A journey and a worry

Am heading to Bangalore starting tomorrow. Fear in my head and longing in my heart. There's nothing like home. But when going home means a 24 hour train journey, a two hour journey by local train, and the quarter of an hour by anautorickshaw or taxi to the local station, it does bring about uneasiness. 
God knows if things will be fine en route. Or if the goons will get at us somewhere, somehow.

Fear of a certain Raj Thackeray who has managed to make us Indians feel unsafe. Raj Thackeray and his rioters hold the city to ransom at their whim. They talk of a pro-Marathi agenda. But it is really not that. It's just about how they get a few goons to go about destroying vehicles...buses of their own state, shops of their own state, kill people of their own state, to make their pro-Marathi point.
That Raj Thackeray wants to become another Modi is in itself one should fear. The danger with Modi is not just about him using his hate-and-murder politics in his state. It's also about inspiring thousands of other Modis. Ditto with the Raj, who does not mind sending his offspring to an English medium school, but preaches a pro-Marathi policy to the rest of the world. He must be smiling inwardly. After all, his hate-campaign has paid off!
By his logic, all people of particular states should belong where they are, and not dare to venture out. To add to the hurt, Shiv Sena gives the example of DMK for its pro-Tamil stand.
Move back to Bangalore where I have grown up, and it seems like familiar turf. Pro-Kannadaactivists (I cringe at calling them that) arm themselves with red and yellow flags, hit out at any one who is an `outsider' given a chance. Violence in the name of love.
Violence in the name of language.
The root purpose of languages evolving in humankind, was to communicate. To unite. To help love each other better. That language should be turned around and manipulated to manufacture hate shows there is something seriously wrong with the society.
At a personal level, I find it very nice when someone lauds me for being able to speak in six languages. As an Indian I feel that's far less. My target is 14, although it remains a dream for now.
I've been eager to learn Marathi all these months. Where I find glossy pamphlets to advertise filmy dance classes and art classes that mint money, I haven't found a single board with anyone offering to teach Marathi, in this part ofMumbai. 
With the hate and hurt campaign terrorising people out here, am only wondering if I may run into anti-outsiders, in the bargain. 
The bottomline is that they want to elicit votes out of gullible commoners by making them feel unsafe rather than safe. A friend told me the other day, that real Maharashtrians are gems at heart, that what we are witnessing now, is just the handiwork of selfish elements. I have met a couple of them too - my maid who leads a life of dignity. A cop's wife who welcomed me and my husband into her home for the dandiya raas in their colony, with love that seemed a whiff of fresh air. A neighbour downstairs who is reserved, but reciprocates affection just as much.
It's about time the real locals came into limelight and spoke about their own great qualities. 
We're living in times of Raj. Is it by any chance, echoing the times of the other Raj India was crushed of centuries under? The British Raj? 
I have reason to believe so. For now, I am hoping my train journey to Bangalore goes without incident.