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By:

Abhijit Joshi

31 August 2024 at 10:09:24 am

Uddhav Thackeray’s Long March Ahead

While defections may weaken the Shiv Sena (UBT), Maharashtra’s politics is shaped as much by emotion and identity as by arithmetic. As the Shiv Sena marks the 60th anniversary of its foundation, the celebrations are accompanied by introspection as much as festivity. Both factions - the Shiv Sena led by Deputy Chief Minister Eknath Shinde and the Shiv Sena (UBT) led by Uddhav Thackeray - continue to claim ownership of the party’s legacy, ideology and emotional bond with Maharashtra's...

Uddhav Thackeray’s Long March Ahead

While defections may weaken the Shiv Sena (UBT), Maharashtra’s politics is shaped as much by emotion and identity as by arithmetic. As the Shiv Sena marks the 60th anniversary of its foundation, the celebrations are accompanied by introspection as much as festivity. Both factions - the Shiv Sena led by Deputy Chief Minister Eknath Shinde and the Shiv Sena (UBT) led by Uddhav Thackeray - continue to claim ownership of the party’s legacy, ideology and emotional bond with Maharashtra's electorate. Yet one development continues to reverberate across the state: the steady migration of leaders from Uddhav Thackeray’s camp to the Shinde-led Sena. Political Flip-Flop The latest reports suggest that six of the nine Shiv Sena (UBT) Members of Parliament may align themselves with Shinde in what has been described as ‘Operation Tiger.’ The larger question, however, concerns the ordinary Shiv Sainik, the grassroots worker who spends years campaigning, mobilising supporters and defending the party through good times and bad. For such workers, political realignments often produce confusion and disillusionment. One day they are instructed to oppose a rival faction; the next, they find their leaders sharing platforms with former adversaries. The dilemma is profound: whom should they follow, and where does their loyalty now lie? As the Shiv Sena enters its seventh decade, the future of its cadre may matter as much as the future of its leadership. Regional parties in India rarely disappear overnight. They endure electoral setbacks, organisational crises, leadership feuds and even the loss of their symbols. What allows them to survive is the emotional connection between their leaders and their grassroots workers. The undivided Shiv Sena founded by Balasaheb Thackeray in 1966 remains perhaps the clearest example of this phenomenon. Rebellions Galore Over the past three decades, the party has weathered a series of rebellions. In 1991, Chhagan Bhujbal departed with a significant section of the organisation. In 2005, Narayan Rane rebelled, expecting dozens of legislators to follow him, though only a handful eventually did. Raj Thackeray’s exit in 2006 inflicted a deep emotional and organisational wound, even though no MLA initially joined him. The most damaging rupture came in 2022, when Eknath Shinde led a revolt involving 40 legislators, bringing down the Uddhav Thackeray government and eventually securing control of the original Shiv Sena name and its iconic bow-and-arrow symbol. Now, four years later, Uddhav Thackeray faces another test. If the reported departure of six MPs materialises, the party’s parliamentary presence would be substantially weakened. Yet it would merely constitute another chapter in the long and turbulent struggle over Balasaheb Thackeray’s political inheritance. What is striking is that every rebellion in the Shiv Sena’s history has shared a common feature. Chhagan Bhujbal's departure was shaped by the political churn of the Mandal-versus-Kamandal era and his rivalry with Manohar Joshi. Narayan Rane believed that Uddhav Thackeray's rise blocked his own path to the top. Raj Thackeray reached a similar conclusion, convinced that Balasaheb’s preference for his son limited his prospects within the organisation. Even Shinde’s revolt was rooted in the perception that Uddhav’s leadership style had become an obstacle to the ambitions of many senior leaders. Despite these repeated schisms, the Shiv Sena’s core support base has displayed remarkable resilience. The average Shiv Sainik has historically remained loyal not merely to an election symbol but to a broader sense of identity, ideology and belonging. Above all, that loyalty has been anchored in the enduring memory of Balasaheb Thackeray. That emotional capital remains Uddhav Thackeray’s greatest political asset. The evidence was visible in the 2024 Lok Sabha election. Despite losing the party name and symbol, the Shiv Sena (UBT) secured nine parliamentary seats. Although the party subsequently suffered setbacks in the Maharashtra Assembly election, the Lok Sabha outcome demonstrated that a substantial section of Marathi voters continued to regard Uddhav Thackeray as the authentic political heir to Balasaheb’s legacy. The challenge before him today, however, differs fundamentally from the one faced by his father. Balasaheb commanded the organisation through charisma, authority and an almost unmatched emotional hold over the cadre. Uddhav must instead rely on organisation, persistence and sustained public engagement. The next three years will therefore be decisive. If he intends to remain a serious contender ahead of the 2029 Lok Sabha and Assembly elections, he will have to spend considerably more time on the ground. Reconnecting with workers, rebuilding local leadership structures and expanding the party beyond the politics of sympathy will be essential. Electoral revival cannot be achieved through nostalgia alone. There is, however, one development that could reshape the political landscape. The recent rapprochement between Uddhav and Raj Thackeray has revived hopes of a broader Marathi political consolidation. After years of rivalry, the Thackeray cousins appear to have recognised that political survival may require cooperation rather than competition. Should this understanding evolve into a durable alliance, it could consolidate the Marathi vote in urban Maharashtra, particularly in Mumbai, Thane, Nashik and parts of the Konkan. For Uddhav Thackeray, the immediate future remains difficult. Organisational defections continue to haunt the party, and reports suggest that legislators, too, are being courted by rival camps. Yet Maharashtra’s political history offers a useful reminder. The Shiv Sena has repeatedly survived predictions of its demise. Every split has weakened the organisation; none has succeeded in severing its emotional connection with a significant section of its cadre. The battle for the Shiv Sena is therefore no longer merely a contest over legislators, MPs or election symbols. It is a struggle over memory, legitimacy and identity. Eknath Shinde may possess the official party name, the symbol and a larger legislative presence. Uddhav Thackeray, however, still retains a considerable portion of the emotional constituency that Balasaheb painstakingly built over five decades. Whether that emotional reservoir can once again be converted into electoral success remains the defining question. The answer will be determined on the streets, in shakhas and among party workers across Maharashtra over the next three years. For now, Uddhav Thackeray stands politically wounded, but far from defeated. In Maharashtra politics, that distinction often matters more than the numbers.

