Explained: Why the ‘Marathi Manoos’ Pitch Failed in Maharashtra

Mumbai voted, and the verdict was unambiguous. The emotional call of “Marathi Manoos” no longer carries the force it once did. In the latest civic and assembly outcomes, voters chose development, scale and leadership over nativism. Rajeev Deshpande explains why the Thackerays lost their grip on the city they once dominated.

What is the core takeaway from the Maharashtra results?

That pure identity politics no longer wins Mumbai. The idea that Marathi identity alone could consolidate votes fell flat, particularly when framed against outsiders and migrants who form the backbone of the city.

What exactly was the Thackerays’ political pitch?

The Thackerays—Uddhav Thackeray’s Sena (UBT) and Raj Thackeray’s MNS—pushed a “Marathi Manoos” narrative, arguing that Marathi-speaking citizens were being sidelined in their own city by outsiders, with BJP-led governments complicit in this “takeover.”

Why did this pitch backfire?

Because it came with visible aggression. Physical attacks on shopkeepers and street vendors over language issues went viral, creating sympathy for the victims and alienating large non-Marathi communities—Gujaratis, Marwaris, South Indians and Hindi-speaking migrants—many of whom have lived in Mumbai for decades.

Did the Thackerays manage to consolidate the Marathi vote at least?

No. The assumption that Marathi voters would rally en masse proved flawed. The Marathi vote has not been consolidated for years, a trend that accelerated after the death of Bal Thackeray. This time, the Thackerays secured only a slice of that vote, not a groundswell.

What role did Muslim voters play?

Uddhav Thackeray’s Sena made a clear pivot toward Muslim consolidation, which helped win some seats. But this came at a cost: it failed to energise traditional Sena voters, exposing the limits of the strategy.

How did the BJP counter this narrative?

With scale and organisation. BJP leaned on a tried-and-tested “missed call” outreach strategy, first popularised in 2014, to recruit supporters directly—especially in slums and chawls where door-to-door mobilisation is difficult.

Why did this method work?

Because it lowered the barrier to participation. In Pune’s jhuggi clusters, hundreds of women joined the BJP by giving missed calls—from their own phones or those of family members—followed by targeted outreach. The motivation was simple: belief that Narendra Modi and the BJP offered better futures for their families.

What happened to the ‘Marathi vs Hindutva’ argument?

It collapsed. The Thackerays attempted to frame Marathi identity against BJP’s broader Hindutva appeal. But this proved to be a false binary. Modi enjoys strong support among Marathi speakers, puncturing the claim that the Thackerays alone represent Marathi interests.

What about development issues—pollution, flooding, infrastructure?

Voters didn’t deny the problems. But they rejected what they saw as selective outrage and criticism that ignored past governments and downplayed visible improvements. Attempts to frame Mumbai as a city in decline failed to convince an electorate that sees change, even if imperfect.

How did leadership dynamics shape the outcome?

Uddhav Thackeray faced a pincer movement:

• On one side, a re-energised BJP, led in Maharashtra by Devendra Fadnavis—hard to label “anti-Marathi.”

• On the other, Eknath Shinde, who rebuilt Shiv Sena’s grassroots network after the 2022 split, projecting himself as a grounded Shiv Sainik rooted in the party’s legacy.

By contrast, Uddhav appeared increasingly distant from the rank and file.

What does this election ultimately say about Mumbai politics?

That identity still matters but it isn’t enough. Voters are willing to look beyond nativism when presented with a credible promise of governance, development and inclusion. BJP’s ability to combine a “Marathi and Hindu” pitch with a broader welfare narrative proved decisive.