The Prince Who Didn’t Rule

Raj Thackeray’s MNS remains electorally irrelevant but politically potent.

On March 9th 2006, a fiery new force emerged in Maharashtra’s political theatre. The Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS), founded by Raj Thackeray, promised to champion the cause of the Marathi Manoos with the same ferocity once associated with his uncle, Balasaheb Thackeray, though with a tone and trajectory all his own.

19 years on, the party has no MLAs, no MPs, and not a single representative in any major elected body. Yet thousands of karyakartas remain steadfastly loyal to Raj, a testament to his enduring charisma in an age when political allegiance is often as fleeting as a viral trend. In an era marked by scepticism and political churn, such unwavering devotion is not just rare but revealing.

Despite his electoral irrelevance, Raj continues to command disproportionate attention. A recent MNS-led protest demanding the use of Marathi in banks, which spiralled into headline-grabbing incidents including the assault of non-Marathi-speaking staff, put the party back in the national spotlight. Few outfits without legislative clout manage to stay so visible.

Observers suggest the protest may not have been entirely spontaneous. Some speculate it had the tacit blessing of the BJP, which stands to benefit from the rekindling of Marathi identity politics as it navigates its uneasy alliance with both factions of the Shiv Sena - led separately by Eknath Shinde and Uddhav Thackeray. In this context, Raj serves as a useful disruptor: able to attack both camps while the BJP maintains plausible deniability.

In Maharashtra’s ever-shifting political landscape, Raj Thackeray occupies a peculiar perch - without power, yet powerful.

For all his charisma and cultural heft, Raj Thackeray has never translated popularity into power. 20-somethings often wonder if he is so influential, why doesn’t he win?

The answer lies in Maharashtra’s fractured caste landscape. Unlike his uncle, Balasaheb Thackeray, who once rallied a unified Marathi vote under the Shiv Sena banner, Raj has resisted caste arithmetic. He speaks of Marathi pride, not Maratha or Dalit pride. While this gives him ideological clarity, it deprives him of the alliances needed to win elections in an era when politics is carved into caste and community silos.

And yet, despite never holding a seat in the Assembly or Parliament, Raj Thackeray continues to cast a long shadow over the state’s political landscape. With his acerbic wit, his speeches trend on social media, and his hold over the Marathi-speaking urban middle class particularly in Mumbai and Pune remains potent. His warnings are often cultural rather than electoral: that the Marathi manoos is distracted, atomised by caste, seduced by consumerism and forgetful of his linguistic heritage.

For this generation, raised on English and digital consumerism, Raj serves as a paradox: modern in tone, yet rooted in tradition. His insistence that speaking Marathi in Maharashtra is not chauvinism but cultural preservation finds resonance even among critics who disagree with his methods.

His recent protest demanding the use of Marathi in banks, though marred by incidents of aggression, dominated headlines, proving that political relevance need not depend on seats alone. Some observers suspect these agitations are quietly abetted by the BJP, which sees in Raj a useful ally to needle both Shiv Sena factions. His attacks on Uddhav Thackeray and Eknath Shinde, often cutting and personal, offer the BJP a convenient battering ram without soiling its own gloves.

But this strategic ambiguity has begun to chafe at his cadre. The sudden escalation and soft withdrawal of the bank protest raised questions: is Raj still scripting his own battles, or merely acting in someone else’s play?

Still, few leaders in Maharashtra can match his ability to command attention. Even political rivals tread carefully. At a recent gathering, he mocked the sanctimony of religious symbolism, questioned the quality of the Ganga’s water during the Kumbh Mela, and derided the ostentatious wealth of a jailed BJP functionary with the quip: “The whole Assembly is full of Khokya Bhais.” The line went viral.

To sustain this relevance, however, the MNS must go beyond the language plank. It needs a generational pivot, digital-first outreach, issue-based campaigns on housing, education, urban development and a pipeline for young leadership. It must decide: does it wish to remain a voice of dissent, or graduate into a credible governing force?

For now, Raj Thackeray is still the storm that hasn’t yet turned into a cyclone. But Maharashtra’s weather is famously fickle, and if caste politics falters or urban angst grows, the MNS may still find its moment in the sun.