Lingua Pragmatica

Updated: Mar 20, 2025

As Southern leaders like M.K. Stalin rage against Hindi, Andhra Pradesh’s Chief Minister Chandrababu Naidu offers a model of pragmatism over parochialism.

Chandrababu Naidu
Andhra Pradesh

Amid the cacophony of opposition in southern states to Hindi, Andhra Pradesh CM N. Chandrababu Naidu has taken a markedly pragmatic stance by remarking recently in the state Assembly that there was no harm in learning other languages. Hindi, Naidu noted, was useful for communication across India, particularly in political and commercial hubs like Delhi. His remarks, though avoiding explicit mention of the NEP, were widely seen as an endorsement of multilingualism and a rebuke to the linguistic chauvinism that has gripped parts of the South.


Few issues in India stir political passions quite like language. It is not merely a means of communication but a marker of identity, a relic of colonial resistance, and a source of political mobilization. In the southern states, where anti-Hindi sentiment has long been entrenched, the National Education Policy (NEP) 2020 and its three-language formula have reignited old tensions. No state embodies this defiance more than Tamil Nadu, where the ruling Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK) led by M.K. Stalin has framed the policy as an assault on its linguistic autonomy.


Naidu’s words, welcomed by his ally and Deputy Chief Minister Pawan Kalyan, mark a sharp contrast with the DMK’s position. Tamil Nadu’s hostility towards Hindi dates back to the 1930s, when C. Rajagopalachari’s attempt to introduce it in schools met with fierce resistance. The anti-Hindi agitations of the 1960s cemented the DMK’s ideological stance, with its first Chief Minister, C.N. Annadurai, famously warning that Hindi imposition could push Tamil Nadu towards secession.


The question, however, is whether this rigid opposition serves Tamil Nadu’s interests. While Stalin, with an eye to the upcoming Tamil Nadu Assembly polls, has been relentlessly portraying Hindi as a threat to his state’s regional identity, Naidu, a partner of the BJP-led Centre, is framing it as a tool for economic mobility. His argument is not that Hindi should replace Telugu or English but that it offers a competitive advantage.


The economic case for multilingualism is compelling. Indians who speak multiple languages tend to have better job prospects, higher earnings and greater geographic mobility. Andhra Pradesh’s Telugu-speaking diaspora is a case in point. Telugus make up a significant proportion of Indian-origin professionals in the United States, the Gulf, and Southeast Asia as Naidu pointed out, hinting that this success story was built not on linguistic rigidity but on adaptability.


In a country where inter-state migration is rising and where Hindi remains the most widely spoken language, refusing to learn it amounts to self-imposed isolation. Tamil Nadu’s approach, by contrast, risks limiting its youth. The DMK government has refused to implement the three-language policy, keeping schools strictly bilingual with Tamil and English. Its justification that Hindi is not necessary for global success could be true in a narrow sense but ignores the domestic context. If Tamil filmmakers can dub their movies into Hindi to expand their audience, why should Tamil students be denied access to the language that could open more doors for them within India?


The DMK has accused successive central governments, particularly under the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), of pushing Hindi at the expense of regional languages. Yet, rejecting Hindi outright is an overcorrection. The reality is that Hindi is an important language in India’s economic and political landscape. Naidu’s position, one of accommodation rather than confrontation, offers a middle ground that other Southern leaders would do well to consider.


Some states already recognize this. Karnataka, despite its own history of linguistic pride, has allowed Hindi to be taught as an optional language. Kerala, whose migrants work in Hindi-speaking regions and the Gulf, has been less hostile to Hindi education. Naidu’s model, balancing regional identity with practical necessity, offers a way forward. Languages should be embraced, not politicized. Southern leaders would do well to listen to him.

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