Every year, the first of May arrives with a dual symbolism that is uniquely powerful in Maharashtra. It is both Maharashtra Day and International Worker’s Day; a convergence of regional identity and working-class struggle. Yet, the commemorations have increasingly become ceremonial, stripped of the deeper political urgency they once carried. In a moment when Mumbai feels strained by fragmentation, economic anxiety, linguistic tension and infrastructural fatigue – this day demands to be reclaimed not merely as celebration but as a site of critical remembering. It is not enough to wave flags or post slogans; one must ask what exactly is being remembered and more importantly, what is being forgotten.
The formation of Maharashtra in 1960 was not a passive administrative event. It emerged from a long and often violent struggle rooted in the demand for linguistic dignity, economic justice and regional autonomy. The Samyukta Maharashtra movement was not simply about Marathi Asmita (pride) in isolation; it was about the right to shape one’s socio-political future. Mumbai, as its contested heart, symbolized both aspiration and contradiction; a city built by labour but often alienating those who built it. Today, the invocation of “Marathi Asmita” appears louder than ever but curiously hollowed out. The insistence on compulsory Marathi for rikshaw and taxi drivers or workers, framed as cultural preservation, seems less like empowerment and more like a symptom of anxiety. It risks turning language into a tool of enforcement rather than a medium of lived experience.
This anxiety is not baseless but it is misdirected. The closure of government Marathi schools across the state points to a structural neglect that cannot be masked by performative policies. When public education systems erode, language loses its everyday ground. Marathi survives not through compulsion but through ecosystems. Schools, literature, theatre, music and public discourse are its backbone. But what we see is the paradox striking: while official rhetoric insists on linguistic pride, the very institutions that nurture the language are allowed to decay. This contradiction produces a sense of disorientation among citizens, where identity is emphasized rhetorically but undermined materially.
Such conditions create fertile ground for what can be described as destabilization not in a conspiratorial sense but as a lived social experience. Destabilization operates subtly, through everyday frustrations and contradictions. It disorients individuals by making systems unpredictable and opaque. It disarms them by eroding trust in institutions. It demoralizes them by setting up expectations that cannot be fulfilled. In Mumbai, this is visible in the daily negotiation of infrastructure: delayed trains, broken roads, flooding during monsoons, heatwave and the constant presence of construction without accountability. Private contractors, often shielded by opaque governance structures, execute projects that disrupt lives while rarely delivering sustainable outcomes.
The impact of such negligence is not merely physical but psychological. When a commuter spends hours navigating potholes or overcrowded trains, it is not just time lost. It is erodation of dignity. Over time, these experiences accumulate into a collective fatigue. People begin to lower their expectations, normalizing dysfunction. This normalization is itself a form of demoralization. It shifts the horizon of what is considered possible, making systemic change seem unattainable. In such a context, symbolic gestures like enforcing language rules become distractions from deeper structural failures.
The growing dissatisfaction in Mumbai is therefore not reducible to a single issue. It is a convergence of economic precarity, cultural anxiety and infrastructural breakdown. The city’s working class, historically it is a Mumbai, finds itself increasingly marginalized. Informal workers, migrants and even lower-middle-class residents face rising costs of living without corresponding improvements in wages or services. The promise of Mumbai as a city of opportunity appears increasingly fragile. This fragility feeds into identity politics, where linguistic or regional markers become proxies for deeper insecurities.
It is here that the significance of B. R. Ambedkar becomes crucial. Babasaheb’s engagement with labour was not limited to legislative reforms; it was grounded in a broader vision of social justice. As the Labour Member in the Viceroy’s Executive Council (1942-1946), he introduced policies that transformed working conditions, reducing working hours, ensuring maternity benefits and advocating for workers’ rights. But more importantly, he understood labour not just as an economic category but as a site of dignity and citizenship. For Babasaheb, the question was not merely how people worked but how they lived.
Babasaheb’s vision also intersected with the idea of Maharashtra as a political entity. While he had reservations about linguistic states, his broader commitment was to ensuring that any state formation would not reproduce social hierarchies. The establishment of Maharashtra, therefore, must be read alongside the unfinished project of social democracy. Today, invoking Babasaheb on Labour Day often becomes a ritualistic exercise, detached from his radical critique of inequality. To truly remember his work is to confront the ways in which labour continues to be devalued and marginalized.
