“Yeh Tamil Nadu kaisa pochega, bhai?” (How do I reach Tamil Nadu, brother?) that a self-confessed attacker asked his target, comedian Kunal Kamra, with a curious mix of desperation and bravado, has to be an epic question of our time.
This came, as is widely known by now, from a Shiv Sena worker of the Eknath Shinde faction over a telephone call to Kamra after his parody song went viral. In it, without naming Shinde, Kamra called him a traitor.
What followed was typical Sena-style retribution – vandalising the venue and the hotel where he had recorded the show, threatening him with dire consequences using the same old set of cuss words and terror, filing an FIR against him, and chest-thumping themselves about the “strong action” they took against an insult to their boss.
The desperation to reach Kamra in Tamil Nadu and smack him in order to score a few brownie points with the boss while struggling to locate the place on India’s map would have been funny if it was not so appalling. It made me think: the more the Shiv Sena changes, the more it remains the same, and Mumbai loses.
The muscle-flexing caller should have known that Tamil Nadu was former Madras given the hate that was generated against ‘Madrasis’ by the late Sena chief Bal Thackeray in the 1960s. But that’s the story, isn’t it? The philosophy, the targets, the methods, and the foul language that Mr Thackeray had set out with in June 1966, when he and a dedicated group set up the Shiv Sena, continue to prevail nearly six decades later when the world operates in a different context. Mr Thackeray termed it thokshahi, translated as the rule by force, which was his pun on lokshahi or democracy. He was not a fan of democracy, it must be remembered.
To expect Shinde’s Sena to follow democratic norms and take the matter to court would have been unSena-like. The thokshahi approach does not surprise anyone who has lived in Mumbai through the 1980-90s and 2000s, when the Sena revelled in it to drive home a point. Shiv Sainiks dug up pitches at the Wankhede Stadium in 1991 and Delhi’s Ferozeshah Kotla in 1999 to prevent cricket matches against Pakistan; vandalised homes and offices of people they did not agree with (ask the intrepid editor Nikhil Wagle who was their special target); used hockey sticks and crowbars on the heads of journalists and intellectuals; made icons like Mani Ratnam (to name one) cow down; set aflame local BEST buses; tore into shops and set goods aflame; and, of course, delighted in rioting during the 1992-93 riots in Bombay. The police mostly stood by and watched, as they did when the comedy venue was vandalised this week.
This is about the Shiv Sena. Under Uddhav Thackeray, it made faint-hearted attempts to evolve into a political party of stature and substance, but the party’s cadre did not match step with his – and his son Aaditya’s – reimagination of the Shiv Sena. More than the Thackerays, Shinde, a dyed-in-the-wool Sainik who made his way up from driving rickshaws in Thane and swears by thokshahi, appeared the real deal to thousands of Sainiks. He turned traitor to the Thackerays and seized the party in June-July 2022. Kamra called him just that.
This is about the rebellion. The saga about turncoat Sena leaders began way back in the 1990s when Chhagan Bhujbal walked out with MLAs, then Raj Thackeray and Narayan Rane, among others. Bhujbal was attacked most viciously. Mr Thackeray’s contemptuous description of him as ‘Lakhoba Lokhande’ stuck; no one dared call him by his name in speech or in the party newspaper Saamna. Ironically, the man who led the mob at the venue of Kamra’s show, Rahool Kanal, was once in the inner coterie of Aaditya Thackeray. If turncoats and traitors cannot be called that, how should they be addressed?
This is about comedy too. While Kamra is brave in many ways and has taken on the establishment, his brand is droll humour with gendered cuss words that are best avoided; we are in 2025, and gendered gaalis are simply not okay. That said, comedians, cartoonists and artists have a role in society as it closes in, to express reality in ways that journalists cannot or will not. If it hurts sentiments of yes-men and loyalists, then they must reflect and learn to laugh. Or, they could become a joke themselves, holding up posters of Shinde while torching Kamra’s, giving a face to his parody song. But reflection and course correction have never been the Sena’s strong suits.
This is about what the party has meant and done to Mumbai with the philosophy and approach it has had over five decades. Indeed, it collectivised Maharashtrians and championed the cause of Marathi sub-nationalism. But in articulating this with the muscle-flexing slash-and-burn approach, mostly with the mute inaction or silent approval of the local police, what a shame this is, the city’s character has been hurt and damaged. Mumbai, the entertainment capital and the cricket hub of the country, has long felt the shadow of the muscle-flexing approach.
Its creative industries existed or flourished by humouring the Sena, if not totally genuflecting, always keenly aware of the smell of fear and vandalism that the party could unleash at a nod from the boss. Editors, journalists, scholars, filmmakers, actors, singers, cricketers, painters and poets have all felt the chill of the threat that the party issued if it found their work or alliances objectionable. This was no way to nurture Mumbai’s ecosystem that fuelled the growth and expansion of the creative industries, but the party could not care less. It did not understand then and does not understand now that the right to free speech includes the right to offend, mock, and shock.
This is about the common person that the Sena says it speaks for. Habitat Studio, the venue, and Hotel Unicontinental, where it was housed, clarified that recent events made the management rethink, and “we are shutting down till we figure out the best way to provide a platform for free expression without putting ourselves and our property in jeopardy.” The jobs that it provided for scores of people, like waiters, ushers, and support staff, are probably off the table too. Migrants to Mumbai drawn by the opportunities it offers are lost. Did Kanal and his mob of hurt sentiments think of them? Will Shinde look after their families?
And how ironic that Mr Thackeray, himself a cartoonist, taught his boys not to chuckle at a joke but to slash, burn and threaten the comedian and his venue. The muscle-flexing did not help Mumbai in the past decades; it won’t now.
Smruti Koppikar, senior journalist and urban chronicler, writes extensively on cities, development, gender, and the media. She is the Founder Editor of the award-winning online journal ‘Question of Cities’ and won the Laadli Media Award 2024 for her writing in this column.
