A Measure of Mumbai

NOT FAR FROM Powai Lake, a pickup truck fashioned into an election rath is crawling through a humid afternoon. In two days’ time, a dust storm will blow through this area and other parts of Mum­bai, bringing with it a heavy downpour, cancelling or curtailing many election programmes. But today, there is little that portends such an event. A scorching sun beats down on the road, as the rath inches through. Beside the driver, a lean man in a pastel shirt, is screaming into a microphone. “Iss election ka sab se qualified candidate, Kasab ko phansi dene wala, Advocate Ujjwal Nikamji, (This election’s most qualified, who got Ajmal Kasab hanged, Advocate Ujjwal Nikam),” he goes on. Above him, at the centre of a little group atop the rath is Nikam, waving or joining hands in a greeting. Occasionally, a group of women waiting to perform aartis or men holding garlands will surround the rath and a wave of ir­ritation will pass through Nikam’s face. He will refuse to step down, and the people will either give up, or climb aboard the rath to garland Nikam or perform aartis.

We move this way, creaking inch by creaking inch, Nikam’s face shifting from the manufactured agreeableness of politicians dur­ing elections to surly disaffection every time someone requests he step down from the rath, as beside us the neighbourhood changes, from slums and low-income localities tucked away in one corner to the upper middle-class enclaves of Powai and Chandivali.

“You see this love,” Nikam turns around to tell me. “I used to see love from people, when I came out to the roads after working on a big case. And, when I filed my nomination, I suspected I would get some love. But I did not imagine it would be this big,” he says. “Just look at this. Never.”

Nikam is dressed in a dark blue safari suit. He looks considerably older from the time he appeared before TV cameras to declare the proceedings of the case against Kasab. His hair has thinned and greyed, and he moves more gingerly. He still speaks in the kind of stock phrases one hears in old Bollywood potboilers—calling, at one point, his rival in the Mumbai North Central constituency Varsha Gaikwad a seasoned politician, but saying he is no kachcha khiladi (novice) himself—but his voice has thinned and carries with it the quality of someone at the end of a long day of argu­ments in court.

“I have been in law for decades, doing some big cases. But I always wanted to do more,” he says, as he explains his reasons for contesting the elections this time. “And this is a very impor­tant election. And I really admire what our honourable prime minister has done. So I look at it as a kind of duty to stand for elections,” he says. He looks around, casting waves and namastes towards the windows of old, decrepit buildings that rise from some of these localities. “Also, I feel I need to stand from here. This place—Mumbai—is like my karmabhoomi.”

The rath moves slowly through this dense locality that straddles the eastern and western suburbs of the city, even as the afternoon is giving way to the evening. A little distance away, the sides of Powai Lake are beginning to fill with families and youths looking for some respite from the relentless day.

It is difficult to miss the election spectacle in Mumbai. Sched­uled for May 20, the city is covered in hoardings and the sound of campaign speeches and rallies resonate from different lanes and corners. Some contestants have been campaigning for quite a while, but many candidates had their names announced late, ei­ther because of the hard negotiations going on internally among allies or the doubts about their popularity among voters, and now as the campaigning in the city reaches its final stretch, they are pressing harder, trying to make up for lost time.

After Independence, Maharashtra and by extension Mumbai re­mained almost totally a Congress redoubt all the way up to the late 1970s, but the seeds for opposition space were sown early when the Jawaharlal Nehru government wanted it to be a separate city-state. It would culminate in the Samyukta Maharashtra movement, in which Bal Thackeray’s father would be a prominent leader. This then would shape Thackeray’s own politics and lead to the creation of the Shiv Sena as the voice of the native Maharashtrians under threat from migrants. At the centre of this churn was Mumbai, from where the Sena drew its lifeblood and resources.

Other political forces too were being unleashed nationwide that saw their resonance in Mumbai. Communism and socialism also vied for the opposition space and a big blow to the Congress monopoly came in the form of George Fernandes, a socialist and trade union leader, defeating Congressman SK Patil, known as the uncrowned king of Mumbai, in the 1967 Lok Sabha election from the Mumbai South constituency. Patil was until then thought to be unbeatable. For a brief while, it was uncertain who would eventually triumph among the opposition until the Sena pre­vailed with its Marathi Manoos ideology. The co-option of Sena by businessmen as a force against the unions, the covert support from Congress thinking the party wouldn’t be a challenge, and Thackeray’s own ability to conjure up new threats like South Indi­ans and Muslims led to the Sena becoming increasingly powerful. Once Hindutva took off, Thackeray capitalised on it, and made an alliance with the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) that lasted so long as the Sena would be the senior of the two. Mumbai remained the Sena’s core bastion throughout even as it rode to power in 1995. His death and BJP’s increasing popularity in Maharashtra meant the Sena would have to reconcile to being the junior partner. Its unwillingness to do that can now be seen in the confusing elec­toral scene in the city.

