By Vinod Raghavan*
Mumbai’s Marathi Flame Rattles Shopkeepers
Mumbai: Mumbai’s gallis, where dreams are traded as briskly as stocks, witnessed a proper natak on 5 July 2025. Sushil Kedia, a dab hand at the share market, pulled a swift U-turn that left tongues wagging. This savvy businessman, who’d once scoffed at learning Marathi, backtracked in a jiffy when Uddhav and Raj Thackeray clasped hands in a rare show of unity. Kedia, no stranger to Mumbai’s ways after three decades of raking in profits, knew better than to tangle with the Marathi Manoos sentiment. He bowed to the city’s pulse, choosing to keep his head down and his business booming.
Raj Thackeray’s blistering speech at the Vijay Rally on 7 July set the stage. Taking a swipe at the BJP-led government, he thundered, “You might rule Vidhan Bhavan, but Mumbai’s streets answer to us.” The crowd roared, and Kedia, with his trader’s knack for sniffing out trouble, got the memo. Crossing the Marathi Manoos was a non-starter, especially when the ruling party’s workers wouldn’t swoop in to save the day. His game plan? Chip in with donations for Mumbai’s big-ticket festivals—Ganeshutsav, Dahi Handi, Navratri—flash a smile, and keep the cash flowing.
The spark for this ruckus came from Mira-Bhayandar, Mumbai’s bustling next-door cousin. A sweetmeat shopwallah, who’d run his dukaan for 30 years without bothering to pick up Marathi, locked horns with MNS workers. His stubborn “I’m not interested” line didn’t sit well, and the argument ended with a few slaps. The fallout? Shops in the area pulled down shutters for a day, with former Mumbai Mayor Kishori Pednekar blaming local BJP netas for egging them on. At the rally, shopkeepers from Gujarat and North India shouted “Jai Shree Ram,” claiming their hard yakka keeps Mumbai, Thane, and Navi Mumbai afloat. Sena and MNS workers weren’t having it, snapping back that those who can’t respect Marathi should pack up and head back to their home states.
This clash laid bare the tightrope Mumbai’s traders walk. The BJP, which leans on shopkeepers in Mumbai and Mira-Bhayandar for votes, now faces a sticky wicket. These chaps, sharp as a tack, know how to roll the dice when the winds shift. Kedia’s quick apology showed he’d read the room, sensing that the “Double Engine” sarkar—Modi in Delhi, Fadnavis in Maharashtra—wouldn’t stick its neck out for non-Marathi speakers. A few hotheads were booked for taking the law into their hands, but the real sting was felt in the souring of ties among folks who’d lived as mates and neighbours for years, locals sighed.
Uddhav Thackeray, seizing the moment, jogged everyone’s memory about Shiv Sena’s role as Mumbai’s shield during the 1992-93 riots. Back then, with BJP as the junior partner, Sena called the shots. Since 2014, though, with Modi and Shah at the Centre, BJP’s been flexing its muscles, step by careful step. Yet, Mumbai’s streets still march to the Marathi beat, and traders like Kedia are tuning in, balancing respect with their bottom line.
The Mira-Bhayandar flare-up wasn’t just a one-off. It shone a torch on the simmering tension between Mumbai’s diverse trading crowd and its fierce local pride. The sweetmeat shop owner’s defiance, rooted in his long years of business, misjudged the city’s mood. MNS workers, quick to act, saw his stance as a slap to Marathi identity. Pednekar’s claim that BJP leaders fanned the flames added fuel, hinting at a political chess game where traders are pawns. The rally’s charged slogans—outsiders touting their graft, locals demanding respect—showed how deep this divide runs.
Kedia’s move to jump into the fray early was classic Mumbai smarts. He’d banked on the BJP’s clout to back non-Marathi traders, but when push came to shove, he saw the writing on the wall. The Thackerays’ unity sent a clear signal: Mumbai’s heart beats for Marathi. While a few faced the law for roughing things up, the bigger fallout was the dent in community bonds. Neighbours who’d shared chai and gossip now eye each other warily. As Mumbai’s traders navigate this new reality, they’re learning that a nod to Marathi pride—be it a festival donation or a few words in the local tongue—might just be the ticket to keeping the peace and their shops open.
*Senior journalist
