Understanding Raj Thackeray

Manu Joseph meets a man whom educated Maharashtra lads overly and secretly admire

And Raj Thackeray tells his Great Dane, "Even you're barking." The wronged nephew, the cartoonist who probably would have been employed even if he did not have the benefits of pedigree, and the man at the heart of another tumult in Mumbai, is somewhat fed up of voices. He cannot stand anymore the fulminations of Amar Singh and Abu Azmi, and of the easy intellectuals in this country who, he says, are so naïve that they judge a political situation through the simplicity of righteousness.

"I do not regret anything," he says about the violence last Sunday against migrants from Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. He is sitting on a hoisted chair beneath a giant frame of Bal Thackeray who surveys the room with a benevolent smile. A coffee table book on Amitabh Bachchan, To Be or Not To Be , is on the centerpiece. And a wooden tiger growls in a corner. This is a small meeting room in his commodious Shivaji Park residence.

He says that the viral growth of migrants from UP and Bihar has altered the polite character of the city. The human transaction on the street, a cultured affair even a decade ago, has collapsed. Mumbai is beginning to assume the haunting hostility of Delhi. Taxi drivers suddenly do not know how to speak with civility, do not know what lane discipline is, and very often, do not know the way. Airport to home in a taxi, rest assured, you have been robbed by the meter. Security guards gape at modern girls with rustic judgments. Road rage too has arrived. Kidnappings are on the rise. Slums are filling with more migrants than the city can take anymore. "There are forty thousand huts on water pipes today. It is a security hazard."

On top of all this, Thackeray says, "They do not have the habit of following the law. With a single number plate, they run four taxis. And why do the bhayyas form cartels in everything they do?" Their militant groupism, he says, is denying local Maharashtrian lads and girls the right to employment. "There is a lot of resentment at the ground level," he says, "So violence is a natural consequence." He points out that Gandhi's nonviolence was directed against, "intelligent and educated Englishmen". Provocative members of Samajwadi Party who are trying to build a political base out of the migrant population here, "are different from Englishmen and they have to be dealt with differently."

But then, isn't it natural for the poor to flock to Bombay? There is a nervous silence in the room. Thackeray clears his throat. "First of all, it is not Bombay. It is Mumbai," he reprimands. Then he says, calmly, "I am not saying you can't live here. All I am saying is that if you are a migrant who is making a livelihood here, then learn to respect Marathi heritage." He cannot tolerate people who live in Mumbai and do not make an attempt to learn the local language. "I read a statement of Pooja Bedi. 'Why should I learn Marathi', she says." Thackeray almost screams, "Why should I learn Marathi?"

He does not accept the argument that Mumbai now belongs to all. "Who gave these intellectuals the right to call Mumbai the financial capital. It is first the capital of Maharashtra." He has particular contempt for people he derisively calls, intellectuals. "They do not know the ground realities," he says, "They wander around with their own agendas. They read magazines and newspapers and form opinions. They do not know anything."

Many beat reporters would actually agree with him. The isolation of intellectuals from reality was evident in the aftermath of the Gujarat riots. They, hilariously, predicted Modi's defeat on the basis of poetic justice. They misread the mood. And Thackeray says that the issue of migrants too is being misread by the armchairs. He says the local population wants to be liberated from carrying the burden of the migrants. "There are enough poor Maharashtrians who can perform the functions of the bhayyas at the same cost," he says.

In a way, the malice towards the needy migrant, and how that migrant rapes a city, is a global problem. In London, locals hate the Polish and other migrants. Those migrants not only reduce the market price of many jobs, but also deface the character of the city. Political correctness is the disease of the elite in England and so respected papers, usually loss making ventures, do not accurately reflect the street emotion.

But stand-up comedians, who are the real journalists in some situations, often remind you that in central London you very rarely meet a person who understands English. The denizens hate that. In several African countries, the blacks hate Indians. Europe, too, has seen violent attacks on migrants. Every city has a bitter migrant story. Thackeray knows that and he sees a political opportunity.

But when he formed the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena, there was a feeling that he will attempt a more virtuous path to success. He himself said that he will build a more tolerant society. There were other encouraging signs too. He banned people from falling at his feet, ensured that speeches were short, and unambiguously explained that his blue-saffron-green flag symbolised the prospects of Dalits, Hindus and Muslims. His tough stand against the migrants today, some inevitably attribute to a certain political desperation and impatience. A charge he denies. "I have always said what I am saying now about the migrants," he says, "And I have always believed that if you want to work here you should respect the local culture."

That is his pet topic, and it suddenly puts this writer in the direct line of fire. "Look at this guy," he tells someone pointing at me, "He cannot speak Marathi. He cannot speak Hindi properly, he cannot speak his national language..."

Now that reminds this writer of an interview with VHP's Praveen Togadia who said exactly what Thackeray has just said. And the next question to Togadia was in Malayalam.

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Opinion/Sunday_Specials/Review/Understanding_Raj_Thackeray/
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