The Forgettable Legacy of Bal Thackeray

My first encounter with the late Balasaheb Thackeray’s outfit was sometime in 1973 on a day when his father died. Until then he was a minor chieftain, still trying to find his feet in the overcrowded political sphere of Mumbai and Maharashtra. But on that day, when his father died, he let loose his cadre on the hapless shopkeepers of Dadar and forced them to down their shutters. I happened to be in the market and saw how quickly the shopkeepers were intimidated into obedience. The Shiv Sena cadre consisted mainly of the Marathi speaking village folk that had come to Mumbai to eke out a marginalised existence working as daily-wage labourers in the city’s sweat shops. Balasaheb had cunningly used the son-of-the-soil stratagem successfully to give these rootless people an identity, while turning the non-Marathi speakers into demons who had wrongfully occupied their lands and deprived them of their rights on the jobs and in the economic activities of the city/state.

Soon, the Shiv Sena had grown into a potent political force catapulting its founder to a position where he could sup at the high table with the big guns of all the leading political parties of the time. His party was sought by all as an ally for he could deliver muscle to electoral campaigns that till then was provided by the underworld. Balasaheb also cleverly positioned himself as a champion of the Hindus when the Congress and the various parties left-of-the-centre began to woo minority votes following the failure of the Janata Party experiment in 1979. This, naturally, brought him closer to the BJP that rose phoenix-like from the ashes of the Jana Sangha. The slogan “Garv se kaho hum Hindu hain” found immediate resonance in the hearts of the Hindutva-wadis who were ready to turn India into a Hindu Rashtra.

However, for Balasaheb, Hindutva was only a step in the ladder to political power. Although he never deviated from his support to the Hindutva movement, the BJP would soon find out that his loyalties could not be taken for granted. Balasaheb would ditch them whenever it was convenient for him. Using his cadre to break into the labour movement in Mumbai, he gradually gained control over a very large number of workers’ unions. The death of Datta Samant and the decline of George Fernandez as a Union leader would make him the sole arbiter on behalf of the millions of workers across Mumbai and its industrial suburbs. At the same time the underworld also lost a lot of its influence due to many encounter deaths, and inter-and-intra gang killings. Dawood Ibrahim with his assistants fled to Dubai and Karachi while Chhota Rajan and other gang lords too had to flee to safe havens outside India. I do not know how much the Shiv Sena benefited from the absence of these unworthies, but it would not be idle speculation to think that Ram Gopal Verma’s film “Sarkar” was not totally a work of fiction.

On 10^th January 1993 I was in Chennai. My family was in Mumbai and I wanted to be there as that day was my son’s 20^th birthday. Mumbai had been witnessing terrible communal violence in the wake of the first anniversary of the demolition of the Babri Mosque in Ayodhya. Curfew had been imposed at night, and my friends cautioned me against travelling. However, I took the chance and booked a seat on the Indian Airlines flight that landed at the Mumbai Airport at about 10.30 p.m. There was no certainty of finding a taxi or any other kind of transport from the airport. One option was to book into the Centaur Hotel near the Airport and to spend the night there. Many of the business travellers on the flight did take that option. But the whole purpose of my trip was to be with the family. I came out to the taxi stand to look for a cab. Surprisingly, there was a taxi looking for passengers. The driver asked for my destination, and on hearing from me asked me to sit in the back of his cab. He said he would charge me Rs. 150 for the journey. I readily accepted and got into the cab. Soon he picked up three more passengers on similar terms, and within ten minutes we were out of the airport. The roads were completely deserted, with not even a soul on the Western Express Highway. The driver began talking and soon we learnt that he was a retired airman from the IAF. He commented that the highway was so free that it felt like a runway. His name was Arun Patankar, and he reassured us that we were safe with him. His white uniform signified that he was the owner of the taxi. In a trice we were at Mahim creek where two people on the road waved us to stop. Arun kept his foot down on the accelerator and flew past them. We reached Kohinoor Mills, where the Shiv Sena has its Headquarters, without any incident, and without seeing any sign of life on the roads. Here we were stopped by a police party who wanted to know where we were heading. Arun told the Inspector that he had picked up passengers from the airport, and was dropping us at our destinations. The Inspector told him that there was a rampaging Shiv Sena mob ahead, and advised Arun to lower the window glasses, to drive slowly, and to stop when asked. He said that in no case should he try to flee. We moved ahead and, sure enough, we were soon besieged by a mob armed with swords, hatchets, and staves. Arun, waved to the mob; stopped the cab; leaned out; and shouted, “Jai Maharashtra”. The mob wanted to know who he and his passengers were. We told them that we had come from Chennai and were visitors to the city. One fellow wanted to see our boarding cards. I showed him mine, and on seeing my name on it he wanted to know the names of the other passengers. Two of them had Christian names, while the third was a Tamil Hindu. Satisfied, the mob let us move but warned that we could again be stopped and therefore should move very slowly. On the sides we could see the smouldering remains of vehicles that had been torched. Menace had a palpable, physical presence and dark figures loomed in the shadows. Another group of armed men stopped us and the same exchange took place. We went past the Portuguese Church in Dadar and very soon were near Century Bazaar in Worli where the two Christian gentlemen got down. The third passenger was going up to an apartment complex in Prabhadevi. Apparently he lived in Chennai but some pressing reason had made him to come to Mumbai at these dangerous times. His brother was residing in the complex and he looked forward to celebrating Pongal with him and his family. We reached the gates of his complex where he got down and was kind enough to suggest that I too could stay in his brother’s flat and go home in the morning. I asked Arun how he felt about it. He said if I was willing to go, he would readily take me home. I thanked the last passenger and told Arun to turn around. Suddenly his car wouldn’t start, and for a moment I felt as if fate was telling me not to proceed any further. I was about to shout to the retreating figure of my co-passenger when the engine coughed into action. Arun drove away from the complex and was moving towards Dadar Bridge when another mob sprang from the shadows and shouted for him to stop. Arun stopped and repeated his slogan of “Jai Maharashtra”. One miscreant hit his taxi meter with an iron pipe asking him if he did not know that there was curfew in force and how he dared take his taxi out. Arun pleaded that he was only helping stranded passengers and actually doing a service to the public. The leader of the mob poked his head inside the cab and asked me my name. He wanted to see my passport since I claimed to have come from the airport. Fortunately, he accepted my explanation that I was a domestic traveller and did not insist on seeing my passport. He did not want to see my boarding card either, and waved to the mob to let us pass. That encounter was really frightening, and but for the presence of mind and the confident manner of Arun Patankar, I may not have been alive to tell the tale. The mob was ever on an edge and one wrong word or move would have resulted in instant annihilation.

