The Ground Reality

I was in a cab driving by the Dadar area of Mumbai and came to halt at a signal called Prabhodhankar Thackeray chowk named after Bal Thackeray's father. My cabbie threw a look at the statue of the man and commented that his two grandsons have gone to great lengths to assert their lineage - one put up an umbrella over the statue and the other his party flag. Of course, he was referring to Uddhav and Raj. More out of courtesy (to acknowledge his observation) than curiosity, I asked him if the MNS can survive on its own. And that got him talking.

He was intrigued that in this day and age, we have separatist politics when we should be drawing inspiration from migrants who put in insane hours of work. He felt this strategy may have worked 10 years ago when leaders were demigods. Now, people are wiser. He then wondered who is a Mumbaikar anyway? Is he the one that speaks Marathi, then how is he different from a Marathi Manoos and others that have learnt the language? Is he the one that is born here? But then migrant kids are born here too. Do people who own land and property in Mumbai should be considered Mumbaikars? Not only do a lot of migrants qualify, but a number of natives will be left out. The conversation was cut short as I reached my destination, but he closed out saying he is a Maharastrian himself and finds this whole thing comical. Worryingly though, he said his line of reasoning is not popular when he talks to fellow cabbies and others in his circle.

So it seems the Sena and MNS will have enough to go on. And I wish they do, at least verbally. The barbs traded by political parties on Mumbai and IPL issues are sheer delight. Modi wondered if a letter in Italian might stem price rise whereas the Sena politely declared that even in the extreme case of Mumbai being thrown open to Indians, Italians are still unwelcome. What sense of humor! Thankfully, the clashes havent gotten physical, and I hope they dont. It'll be a shame for this entertainment to stop. And Rahul Gandhi is gladly obliging with one faux pas after the other, and for once, I am egging him on.