Can a tiger change its stripes, a leopard its spots or a shark its fins? No na? But the “new”, “improved” version of Raj Thackeray, which was dramatically unveiled on August 21 at Mumbai’s historic Azad Maidan, took everybody by surprise — friends and foes alike. Perhaps his game plan was only known to key aides.

But the man known for his choice expletives and insults stumped everybody, especially the Mumbai Police, when he refrained from flashing his characteristic rabble-rousing, abuse-spewing, fire-breathing persona, choosing a more mature and restrained approach instead. I’d call this tactic a political masterstroke. In one swift move, Mr Thackeray acquired a new face and repositioned himself. He also sent out a super-calibrated signal that said “I am the boss”.
Mr Thackeray shrewdly picked the perfect platform to announce his elevated status. Mumbai was still reeling from and perplexed about the frontal assault earlier in the week that had seen two protesters dead and several people (cops included) injured. In an unprecedented development, rampaging mobs had targeted policemen and women constables, besides the media. This shocking and audacious attack on authority had shaken Mumbai, more so because the cops had been converted into passive sitting ducks, their rifles boldly snatched and their very dignity stripped. Mr Thackeray found his moment. And his speech. He talked about Maharashtra being his only dharma. It was a moment that could have been seized and exploited by any other politician. But wasn’t. This is where Mr Thackeray scored. Critics called it political opportunism. Admirers hailed him as the saviour of Mumbai. Yes! The same Mr Thackeray who was routinely damned for destroying the city and attacking innocent “outsiders” was suddenly being praised for speaking up on behalf of concerned citizens. Forgotten were his old disruptive rallies, his threats and aggression. He acquired a halo overnight.
The Dark Knight had risen. All was instantly forgiven.
But wait a minute. Mr Thackeray had done what any smart player should — he had used the state government’s vulnerability to consolidate his own position. Mumbai had been left quaking and worried. People expected the Raj rally to paralyse normal life. Citizens had taken all necessary precautions; schools and colleges had shut early; shopkeepers had sensibly downed shutters. Trouble — big trouble — was anticipated; after all, it was Raj Thackeray… and he was on the war path. Instead, he pulled a fast one — he defied the stereotype, behaved himself and effortlessly stole the show. The makeover was complete. To
understand what this means, one has to deconstruct the Raj image first.
Let’s see — what does Mr Thackeray stand for? That depends on who you ask. But since public perception counts for everything in politics, the bald truth is that Mr Thackeray has a terrible reputation. His image sucks. He has been variously seen as an egotistical tyrant, hell-bent on creating trouble; as a narrow-minded, nakedly parochial leader unapologetically pampering the Marathi manoos while terrorising others, and worse. Mr Thackeray meant trouble. Period.
I’d say it was an image he had carefully cultivated, basing it on his uncle, mentor and guru — Balasaheb Thackeray. Scare tactics, scrupulously adopted over decades of Balasaheb’s rule over the city, were now his nephew’s domain. Fear psychosis became the favoured instrument, and it worked. Nobody wanted to mess with this guy. Nobody dared to speak a word against him, no matter what the provocation. If Balasaheb could bring Mumbai to a standstill by a snap of his fingers, so could Raj. Consider the timing: his main political rival and first cousin Uddhav Thackeray was dealing with health issues. When Raj decided to drive him to the hospital, it was interpreted as a pretty loaded goodwill gesture — would the warring cousin make peace and combine forces finally? Or was it Raj’s way of being one up on a weakened adversary (after all, it was Raj in the driver’s seat — literally and metaphorically)? Well, Raj’s rockstar debut at Azad Maidan has been duly acknowledged as the big coming-out party before the 2014 election. He is being wooed by the Congress Party like never before. It’s an alliance made in heaven. If Raj sticks to the script and stays away from maara-maari and goondagiri, he may succeed in convincing sceptics that he has grown up and left his impetuous, hectoring ways behind.
But that may be a bit too much to expect just yet. While Raj’s urban fans definitely appreciate the latest makeover, his hardcore supporters love him for the old dialogue baazi and dhamkis that send shivers down the spines of anybody in his way. Today he has won just half the battle by getting rid of top cop Arup Patnaik, his bête noire, as the police commissioner. So far R.R. Patil has not budged from his secure perch as Maharashtra’s home minister. Raj was baying for his blood, too. One head has rolled. The other may follow. If that happens, Raj’s position as the local supremo and Balasaheb’s worthy successor will be hard to challenge. Till then, Raj should enjoy his current status as a poster boy
for a better, safer Mumbai. With his trendy long hair and aviators, Raj is playing to the galleries as Hero No.1. If, for any reason, he loses interest in politics, there’s always Bollywood. Here’s a title for that blockbuster:
Raj ki Aag.