England pulled out from the European Union (EU) out of anger, as

Host: The train station at Dadar was its usual chaos — a storm of humanity, the air thick with the smell of chai, diesel, and rain-soaked earth. The evening monsoon had just broken, and the sky hung low and bruised, its thunder muffled by the roar of the city. Commuters hurried under umbrellas, water pooling on the tracks, voices overlapping like a chant of a restless people.

Near a pillar stained by a thousand seasons, Jack and Jeeny stood beneath the flickering tube light. Behind them, posters fluttered — political slogans, recruitment drives, the promise of jobs that rarely materialized. A train horn screamed in the distance, rising like the sound of a crowd’s collective frustration.

Host: The city pulsed around them — restless, unforgiving, and always listening.

Jeeny: (quietly, reading from her phone) “Raj Thackeray once said, ‘England pulled out from the European Union (EU) out of anger, as locals there were not getting jobs. They also have no work like Maharashtrian youth, as outsiders had grabbed all the opportunities.’”

Jack: (sighs) “Anger and unemployment — the two oldest political currencies.”

Jeeny: “And yet, they never lose value.”

Jack: “No. Because they speak the language of pain — the kind that doesn’t need translation.”

Host: A train screeched into the station, spraying mist and metal into the humid air. People swarmed toward the doors before it had even stopped — a collision of hope and exhaustion.

Jack: “Brexit wasn’t about policy. It was about pride — the kind of pride that festers when people feel invisible.”

Jeeny: “Like the youth here.”

Jack: “Exactly. They don’t want pity; they want power. And when they can’t get it through opportunity, they find it in anger.”

Jeeny: (nodding) “That’s what Thackeray was pointing to. It’s not about England or Maharashtra — it’s about identity in crisis. When people can’t find work, they start looking for someone to blame.”

Jack: “And they rarely look up.”

Jeeny: “They look sideways — at the outsider, the immigrant, the neighbor who made it before they did.”

Host: The lights flickered again, briefly plunging the platform into half-darkness. The sound of the crowd filled the space — murmurs, arguments, vendors calling out prices over the chaos.

Jack: “Every society does it. When jobs vanish, empathy vanishes faster. People start dividing scarcity like it’s territory.”

Jeeny: “And fear becomes patriotism.”

Jack: “And patriotism becomes politics.”

Host: The rain thickened again, slapping against the iron roof of the platform. They both stepped closer under the narrow shelter, the noise of it deafening.

Jeeny: “It’s strange, isn’t it? Globalization promised to unite us — and instead, it turned us into competitors.”

Jack: “Because unity sounds good until you have to share.”

Jeeny: “And sharing feels easy until you’re hungry.”

Jack: “Exactly. England didn’t leave the EU because of policy papers or trade laws. They left because people believed someone else had stolen their place in the world.”

Jeeny: “Like the Maharashtrian youth feel when they see outsiders taking jobs in their own city.”

Jack: “It’s the same wound, just in a different language.”

Host: The train started moving again, the wheels clanking like an old heartbeat. Steam rose from the wet tracks, carrying the smell of metal and monsoon.

Jack: “You know what’s tragic? Both sides — the locals and the outsiders — are victims of the same machine. The system benefits from their anger. Keeps them fighting for crumbs while the powerful eat the loaf.”

Jeeny: “Divide the desperate — rule the future.”

Jack: “It’s an ancient trick. Give them a villain that looks like them, and they’ll never notice the real one.”

Host: The crowd began to thin. The echo of departure announcements faded into the damp evening air.

Jeeny: “So what’s the answer, Jack? If anger’s the only language people understand, how do you teach them something else?”

Jack: “By giving them a reason to believe again — not in slogans, but in systems that work.”

Jeeny: “Systems that don’t care about where you’re from, only about what you can do.”

Jack: “Exactly. Merit over geography. Opportunity over division.”

Jeeny: “But that’s not an easy dream to sell. Anger is louder. Simpler. It feels righteous.”

Jack: “And that’s why it wins.”

Host: The last of the light faded from the sky, the platform now lit only by the trembling white of old bulbs. The rain slowed to a whisper, the city exhaling as if exhausted by its own noise.

Jack: (softly) “Thackeray’s right about one thing — anger has geography. It looks different in every place but feels the same everywhere. A Londoner who’s lost his factory and a youth in Mumbai without a job — both stand at the same intersection of dignity and despair.”

Jeeny: “Both waiting for someone to tell them they matter.”

Jack: “And both willing to believe anyone who promises to fix it.”

Jeeny: “Even if that promise costs them unity.”

Jack: (quietly) “Especially then.”

Host: The camera lingered on their faces — two souls framed by a city that had learned to live with its contradictions. Behind them, a faded poster on the wall read in peeling paint: “Jobs for All. Justice for Some.”

The train was gone, the platform empty except for echoes and puddles reflecting flickering light.

And as the night thickened, Raj Thackeray’s words hung in the humid air — raw, conflicted, human:

“England pulled out from the European Union (EU) out of anger, as locals there were not getting jobs. They also have no work like Maharashtrian youth, as ‘outsiders’ had grabbed all the opportunities.”

Host: Because anger is the last language
of the unheard —
a song that sounds like patriotism
but bleeds like poverty.

And whether it’s London or Mumbai,
the melody is the same:

a cry for dignity
in a world
where belonging
has become a competition.