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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.

Licence to Lead

Blaise Metreweli takes charge of Britain’s foreign intelligence service, completing a century-long arc of invisibility, persistence and espionage by women in MI6.

When Blaise Metreweli signs her name “C” in green ink this autumn - continuing a tradition begun by Captain Mansfield Cumming, the first chief of the British Secret Intelligence Service (MI6) - she will mark a revolution in British espionage. For the first time in its 116-year history, MI6 will be headed by a woman. The moment is symbolic, but long overdue. Women have operated in the shadows of British intelligence since its inception. Metreweli’s rise, though historic, is less surprising than the delay in her appointment.


Aged 47, Metreweli is a career intelligence officer with a pedigree that runs through both MI5 and MI6. She joined the foreign intelligence service in 1999 and rose through its ranks, with operational experience in Europe and the Middle East. She later headed the “Q” branch - MI6’s fabled hub for technology and innovation, immortalised in fiction but grounded in the grim reality of cyber-warfare. There, she helped counter the biometric surveillance ambitions of China and the digital sabotage of Russia. Her ascension to the top job is not the triumph of tokenism, but the logical next step for an intelligence professional shaped by the digital age and hardened by two decades of geopolitical disruption.


Yet to see Metreweli’s appointment as unprecedented is to forget a buried history. From the trenches of the First World War to the paranoia of the Cold War, British women have always spied with skill, tenacity and distinction. The surprise is not that MI6 has a female chief at last; it is how successfully women’s contributions have been hidden for so long.


The secrecy was often deliberate. In an institution that thrives on anonymity, women were routinely labelled as clerks or secretaries even when they were code-breakers, interrogators, agents and handlers. During the Second World War, women working in MI6 operated under diplomatic cover in Lisbon, Tangier and Istanbul, turning enemy agents and collecting vital intelligence in espionage hotspots.


The Cold War, too, had its female legends. Daphne Park, once described (to her chagrin) as “the greatest woman intelligence officer in the world,” served across Africa, Moscow and Hanoi before becoming Controller Western Hemisphere in 1975 - the highest post then occupied by a woman in MI6. Her 40-year career was not unusual for women in intelligence, but it was rarely acknowledged.


It was partly due to official secrecy and partly cultural bias that these careers vanished into footnotes. Fiction has not helped: the seductive ‘femme fatale’ and the gun-slinging Bond girl continue to obscure the reality of patient, painstaking spycraft. Hollywood eventually gave MI6 a female chief in form of Dame Judi Dench’s steely “M” but left “Q” as a male figure. Metreweli, in real life, has already been both.


As chief, she inherits a service under strain. The intelligence landscape has never been more diffuse, or more dangerous. The long arc of jihadist terror, a revanchist Russia, and the creeping authoritarianism of China have reshaped the global order. The work of MI6, once confined to the murky politics of the Cold War, now spans quantum cryptography, disinformation networks and biometric espionage. Metreweli’s time in Q branch suggests she understands both the traditional art of human intelligence and the newer domain of technological warfare.


Her appointment reflects not only institutional evolution but also a reluctant modernisation. A generation ago, MI6 was so secretive that its very existence was officially denied. Today, it has a website, a Twitter account, and even a commissioned official history. Naming its chief, something once unthinkable, signals a calculated transparency, perhaps to cultivate public legitimacy in an age of mistrust.

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