with the children; Shivshankar joined later and spent 30 years with Burma Shell. In Bhowanipur, Dutt became fond of jatra performances and soon spoke fluent Bengali. Vasanthi’s cousin, cinema-hoarding artist B.B. Benegal, also influenced the children. After school in 1940, Dutt briefly worked as a telephone operator before turning to dance. From 1942 to 1944, he trained in Oriental dance at Uday Shankar’s Almoracentre on a Rs 75 monthly scholarship but had to leave when it shut down.


His sister, Lalitha Lajmi, became one of India’s finest artists, while her daughter, Kalpana Lajmi, became a noted filmmaker. ShyamBenegal was a close family relative.


Dutt moved to Pune, then known as Poona, and joined Prabhat Studios on a three-year contract as a dance director, occasionally acting in B-grade films and assisting directors. There, he learnt the craft of filmmaking. He met Dev Anand on Hum Ek Hain (1946)—Dutt as dance director, Anand as lead—and they became lifelong friends. Returning to Bombay in 1947, Dutt remained unemployed for a year due to the post-Partition slump, later joining Gyan Mukherjee as an assistant.


Dutt debuted as a director with Baazi (1951), produced by Dev Anand’s Navketan Films. During its recording, he met singer Geeta Roy; they fell in love and married in 1953. The marriage, with three children, soon turned turbulent.


Baazi is remembered for S.D. Burman’s experimental ghazal Tadbeer Se Bigdi Hui Taqdeer Bana Le, set to Western music, and the choreography of SunoGajar Kya Gaaye. Dutt then launched his production house and made Baaz, acting opposite Geeta Bali. Jaal (1952), reportedly inspired by De Santis’s Bitter Rice (1948), broke clichés of Christians as carefree caricatures, portraying fishermen as hard-working and honest. Though framed as a thriller, it resonated as a love story with memorable songs. Its black-and-white visuals, shot by V.K. Murthy—who shot all of Dutt’s films—evoke deep nostalgia.


His first major hit was Aar Paar (1954), a stylish thriller with polished production. This was followed by Mr. & Mrs. 55 (1955), a breezy romance that hinted at women’s rights, and C.I.D. (1956), a gripping thriller that launched Waheeda Rehman’s career. His films stood out for their music, lyrical depth, and striking visuals.


Pyaasa (1957) was the first of Dutt’s tragic masterpieces, followed by KaagazKe Phool (1959) and Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam (1962). In Pyaasa, Meena and Gulab—Vijay’s former lover and a compassionate prostitute—serve as emotional contrasts, amplifying the film’s impact without weakening its core message.


KaagazKe Phool remains one of Indian cinema’s finest self-reflexive films—a tribute to the studio era of the 1930s–40s. In one scene, Suresh, the director-protagonist, watches Vidyapati (1937), a classic of the time. The films he’s shown directing are real titles from Indian archives.


India’s first CinemaScope film, featured stunning cinematography by V.K. Murthy, who captured the studio mood using lighting and shadow. He balanced the narrative with the ‘film-within-a-film’ structure, using chiaroscuro to separate illusion from realism. The sets reflected two moods—success, with bright lights and bustle, and decline, as a solitary Suresh wanders through an empty studio.


The film also bears autobiographical undertones—Dutt’s elegy to himself, conveyed through script, imagery, and rhythm. A strained relationship with a leading lady reportedly caused rifts with Geeta Dutt. Battling insomnia, he drank during shoots and suffered depression. His premature death seemed tragically foretold in the film.


With Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam (1962), Duttimmortalised a Bengali classic, drawing a landmark performance from Meena Kumari. Told in flashback, the story is framed by a decaying mansion and an ageing Bhootnath. It’s been compared to The Magnificent Ambersons and shares Viscontian qualities in its detail and quiet mourning of a lost world.


Shortly before his death, Dutt moved into a new flat, living alone with a servant. In October 1964, he died of a sleeping pill overdose, leaving behind his wife, three children, his banner, and the unfinished BahareinPhirBhiAayegi, which had to be re-shot.


His films—among the finest of the 1950s—gained international acclaim posthumously, screened at festivals in France, Italy, and the US, aired on British TV and were released in Paris. Pyaasa was also featured at a Tokyo festival. Ironically, it was death that brought Dutt the recognition he seemed to foresee in Pyaasa—that true artists are often valued only after they’re gone.


(The author is a film scholar. Views personal)

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