We crossed Dadar Bridge and at the roundabout found a police jeep patrolling the area. The police officer too wanted to know what we were doing on the road at that time when the city was under curfew. By then I had had enough, and instead of replying, I asked the officer to tell me where he was going. He replied that his patrol jeep was on a round and would be going to Thane. I asked him to stay with our taxi and provide us escort till Ghatkopar. He signalled for us to follow him, and we were again on our way. With the patrol jeep ahead, we reached my apartment building without any further incident. By then it was past one a.m. I offered Arun more than the Rs 150 he had initially demanded and suggested that he could spend the night in my home. He thanked me, declining both the offers. His home was in Dadar area and he would rather go back to his family, as they would be worried about his welfare. I paid him the fare, said good bye, and waited till the tail-lights of his cab went out of the compound of the apartment building.

I think Arun Patankar is a true hero of our times. To be concerned about total strangers, stranded by riots, not knowing how to get to their destinations, and to ply his taxi during such dangerous times, is an act of great courage and spirit. That he made a trifle more money than he would normally have made, does not take anything away from his bravery and public-spiritedness. He was putting his life and the means of his livelihood in extreme jeopardy just for the sake of ferrying totally unknown people to their homes. I am sure he would have safely made it back to his family that night. People like Arun are very rare and they carry with them the blessings and good wishes of countless strangers.

What can one say about the legacy of Balasaheb Thackeray? There can be no doubt that he created a powerful organization that could influence politics at the regional and national levels. His goodwill was sought by powerful industrialists, movie moghuls, and politicians from all the parties. He was Godfather to the large cadre of Shiv Sainiks who were ready to do his bidding without demur. He was able to bring India-Pakistan cricket to a complete halt, and neither the Central Government nor the powerful cricket baron, Sharad Pawar could make him budge. He exercised the power to censor films, publications, and art if they offended his Maharashtrian or Hindu sentiments. He could bring all activity to a full stop, as he did on the day of his death and on the following day of his cremation. Yet, for all the outpourings of grief by his followers and the paeans of praise sung by the media and the glitterati, one cannot but feel that their expressions were motivated more by fear than by any genuine love for the man. Perhaps the city of Mumbai was heaving a collective sigh of relief at the passing of this Tiger. Perhaps, it may be more appropriate to remember him as Mumbai's 'Tigger'. After all, wasn't he a cartoonist before he became a politician? His son and heir does not have the charisma of the father, nor is he in the best of health. His nephew, Raj, is a rabble-rouser without the sophistication of the uncle, and will remain a fringe player in Mumbai politics. I cannot see Raj Thackeray merging his MNS with the parent organization and playing second fiddle to Udhav. The Shiv Sena has reached the peak of its power and is now inevitably on the downward slope. For how long will the memory of Bal Thackeray survive in the collective consciousness of the people of Maharashtra is anybody’s guess. But, for me, it is Arun Patankar who truly symbolises the Maratha spirit of Shivaji, and not the saffron-robed, rudraksha-adorned Tigger of Matoshree, Bandra.