IT IS difficult to describe the passing away of Mumbai’s icon Bal Thackeray, a demi-god to his followers, adequately. But it would not be an exaggeration to say there has never been another leader like him in the city or the country. I have not seen one in nearly 50 years in journalism.
Thackeray was the quintessential cartoonist, a slight figure, with a luxurious mop of hair, and clad in an orange robe in the latter years of his life, he saw the world and everyone around him as a potential cartoon subject; it’s as if he saw the cartoonish quality that each one of us carries within us. He was forthright in his views, like his cartoons in his Marmik, and never minced words.
I remember one of my first meetings with him when I was stringing for a foreign magazine, in the early 70s. The representative of the magazine wanted to meet Thackeray and the meeting was set up at his residence at Matoshree. Thackeray met us at the entrance, with his huge muscular great dane by his side and by way of introduction he said, “I am Bal Thackeray and this is my beef-eating dog.” The ice was broken and the tone for the interview set.
During the interview, which took place on the terrace, I found myself under attack from huge mosquitoes that made life pretty miserable.
As he saw me trying to brush them away, he said, “you should have worn a saree,” and then with a twinkle in his eyes added “these are South Indian mosquitoes.” Seeing us arch our eyebrows askance he said they bred in the slums near Matoshree, which housed people from the South.
This was the period when he was campaigning for jobs for the sons-of-the-soil. People from the South were targets of his political ire, as he said they got preference in jobs over Maharashtrians. Why should even the bootleggers here be South Indians, he asked?
Thackeray’s message of Maharashtra Asmita (pride) fired the imagination of the Marathi manoos, young and old alike. His credibility rose, because his words were always followed by action. He set up an employment wing of the Shiv Sena headed by one of his young lieutenants. Sudhir Joshi. It was hugely successful in organising employment for thousands of young unemployed people in Air India and several other organisations. He started a pav bhaji stall movement that gave employment and income to thousands of unemployed youth.
A simple man with simple habits — his luxury was having a can of Heineken beer at room temperature — he continued to live all his life in Matoshree in Patrakar colony in Bandra. No big mansions and multi-storied buildings like other politicians own.
I once broached the subject of corruption among some of the Sena leaders who were rags to riches stories; who came from chawls and now lived in huge fancy apartments. He said in this city money is respected, you have money and you become somebody from nobody, so let them make money!
His acerbic humour and use of words was legendary. He was fun to talk to and be with. There was a child-like quality in him and one of his wishes was to visit Disney Land. When he did get a chance, he could hardly stop talking about it.
Several of his statements and actions, however, stirred massive controversies, with good reason.
To give just one instance: he always said he admired Hitler and claimed Mien Kampf as one of his favourite books. I once asked him about this and he said he never approved of Hitler’s anti-Jewish stand but that apart, there was so much good that he did for Germany’s economy.
Thackeray ruled his party like a dictator. His word was law. The kind of fanatical devotion he inspired led a commentator to say people were prepared to die for him. As, indeed, they were.