Bombay was my home for nine years. Although I was too old to learn how to speak Marathi or Gujarati, I did not feel like an outsider and managed to get by with Mumbai-Hindi — ayenga, jayenga, thamba or khalas. No one ever made me feel unwelcome because I did not belong to the city. There were million others like me who came from different parts of India. We had unflattering names for different communities that we used only when they were not listening: Gujjus for Gujaratis, Ghatis for Maharashtrians, Bawajis for Parsis, Makapaons for Goan- Christians, Mianbhais for Muslims. I was a Sikhra, Surd or Surdy. There were also Sindhis, Armenians, Jews and Europeans. We got on very well with each other.

All communities had contributed to making Bombay India’s first city. The largest contribution was made by the British; the second largest by the Parsis and Gujaratis, followed by the Marwaris. I am not being unfair in my assessment that the smallest contribution was that of the Maharashtrians, who formed the majority in the city. The combination of resentment and envy was combustible material for a particular Maharashtrian to exploit to his political advantage — that Maharashtrian was Bal Thackeray, founding-father of the Shiv Sena. I met him once at his residence. He was as different-looking from my idea of a Maratha warrior as possible: frail, bearded, bespectacled, dressed in saffron kurta, with a necklace round his neck. But he surrounded himself with emblems of militancy: pictures of snarling tigers, busts of Chhatrapati Shivaji and armed guards. He was a man of little learning, a second-rate cartoonist, an admirer of Adolf Hitler and believed in the Aryans being god’s chosen race. Thackeray’s chosen race were the Marathas and so he exploited Maratha pride. Hitler’s victims were Jews and gypsies. Thackeray’s first victims were south Indians, mainly those who ran idli-dosa eateries all over the city. He had his hoodlums beat them up and wreck their restaurants. There was nothing to stop Maharashtrians from opening eateries of their own, but that would not have served his purpose. He got his lumpen followers to do what they knew best: they roughed up Tamilians, Kannadigas, Malayalis and vandalized their properties. He became a hero amongst his people. He spread ill-will against Muslims and boasted that his sainiks had played the leading role in bringing down Babri Masjid. No action was taken against him.

Contenders for Bal Thackeray’s legacy of hate are his son, Uddhav, and nephew, Raj. They have gone a step further than Balasaheb. Uddhav took the easier route to notoriety: he insulted India’s number one icon, Amitabh Bachchan and attacked his residence; Raj and his goons attacked their own countrymen from the North and made thousands flee their homes. He should have been handcuffed the day he committed the crime. But neither the state nor the Central government had the nerve to do so till well after a week.

No one can deny that when it comes to jobs, all things being the same, locals must be given preference to outsiders; it does not create housing problems or any ill-will against outsiders. That is plain common sense. Indulging in abuse and violence is unpardonable. No one is entitled to question the Indian identity of another: it is unpatriotic and must be condemned in the strongest of terms.

The Revolt, again

Was the rising of 1857 really India’s first war of independence? Our politicians say ‘yes’ — they have political reasons for doing so. Our historians are sharply divided in their views: most of them say yes and no in the same breath. They have good reasons to be confused. The rebellion was limited to north India, extending from Ambala to Barrackpur (Calcutta) down to Madhya Pradesh. It did not spread in Punjab, Kashmir, Sindh, Rajasthan, Gujarat, Maharashtra, the Deccan or the Northeast. Most of India remained indifferent and much of the country sided with the British. Indians who rose against the British had different motives for doing so. The sepoys, both Hindu and Muslim, who first opened fire felt their religions were in danger as they were made to bite bullets greased with the fat of cows and pigs. Indian rulers who joined them were aggrieved that their estates had been grabbed by the British and so fought to restore dynastic rule.

There has been a flood of books on the subject: the latest is Dateline 1857: Revolt against the Raj by Rudrangshu Mukherjee and Pramod Kapoor. Mukherjee has a formidable reputation as a historian. He has spelt out the case for both sides in the revolt in lucid prose. Kapoor has acquired illustrations of the times from archives in England and India. The only problem with the book is its size: it is too large to hold in one’s hands to read, too out of proportion to be put in a bookshelf or on a coffee table.