Tang ting tingak… tang ting tingak… tang ting tingak… toom…

Rangrao is a discerning spectator from the old, wise generation. He has witnessed the commanding voice of Shriram Lagoo in Girgaum theatres and experienced the thunderous whistles for Kashinath Ghanekar. Even today, when Rangrao wakes up in the morning, he looks at the hoardings outside and evaluates politics as if it were the script of a play. Today, at the nearby junction, there was a poster announcing the “alliance” of two brothers. Instinctively, a dialogue from the film Natsamrat came to Rangrao’s lips: “As an actor, you are pathetic—and as a human being, you have turned out to be utterly despicable!” Rangrao feels that this municipal election is nothing but a desperate attempt by certain parties to re-stage an old, battered play under a new title. In Natsamrat, Appasaheb Belvalkar asks, “Will someone give me a home?” Here, both brothers are roaming through Mumbai’s lanes asking, “Will someone give us power?” But Rangrao wonders—why give a “once more” to those who, because of their ego, never allowed Mumbai’s development to become a true Natsamrat? He recalls Shriram Lagoo’s famous statement: “It’s time to retire God.” Smiling to himself, Rangrao murmured, “Well, doctor, along with God, it’s time to give these ‘heir-apparent’ Thackerays a political retirement too.” For years, the two brothers have treated the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation as their personal private wing. One wants veto power, while the other is content with mere prompting. But in this family duet, Mumbai’s development hangs like a torn stage curtain. Look at the plot of this drama—how amusing it is! One brother’s “engine” has run out of steam, and the other could not even handle his “bow and arrow.” So what’s the solution? Launch a musical drama of “Marathi identity”! Here, Rangrao is reminded of a dialogue from Katyar Kaljat Ghusli: “Music is a form of devotion, not a business.” Similarly, politics should have been a path of public service, but together these brothers have turned it into a family business. To them, the municipal treasury feels like a hereditary certificate of honor that must return to them every five years. This alliance is not born out of affection—it is a convenient merger undertaken to save one’s own shop. Just as two aging superstars are brought together to revive a failing play, these brothers have now embraced each other and begun shouting, “We alone are your saviors!” In the end, Rangrao wiped his spectacles, looked at himself in the mirror, and muttered, “This state is not yours—it belongs to the people.” (a line he once heard in a historical play). Mumbai is not the personal fiefdom of these two brothers to be negotiated and divided between them. Mumbaikars are tired of this boring drama of nepotism; what they want now is a developmental blockbuster. Rangrao stepped out of the shop, glanced at the poster, and burst out laughing. “Gentlemen, the audience has grown wise! This ‘brotherhood’ of yours and the tragedy staged for power are headed for a flop. Because Mumbai no longer wants actors—it wants real heroes who actually work.” BMC is not a family business #notafamilybusiness