The unspoken, almost indiscernible, differenceshows in the manner of living, in the cadences of everyday life. Wives areanxious about husbands going off on their trades. Women are apprehensive thatsome “sarphira” speaking in Marathi will storm into their bastiwhen the men are away. Men worry about what lies in store for them at workplaces– the dairies, the vegetable and fruit mandis, the security offices, telephoneoffices, railway counters and so on. Children in their teens, even pre-teens,approach the neighbourhood cricket gully with some trepidation at remarks thatare sure to come their way. The family from UP or Bihar who now takes thesuburban local is wary of co-commuters, some even yanking their little childrenoff from the window seat to offer it a man who obviously is a Maharashtrian. Theneighbourhod ubiquitous bhelpuriwallah, whose favourite parking place was nearthe Shiv Sena office, now wonders if he should move to a “safer” corner upahead on that street, or to another street altogether. Every other taxi driverwonders if he should venture into certain areas for his fares. Autorickshawowners, many of them, drivers themselves, have to put up with the odd passengerwho will terminate the ride with a slap instead of the metered fare because heis “a bloody Bihari”. Autorickshaw owners debated if they should “buyover” Raj Thackeray’s goodwill by sending him Diwali mithai. Security guardsin modest to upscale housing societies face the prospect of being replaced bytheir Maharashtrian counterparts. Commercial transporters wonder if they shouldpen Marathi catch-phrases at the back of the trucks and vans. Film industryworkers are anxious. Zari factories, neighbourhood atta chakkis, carpenters andpainters, all worry if they will function as they always have. The door-to-doorfishwallah, who replaced the traditional Maharashtrian Koli women vendors, arescared that their trade will be snatched away. And so on, it goes….