Mumbai only sends six MPs to Lok Sabha, but the city tends to have an outsized influence on the political landscape. It is the financial nerve-centre of the country, and any party that wishes to form a strong government at the Centre needs to have more than a toehold here, either directly in power or in alliance with someone. Since the city is also a magnet that draws Indians from across the country, they carry their politics and aspirations with them. And that is probably why the election results in the city tend to mirror the broader patterns of what is happening politi­cally in the country. Do well in Mumbai, and more often than not, you tend to do well in the rest of the country too.

THIS ELECTION, HOWEVER, is likely to be far closer than the ones witnessed before. Except for Mumbai North, which tends to vote for BJP and where the party has fielded Piyush Goyal this time against Congress’ Bhushan Patil, most other seats are expected to go down to the wire. Uddhav Thackeray and Congress, along with the Sharad Pawar faction of the Na­tionalist Congress Party (NCP), have stitched together what many feel could be a formi­dable alliance of Marathi and Muslim vot­ers in the city. The opposing camp also has its own vote banks. “The transferability of votes is going to be a big factor. Will Con­gress be able to transfer its votes like the Muslims to Uddhav Thackeray’s Shiv Sena? And vice versa. Will BJP be able to transfer its traditional voters like Gujaratis and Marwaris, sayinconstituencieslikeMumbai South, to Eknath Shinde’s Shiv Sena?” asks Surendra Jondhale, a political commenta­tor and professor of political science at the University of Mumbai.

At the centre of the puzzle is which way the Marathi voter will swing. The undivided Shiv Sena built its political fortunes around urban Marathi voters, giving voice to their aspirations and fears. When Eknath Shinde split from the party, taking with him not just much of the par­ty’s senior leadership and organisational strength but also its name and flag, he did so claiming that he was carrying with him the party’s original ideology and viewpoints. Thackeray however has held on firmly, and many believe his emotional appeal of having his party taken away from him, and the discourse he has built around industries and jobs moving away from Mumbai to Gujarat, is finding resonance among urban Marathi youth. “Nobody believes them,” says Arvind Sawant, the former minister and MP from Uddhav’s Senawho is seeking re-election from Mumbai South, when asked whether the Eknath Shinde faction of the Sena will find appeal among Marathi voters.

“They may have the party flag and name. But everyone knows who the original Thackeray is.” Sawant, one of the few senior lead­ers who stayed with the Thackeray faction of the Sena, believes the election in the city and the rest of Maharashtra will finally reveal which among the two factions, in voters’ eyes, is the real Sena. The Shinde faction however likes to point to the party’s original vision and claims it is they who are carrying forward its true legacy, not one watered down by alliances with Congress and Sharad Pawar’s NCP. “I think voters are smart that way,” says Krishna Hegde, a former Congress MLA who is now part of the Eknath Shinde faction. “Marathi voters know who is carrying forward the original vision of Balasaheb Thackeray. Also, people want to vote in favour of Prime Minister Narendra Modi and are happy with the kind of work Eknath Shindeji has done as chief minister, the kind of infrastructure projects undertaken and vari­ous other things, along with our two deputy chief ministers.” This aspect of which way Marathi votes go is particularly important be­cause much of the fight from the Maha Vikas Aghadi (MVA) coali­tion—comprising Congress, Uddhav’s Sena and the Sharad Pawar faction of NCP—is based around Uddhav’s Sena. Apart from two seats where Congress has put up its candidates, Uddhav’s Sena is contesting four, three against candidates from Shinde’s Sena and one against BJP. What adds to the intrigue is Uddhav’s cousin Raj Thackeray, who is popular with the urban Marathi youth, having thrown his lot in with the Mahayuti alliance of BJP, Shinde’s Sena, and the Ajit Pawar’s NCP.

In Parel, not far from a rally that has made its way into a large old building, populated mostly by Marathis, a small group of old locals are watching the scene unfold one morning. “We always vote for the dhanush baan [the bow and arrow, the symbol of the original Sena, now with the Shinde faction]. But it is confusing this time,” one of them says. “On one side we have Balasaheb’s own son. And the other side has all the big leaders, saying they are the original Sena.”

So which way will you vote?

“We are undecided, but most of us can’t bear to see Uddhavji humiliated this way,” another adds.

In a bit, a cyclist delivering pavs for breakfast that morning stops by. He identifies himself as a Muslim, and when asked which way he will vote, he has no reservations saying his vote will be for Uddhav’s Sena candidate. “Maybe in the past, I wouldn’t have voted that way. But that is a long time ago. The Sena does not talk like that now [against Muslims],” he says.

The support from Muslims that Uddhav’s Sena is banking on this time, a group that the Sena built itself railing against from the 1980s onwards, is one of the ironies of this campaign. Sanjay Patil, a researcher and political analyst in Mumbai who has tracked the Sena, believes this is part of a larger strategy of Thackeray’s to refash­ion the Sena and broaden its electoral base. “He has been trying to distinguish his Hindutva from BJP’s, claiming his Hindutva is more inclusive and accommodative,” Patil says.

