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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.

Keeping the Sacred Sacred

Updated: Mar 20, 2025

The Kedarnath Temple controversy underscores that if mosques and churches can enforce strict codes, then why should temples be treated differently?

Kedarnath Temple

The controversy surrounding the alleged sale and consumption of meat and alcohol near the Kedarnath shrine has reignited a larger question of Hindu temples being treated with casual indifference while religious discipline is stringently upheld elsewhere? Reports that mule owners and workers, predominantly from Nepal and other communities, are consuming non-vegetarian food and alcohol along the pilgrimage route have led to calls for a ban on non-Hindus in the area. While such a measure would be controversial, the demand for stricter regulations on activities near Hindu temples is long overdue.


Hinduism is often characterized by its inclusivity, but this openness has paradoxically resulted in a lack of safeguards for its most sacred spaces. Kedarnath, one of the four holiest shrines in the Char Dham circuit, is a site of deep spiritual significance. The idea that liquor and meat, both traditionally considered impure in Hindu customs, are being consumed so close to the temple is a cause for genuine concern. Yet, unlike other religious institutions, Hindu temples have historically been left to the whims of state governance, while stricter rules are imposed elsewhere.


Consider the contrast. Mosques, gurudwaras, and churches maintain well-enforced codes of conduct, with strict prohibitions against behaviour deemed disrespectful. The upkeep and administration of these places of worship are often managed by dedicated religious bodies that exercise clear authority over who can enter and what activities are permissible. In contrast, Hindu temples are frequently treated as open spaces, often under state control, with inadequate regulation over who enters and what practices they follow. This discrepancy creates a permissive environment where anything goes, eroding the sanctity of these sites.


In contrast, other religions maintain strict codes around their sacred spaces. Mosques, for instance, universally prohibit alcohol and often restrict non-Muslims from entering. Churches enforce decorum, modest attire, and silence. Synagogues maintain dietary laws with unwavering consistency. And yet, when it comes to Hindu temples, rules seem to be more negotiable, subject to political correctness, or dismissed as parochialism.


Critics argue that banning non-Hindus from Kedarnath’s vicinity would be discriminatory. But is it truly discrimination or an assertion of religious identity? When the Vatican enforces rules about entry, it is viewed as cultural preservation. When Mecca remains off-limits to non-Muslims, it is seen as a matter of faith. But when Hindu sites seek to impose dietary or entry restrictions, it is labelled exclusionary.


The broader problem lies in how Hindu religious spaces are administered. Unlike the management of mosques and churches, which remain largely within the purview of religious authorities, many Hindu temples fall under state control. This paradoxically results in temples being treated as public spaces rather than sacred ones, allowing for external influences that would be unthinkable in other religious contexts. The fact that liquor and meat vendors operate anywhere near a temple of Kedarnath’s stature is a testament to this neglect.


Beyond the religious debate, there is a pragmatic argument for a vegetarian zone around Kedarnath. Pilgrims visiting the temple do so under the belief that they are stepping into a realm of divine purity. Regulating food consumption near temples is neither new nor radical; several temple towns in India already enforce such restrictions. Tirupati, one of Hinduism’s wealthiest temples, bans meat consumption in its vicinity. Jagannath Puri, while famous for its chhappanbhog, discourages non-vegetarian fare within its immediate surroundings. Why, then, should Kedarnath be any different?


At its core, this debate is not about exclusion but about respect. Respect for the traditions of a place that predates modern political constructs. Respect for the sentiments of millions who consider Kedarnath sacrosanct. If other religions can demand adherence to their codes, Hinduism should not be the exception. Enforcing a vegetarian and liquor-free zone around Kedarnath is not a radical demand but a necessary measure to preserve the sanctity of one of Hinduism’s holiest sites.

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