The Thackeray surname, once synonymous with power in Maharashtra politics, is today facing its severest political test. What is increasingly being described as an “existential crisis” for the Shiv Sena (Uddhav Balasaheb Thackeray) and the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) is no exaggeration—it is a reflection of shrinking electoral space, eroding cadre loyalty, and diminishing public resonance.
Uddhav Thackeray’s recent outburst—questioning the legitimacy of 68 unopposed Mahayuti victories of the BJP (44) and the Shiv Sena (Shinde faction) (22), and daring the State Election Commission to cancel them—underscores the depth of his political desperation. His claim that the machinery of governance denied opposition candidates a fair chance to contest, a narrative that may resonate with a sliver of next-generation youth, has been dismissed by most observers as politically bizarre and legally untenable. Far from exposing institutional bias, the episode has only highlighted how rapidly the ground is slipping from beneath Uddhav Thackeray’s feet.
Electoral data from recent Assembly, Lok Sabha, and civic contests tell a brutal story. The Shiv Sena faction led by Uddhav Thackeray has steadily lost vote share, cadre confidence, and organisational muscle since it chose to abandon its ideological roots for the sake of power. The decision to align with the Congress—historically opposed to the Sena’s core Hindutva-Marathi plank—and to legitimize Sharad Pawar’s NCP politics proved costly. What was projected as a “progressive realignment” increasingly looks like political self-sabotage.
Raj Thackeray’s MNS, meanwhile, has remained trapped in a cycle of rhetorical aggression without electoral dividends. Despite periodic surges in street-level visibility, the party has failed to convert cultural posturing into sustained political relevance. The Marathi manoos plank alone, without governance credibility or organisational depth, has repeatedly fallen short at the ballot box.
It is against this backdrop that the estranged cousins—Uddhav and Raj—have announced an electoral tie-up after nearly two decades. Far from being a grand ideological reunion, the move is widely interpreted as a survival pact. Analysts view this coming together not as a revival of the Thackeray legacy but as an admission that, individually, neither faction can withstand the growing dominance of the BJP-led Mahayuti coalition in Maharashtra.
Significantly, the alliance has chosen to contest the January 15 civic elections separately from the Congress and NCP, particularly distancing itself ahead of the high-stakes Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC) polls. This itself is an acknowledgment of political reality: the Congress-NCP baggage has become a liability in Mumbai, not an asset. The BMC election is being projected as an existential battle—one framed around Mumbai’s “Marathi identity,” the ideological core laid down by Prabodhankar Thackeray and aggressively popularised by Balasaheb Thackeray.
But symbolism alone will not rescue the Thackerays. Political analysts are clear: unity speeches, emotional appeals, and nostalgic invocations of Balasaheb’s legacy will not substitute for ground-level organisation and voter trust. The BJP’s sustained expansion in urban Maharashtra, its firm control over civic bodies, and its ability to attract former Sena leaders have fundamentally altered the political landscape.
Moreover, the Mahayuti alliance has successfully positioned itself as the stable governance alternative, while the opposition narrative remains reactive, fragmented, and grievance-driven. Uddhav Thackeray’s repeated institutional confrontations—whether with the Election Commission or constitutional authorities—risk alienating neutral voters rather than mobilising them.
Ironically, while “existential” debates exist in academic circles about British novelist William Makepeace Thackeray and philosophical thought, the Thackerays of Maharashtra face a far more immediate, unforgiving existential question—one that will be answered not in seminars but at polling booths.
The upcoming civic elections, especially the BMC polls, will therefore serve as the ultimate litmus test. A strong showing could arrest the decline and re-establish relevance; failure would all but confirm that the Thackeray brand, once a force that shaped Maharashtra’s political discourse, has been reduced to a shadow struggling for survival in a transformed political order.
For the Thackerays, this is no longer about legacy—it is about political existence itself.
