Bhelpuri politics: Who’s Asli ‘Marathi Manoos’?

“Warring Cousins”, as the Thackerays – Uddhav and Raj — are benignly referred to, like they are characters out of Enid Blyton’s innocuous story books File Photo-PTI

Auothor- Shobha De is one of the most prestigious women novelists of India. She tried her best to create most daring women in all her novels. She has formed very bold and assertive women who challenge the norms of age- old patriarchal society. She has depicted aristocratic urban women in her novels who paved the path for all Indian women.

Shobhaa De

When in doubt, turn to Dostoevsky: “Power is given only to those who dare to lower themselves and pick it up.” Try telling that to our ghamandi netas, drunk on real or imagined power (often, also on something equally potent that comes out of a bottle).

When in doubt, turn to Dostoevsky: “Power is given only to those who dare to lower themselves and pick it up.” Try telling that to our ghamandi netas, drunk on real or imagined power (often, also on something equally potent that comes out of a bottle). At the moment, Mumbai is caught up in a messy language issue, generated by the “Warring Cousins”, as the Thackerays – Uddhav and Raj — are benignly referred to, like they are characters out of Enid Blyton’s innocuous story books. If only! The protagonists in this tale are middle-aged men (one, with a middle-aged spread to match his age, the other, lean and gaunt to match his temperament). What has Dostoevsky and his blistering tome, The Brothers Karamazov, have to do with Aamchi Mumbai and its bhelpuri politics? Quite a lot.

Dostoevsky’s last and most powerful book tackled everything — from patricide to betrayal, alliances to rifts. Originally published in 1880, the book raised deep, philosophical questions about ambition, greed, blood ties, jealousy. It’s worth a re-read, as we in Mumbai wade into swirling monsoon waters, wondering who will drown, get swept away, jump on a raft, or swim to the shore. Dealing with this uncertainty and suspense, hapless Mumbaikars ask themselves: “Why us?”

Why us, indeed!
And who exactly are “us”? Who is the mythical, mysterious “Marathi Manoos”, exclusively speaking chaste Marathi in the state of Maharashtra? I am asking myself: what kind of a “Marathi manoos” I am. Here’s a primer. Quick! Respond to these questions: “What is the opposite of Marathi?” Answer: “non-Marathi”. Question: “What is the opposite of “manoos”? Answer: “Pashu” (animal), “Jantu” (insect), “Bhoot” (ghost), “Rakshas” (demon). I swear I am not making this up. I went straight to the single most trusted, reliable information source: AI. Don’t laugh! And this is what AI threw up. The feminine gender for “manoos” does not exist in an exact translation. One has to settle for “Bai” (wife), or “Mulgi” (girl). I don’t identify as an animal, ghost or girl. Marathi is my mother tongue.– no debate there.

Which category do I fit into? None, right? If women are entirely excluded from the present, politically-generated debate, should we even care? Or–vote?

Most political rallies are testosterone-driven, with a sea of unattractive, shabbily dressed men arriving by the truckload to cheer on cue when their netas address them from an elaborate stage, which is dressed up for a film awards night. This happens across India. The token presence of women is mainly decorative to project a “happy family” vibe. It was noted that while Rashmi Thackeray was right up there next to her husband Uddhav, Raj Thackeray’s wife Sharmila was conspicuously missing at the “victory rally”.

The low number of women present was a good thing, given the kind of coarse, crude and uncouth jokes being brazenly traded in the speeches. That’s no surprise, given the history of these parties. Just asking: Do other states of India have similar categories? Like, say, “Bihari Banda? Non-Bihari?” We’ve heard of Punjabi Munda, of course. But not a “non-Punjabi”. The “non” is crucial when it comes to excluding “outsiders”. I go to Bengaluru frequently. But even in that narrow-minded state, nobody has asked me: “Are you a non-Kannadiga?” Maybe I am spared in Karnataka because I am not Kamal Haasan.

Like nobody wonders “Are you non-Assamese?” when I visit Guwahati. Nor does anyone stop me in Calicut to accuse me of being “non-Malayalee”, or insist that I respond in Malayalam.

A few days after the high-profile rally, a half-dressed, drunk man was videotaped hurling filthy abuses at a woman whose car he had crashed into and damaged. When the clip went viral, shocked netizens raised serious issues about the shirtless, reckless, inebriated goon, who repeatedly warned his victim to back off, yelling standard MC-BC gaalis (in Hindi). Undeterred, the 39-year-old business woman stood her ground, retaliated angrily (in Marathi) and filmed the semi-naked “Marathi manoos”, who kept making it worse for herself with the predictable: “Do you know who my father is?” Well… now we do! Rahil Shaikh, the bare-chested driver, is the brat son of Javed Shaikh, an MNS functionary from Thane. He arrogantly told the distraught lady to go and claim her compensation from Raj Thackeray’s home. This, in the presence of police officers, who seemed reluctant to take any action against the Tarzan behind the wheel. “Marathi Manoos” could not have found a better poster boy for their brand of violent, disruptive politics.

This is NOT Marathi machismo. This is plain criminal conduct.

If only Dostoevsky was around to chronicle our ugly mess! After the classic The Brothers Karamazov, he could have tackled “The Cousins Thackeray”. I would have happily found him a Marathi translator.

“Rikamtekda” is a scrumptious Marathi word. My father would scornfully refer to roadside loafers as “rikamtekde” (plural form) — idlers with nothing to do — or lose — in life. Wastrels. Bums. Low life. Every neighborhood has a few. The Punjabi word for such types is “vella” (feminine: velli). Mumbai is littered with rikamtekdas belonging to different political parties. They look alike (bearded, overweight, sporting prominent orange tikas). Their sole purpose is to terrorize the weak and defenseless, demand haftas and protection money from shopkeepers, wave flags and threaten to teach the public a lesson! Shiv Sena’s Buldhana MLA Sanjay Gaikwad assaulted a canteen worker at the Akashwani MLAs’ hostel canteen for serving a “rotten daal” that the victim had not cooked in the first place! Definitely something black in those lenses! Gaikwad thundered: “Balasaheb Thackeray has taught us how to deal with such people. And I have used those ways.” Shabaash… Gaikwad! He accused police officers of “haraamipan” (rogue conduct), while displaying the same himself.

In the past, he had offered Rs 11 lakhs to anyone chopping off Congress MP Rahul Gandhi’s tongue. He’d also expressed his desire to shove the deadly coronavirus down CM Devendra Fadnavis’ throat. This is the abysmal level of elected representatives who flourish and thrive across party lines, as Uddhav Thackeray openly boasts: “Yes, we are goons….”

The chief minister of Maharashtra, Devendra Fadnavis, has announced uber-ambitious plans about creating FOUR Mumbais in the coming years!

Hey Devaa…like one is not enough! India just celebrated Guru Purnima. God save us from such “gurus” and their rabid disciples


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  • Kumar Bahukhandi

    Kumar has written mostly short stories and on human behavior that changed the day to day course of the people who engineered them. He says I am always myself... I just hate being someone else...It's so fake and unreal..."!!I have an everyday religion that works for me. Love yourself first, and everything else falls into line...... I am just a next door person A friend of friends, A Journalist ,who respects every person regardless of his/her stature (but yes, disregards cunning and selfish people).Learnt to get in touch with the silence within myself and knew that everything in life has a purpose. A very simple, Introvert person who believe in "Simple Living and High Thinking", trusts in Modesty. Very truthful to self basic instincts, work, hobbies and family. I Always Listen and Obey what my heart, my inner voice, my soul tells me. I prefer to be true to myself, even at the hazard of incurring the ridicule of others.

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