In the current context, remembering Babasaheb means asking uncomfortable questions. What does labour dignity look like in a city where gig workers deliver convenience but lack security? What does social justice mean in a landscape where informal settlements are demolished in the name of development, only to be replaced by projects that exclude the original residents? How does one reconcile the celebration of Marathi identity with the neglect of Marathi-speaking working classes? These questions do not have easy answers but they are necessary to prevent the erosion of democratic values.
However, it seems that the techniques of destabilizations like disorientation, disarmament and demoralization are not abstract concepts; they manifest in everyday life. Disorientation occurs when policies appear inconsistent or contradictory, such as promoting language while undermining education. Disarmament happens when citizens feel powerless to demand accountability, either due to bureaucratic complexity or political apathy. Demoralization sets in when repeated failures create a sense of inevitability, where people begin to accept substandard conditions as normal. Together, these processes weaken the collective capacity to imagine and demand change. Yet, history offers a counterpoint. The movements that led to the formation of Maharashtra were driven by collective action and a refusal to accept the status quo. Workers, students and cultural figures came together to articulate a vision of a just society. This spirit of solidarity is precisely what seems to be eroding today. Individual struggles dominate, while collective frameworks weaken. The challenge, therefore, is not merely to critique the present but to rebuild the conditions for collective imagination.
Reclaiming Maharashtra Day and Labour Day as moments of critical reflection requires a shift in perspective. Instead of viewing them as separate events or one regional, the other global; they must be understood as interconnected. The identity of Maharashtra is inseparable from the labour that sustains it. Mumbai’s history, from its docks to its mills to its informal economies, is a history of workers shaping the city. Any discussion of Marathi identity or Marathi Asmita that ignores this dimension risks becoming exclusionary and superficial. At the same time, the role of the state cannot be ignored. Governance must move beyond symbolic politics to address structural issues. Reviving government schools, ensuring accountability in infrastructure projects and protecting workers’ rights are not merely administrative tasks; they are political imperatives. Without such measures, the gap between rhetoric and reality will continue to widen, fueling further dissatisfaction.
“The identity of Maharashtra is inseparable from the labour that sustains it. Mumbai’s history, from its docks to its mills to its informal economies, is a history of workers shaping the city.”
There is also a cultural dimension to this reclaiming. Language, after all, is not just a means of communication but a repository of memory and imagination. Marathi, with its rich literary and theatrical traditions, has historically been a medium for articulating social critique. Revitalizing these cultural spaces can provide an alternative to the narrow framing of identity politics. It can create spaces where people engage with language not as an obligation but as a shared experience.
Ultimately, the question is not whether Maharashtra Day or Labour Day should be celebrated, but how. Celebration without reflection risks becoming an empty ritual. Reflection without action risks becoming intellectual exercise. The challenge is to bridge the two to use these moments as opportunities to confront the realities of destabilization and to imagine pathways toward stability rooted in justice and dignity. In doing so, one must resist the temptation of simplistic narratives.
The problems facing Mumbai are complex, shaped by historical, economic, and political factors. Addressing them requires nuanced understanding and sustained effort. But it also requires a willingness to remember and not just selectively, but fully. To remember the struggles that led to the formation of Maharashtra. To remember the contributions of workers who built the city. To remember the vision of thinkers like Babasaheb and the rest, who insisted on the inseparability of political democracy and social justice.
Such remembering is not passive; it is an act of resistance. It challenges the processes of disorientation by providing historical clarity. It counters disarmament by reminding people of their collective power. It combats demoralization by affirming the possibility of change. In this sense, Maharashtra Day and Labour Day are not just dates on a calendar; they are reminders of unfinished struggles and unrealized possibilities.
As Mumbai continues to evolve, the stakes of these questions will only grow. The city’s future depends not just on economic growth but on the ability to create inclusive and sustainable systems. This requires moving beyond reactive measures to proactive vision. It requires aligning identity with justice and development with dignity. Above all, it requires a commitment to remembering not as nostalgia or event based politics but as a foundation for action. And so in reclaiming the meaning of 1st May, one is not merely looking back but looking forward. The past provides lessons but it is the present that demands engagement. The task is to transform dissatisfaction into critical awareness and awareness into collective action. Only then can the destabilizing forces that shape everyday life be confronted and reimagined. And only then can the promise of Maharashtra rooted in both identity and labour be realized in its fullest sense.
References
- BBC News: Article c93kwqvw3jxo
- Hindustan Times: What has led to a drop in no of BMC schools students
- Indian Express: BMC flyover site piling rig collapses on Mumbai cop, kills
- Indian Express: Ambedkar labour reforms India worker rights
- The Ambedkarian Chronicle: Who owns Mumbai? Babasaheb's politics of the lie