The sudden warmth between Uddhav Thackeray and Raj Thackeray has triggered predictable excitement in sections of Maharashtra’s political commentariat. Old photographs are being dusted off, emotional appeals to “Marathi asmita” are resurfacing, and whispers of a united Thackeray front challenging the BJP—especially in Mumbai—are growing louder. But beneath the optics lies an uncomfortable question: is this reunion a serious political realignment or merely a sentimental stunt masking irreversible decline?
To understand the limits of this alliance, one must return to the point where Shiv Sena lost not just power, but purpose.
Balasaheb Thackeray built the Shiv Sena as a fiercely ideological force—rooted in Marathi pride and unapologetically pro-Hindu in outlook. He opposed the Congress instinctively, seeing it as both ideologically hollow and politically opportunistic. That opposition was not tactical; it was civilisational. For decades, Balasaheb refused to compromise on this core identity, even when political arithmetic tempted otherwise. That legacy did not survive him.
Uddhav Thackeray’s decision to ally with the Congress and later subsume himself within the INDIA bloc marked a decisive rupture—not just with the BJP, but with his father’s political philosophy. The argument that “circumstances demanded it” does not wash with a Maharashtra electorate that prizes ideological consistency, especially from a party that built its reputation on blunt honesty rather than clever manoeuvring. Power was gained, yes—but at the cost of credibility. The moment Uddhav took oath as Chief Minister with Congress and NCP support, the Shiv Sena ceased to be recognisable to a large section of its traditional base.
The consequences were swift and brutal. The party split. A substantial section of Sena legislators chose to walk away, aligning with the BJP while explicitly invoking Balasaheb’s pro-Hindu legacy as justification. Courts and commissions may decide the legality of symbols and names, but in politics, legitimacy flows from perception—and the perception was clear: the ideological soul of Shiv Sena no longer resided with Uddhav Thackeray.
Raj Thackeray’s trajectory offers no rescue from this decline. His exit from the Shiv Sena was driven by personal ambition and resentment after Balasaheb anointed Uddhav as political heir. The Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) he founded, promised sharper ideology and uncompromising Marathi pride, but over time, it failed to convert rhetoric into sustained electoral relevance. Raj remains a powerful orator and a cultural force, but elections demand organisation, alliances, and consistency—areas where MNS has repeatedly faltered.
Today, when the cousins talk of unity, the context is not strength but survival.
The BJP’s dominance in Maharashtra—especially in Mumbai—has not been accidental. It has been built patiently through cadre expansion, civic engagement, and strategic alliances. The party has steadily made inroads into the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation, long considered the Sena’s impregnable fortress. With BMC elections due shortly, the desperation behind the Thackeray reunion becomes evident. This is less a challenge to the BJP and more a last attempt to remain politically relevant in a city that has moved on.
Mumbai’s electorate is pragmatic. It rewards delivery, not dynastic sentiment. The city’s voters have watched the Shiv Sena drift from street-level assertiveness to drawing-room ambiguity. They have seen Raj Thackeray oscillate between fiery speeches and political isolation. A reunion of surnames does not automatically translate into a reunion of trust.
More importantly, ideology cannot be switched on and off like a campaign slogan. Having abandoned its pro-Hindu positioning to align with Congress, Uddhav Thackeray cannot convincingly reclaim it now. Nor can Raj Thackeray erase years of political marginalisation with a single handshake. Voters may be nostalgic, but they are not naïve.
In that sense, the Thackeray reunion risks being read not as a reshaping of Maharashtra politics, but as a tacit admission that the old Sena model—bereft of clarity, courage, and conviction—has reached a dead end. Against a BJP that understands both power and purpose, sentiment alone is a weak weapon.
Politics, after all, rewards those who stand for something—consistently. And on that count, the reunited Thackerays still have far more to explain than to offer.
