Metro Myopia
- Correspondent
- Jul 6
- 2 min read
For the first time in nearly two decades, estranged cousins Uddhav and Raj Thackeray shared a stage in Mumbai, reviving the ghosts of Shiv Sena past and hinting at a new saffron alignment. The event, which was purportedly a rally to assert Marathi pride, carried the unmistakable scent of electoral opportunism. As much as the Thackeray duo wrapped themselves in the Marathi manoos’ cause, the subtext was loud and unmistakable: Mumbai matters most. Maharashtra, meanwhile, remains a footnote in their vision.
To give the cousins their due, the rollback of the Mahayuti government’s ill-conceived plan to mandate Hindi as a third language in primary schools did warrant scrutiny. The fact that the decision was quietly withdrawn is testament to the linguistic anxieties that still run deep in the state. But to present this reversal as some civilisational triumph and use it to launch a political comeback is parochial politics disguised as cultural activism.
Raj Thackeray, always the more theatrical of the two, warned the central government against trying to put its hands on Mumbai or Maharashtra while drawing the usual false equivalence between Hindi imposition and cultural erasure. Uddhav declared that Mumbai was their right in a self-congratulatory tone that conveniently forgets that the battles of the Samyukta Maharashtra movement were won just not by the Thackerays but by the blood, sweat and lives of countless trade unionists, reformers and socialists.
This redux of Thackeray unity appears less a revival of ideological purpose and more an act of mutual desperation. For Uddhav, whose grip on the Shiv Sena was weakened after Eknath Shinde’s defection, and for Raj, whose party has dwindled into political obscurity, this reunion is a chance to reoccupy the Marathi pride space that the BJP has encroached upon. But their vocabulary remains frozen in time, defined by Mumbai-centric chauvinism and linguistic nativism, with little to offer Vidarbha, Marathwada or the Konkan - regions where Marathi pride wears very different clothes.
It is telling that the rally was held in Mumbai and not elsewhere where agrarian distress, water scarcity or unemployment are far more pressing than whether Hindi is taught in school. The Marathi identity they speak of is narrowed to a postcode and pitted against a caricature of the Hindi-speaking other. But Maharashtra is not a monolith.
A politics built around Marathi linguistic identity cannot answer vital questions facing the state like improving health outcomes in rural districts or addressing rampant urban unemployment.
The BJP, with all its missteps, at least speaks of national ambition, digital expansion, global investment. The Thackerays, by contrast, offer retro-nativism in a shrinking frame. That may win a few wards in Mumbai’s civic body, but it will not resurrect a statewide legacy.
If the cousins believe their coming together is historic, they should note that the future of the Marathi voter does not lie in nostalgia but in a leadership that remembers. Mumbai is a city. Maharashtra is a state. And voters have a long memory.
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