Whether this will pay dividends, we will know shortly. But some of this reshaping of the party has also been forced. The city’s demography has undergone massive change. In the past, Marathis dominated several parts of Mumbai, in particular the central and southern stretch of the city in places like Dadar, Parel, Lalbaug and Girgaum. It is from this population that the original Sena drew much of its power. But as chawls and mills in this area have given way to swanky high-rises, their numbers have come down consid­erably. They have been pushed to the city’s peripheries, even as the numbers of Gujaratis, Marwaris and North Indians, communities believed to be the traditional base of BJP, have gone up considerably. To win more seats from Mumbai, it is now increasingly important to cast your net wider.

Not far from South Mumbai, although it may appear a world removed, is the locality of Dharavi. It is a crucial area that will decide which way Mumbai South Central, where a lot is at stake, given the presence of Sena’s head­quarters Sena Bhawan, will swing. According to a 2008 survey, the slum had around 58,000 homes and 13,000 commercial units, but every­body believes the number will be significantly larger. Today, much of the discussion in the area is around its proposed redevelopment and fears of displacement. The MP from this area, Rahul Shewale, seeking re-election from the Shinde faction, has claimed all eligible locals will be rehabilitated in-situ, but this hasn’t al­layed the fears of many locals. “Look at what’s going on,” says Raju Korde, the founder of a group, Dharavi Redevelopment Committee, which is highlighting concerns over displace­ment. “Dharavi has a total area of 600 acres. But for rehabilitation, the developer is seeking to acquire land almost double the size with large tracts in Govandi, Mulund and salt pan lands elsewhere. It feels like the ultimate aim is to have us all settled elsewhere, so they can have Dharavi for themselves.” Concerns about Dharavi’s large population base being resettled elsewhere, such as Mulund, has led to protests in those areas too.

Korde is the kind of enterprising individuals you find in Dharavi. Unlike others in his family, he completed his education, eventually earning a degree in law while trying out various professions, from opening a telephone booth, later a printing press where he published a neighbourhood pa­per, to dabbling in Slum Rehabilitation Authority (SRA) projects. “Every time there is an election round the corner, candidates come promising many things. But this time there is real fear,” he says. Rajamani Nadar, who runs a farsan manufacturing unit in Dharavi, expresses the same concerns. “We have tried to approach various parties and bureaucrats. They listen to us. But what they really have in mind, no one can tell,” he says.

WE ARE MOVING on a rath now in an old neighbour­hood of Parel. It is Sunday, and Sawant has spent much of the early morning trying to connect with the voters of South Mumbai, seeking out people on morning walks on Marine Drive, parks, and various clubs and gymkhanas. “Sunday morning walks are the best time to connect with people from affluent back­grounds in South Bombay. And it’s very important to tell them who we are,” says a member of Sawant’s campaign team, referring to the political disinterest and often cluelessness of the South Mumbai voter. Having completed that, Sawant is now moving, aboard a rath, and sometimes on foot, canvassing for votes in what he believes is his stronger voter base of Marathis residing in Parel. Around us, old buildings and chawls appear, ringed in by the many skyscrapers transforming this locality.

South Mumbai is arguably one of India’s most famous pin codes. At one end are areas like Malabar Hill and Altamount Road where the majority of the country’s billionaires live, and elsewhere like Parel, the beating heart of the city’s politics. Sawant has won this constituency two times in a row, defeating (then) Congress’ Milind Deora on both occasions. When I asked Deora during the campaigning for the last election what he thought about his chances against Sawant again, he had said, “In 2014 people held their noses and voted [in favour of Modi]. How do you otherwise explain a Shiv Sena fellow winning from Mumbai South?” Sawant however went on to win, with a considerable margin.

“Backstabbers,”Sawant says. I have just asked about his opinion on BJP. “Traitors,” he responds, when asked about Shinde’s Sena.

Sawant is speaking only in monosyllables, as the rath lurches through Parel, vast crowds jostling about to get closer to him. It continues this way for much of the day. Later, as the jostle dwindles, he speaks in longer sentences, talking about the issues plaguing Mumbai, betrayal by his former colleagues and the intolerance being exhibited by the BJP government.

The stand against intolerance from a member of the Sena is yet another irony evident in this election. Just a few days before, in a hall outside Churchgate station, Sawant was one of many candi­dates invited by a newspaper and an NGO to speak about their constituencies. He spoke about how democracy is under threat because of the present government. Adding on to what Sawant had said, someone from the audience mentioned instances where students were expelled by institutions because they spoke against BJP, and asked, if it would be any different under an administration of Sawant’s party? And since democracy is connected to freedom of speech whether he would accept criticism of Uddhav Thackeray and Bal Thackeray? Sawant responded by saying he must say “Balasaheb Thackeray”. The questioner wasn’t cowed down and asked whether he would be allowed to say Bal under Sawant’s re­gime. Sawant said no, making a case against what he had himself said just a few minutes ago.

(With Madhavankutty Pillai)

2024 Elections2024: The CountdownAjit PawarArvind SawantDevendra FadnavisEknath ShindeGeneral election 2024MaharashtraMumbaiNarendra ModiSharad PawarUddhav ThackerayUjjwal NikamVarsha Gaikwad