Dharavi: Too Narrow For Bulldozers, Not For Displacement

Mumbai, once a scattered heap of seven islands, grew into a metropolis on the backs of labourers who arrived as early as the British Raj. Dharavi, part of this geography, began as a mangrove-marshland inhabited by the Koli fishing community. They paddled through swamps that now lie buried beneath concrete and congestion. Over time, leather tanneries sprung up, mostly run by Muslims and members of lower Hindu castes—professions marked by caste-based occupational segregation. Gujaratis, too, made their way in, establishing small-scale businesses and trade hubs.

As the city evolved, Dharavi remained suspended in limbo, always on the brink of transformation, yet never quite arriving there. Now, standing at the threshold of a massive redevelopment push, questions surrounding belonging, legitimacy, and the politics of displacement grow louder. Who counts in the narrative of India's 'largest slum' when the list of 'illegitimate people' gets written?

For decades, generations have built lives in Dharavi’s tight-knit lanes—rooms layered like sediment in tiny, unventilated boxes. But the promise of development came late, and now that it is finally here, it arrives under the looming structure of the Dharavi Redevelopment Project (DRP).

On July 2, the DRP released its first list of eligible beneficiaries, revealing that over 75% of tenement holders qualify for new housing under the scheme. Residents who can prove that they have lived in Dharavi since before January 1, 2000, are entitled to a 350 sq ft apartment within the redeveloped premises—provided they submit valid documentation. Those who settled between January 1, 2000, and January 1, 2011, will be allotted slightly smaller homes, around 300 sq ft, but outside the Dharavi zone.

The first list covered 505 tenements from Meghwadi and Ganesh Nagar in Mahim. Of these, 31 households have not submitted any documents, while 137 cases remain pending verification by the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC). Another 38 tenements have been classified as amenity structures, such as community toilets or storage spaces.

According to data from Annexure-II, a total of 170 ground-floor tenements—comprising residential, commercial, and mixed-use units—have been deemed eligible for housing under the Dharavi Redevelopment Project. These tenements qualify for new homes either within Dharavi or at alternative locations outside the area. Of these, 157 tenements were established prior to January 1, 2000, making them eligible for 350 sq ft apartments within the redeveloped Dharavi. The remaining 13 tenements fall under the 'Shashulk Eligible' category. These are entitled to 300 sq ft homes at relocation sites outside Dharavi, available at a subsidised rate of ₹2.5 lakh.

DRP CEO S.V.R. Srinivas assured that no resident will be left behind, eligible families will either be resettled within redeveloped Dharavi or relocated elsewhere. But assurances do little for those still stuck in bureaucratic ambiguity. Hamid Ansar, a resident of Diamond Building, barely 700 metres from Mahim Junction, remains unconvinced. Outside his building, people clutching their belongings scurry across the narrow, chaotic stretch known locally as ‘Station Gali’—the first hamlet into Dharavi’s sprawl.

Here, homes tumble over each other like precariously stacked vessels. Most have makeshift roofs—plastic sheets weighed down with filled water bottles, tied at the edges in the hope that they won’t fly off when it rains. Shoaib Sheikh, 35, navigates these lanes swiftly. Once a resident himself, he now lives nearby but returns often—his extended family still calls this place home. Shoaib is now one of the youngest members of the Businessmen’s Welfare Association, a collective fighting for the rights of informal entrepreneurs being left out of the DRP framework.

The association recently sent an email to Srinivas, demanding transparency and redress. But no reply has come. The letter highlights the risk of economic erosion: many local businesses, often run without formal leases or ownership titles, are being excluded due to cut-off dates and rigid documentation criteria. “The business ecosystem of Dharavi exists because it is in Dharavi. Displacing it would only mean collapse,” the letter read. Ironically, it was submitted the same day the first list of “ineligible residents” was released.

Akbar Patel, member of the association, sits with his eyes in burrow of skin. His gaze is heavy, his voice tinged with resignation. “Nothing will change,” he murmurs. Hope, he says, is a beautiful illusion. His grandfather once ran a large tannery in Dharavi. Before he could pass it on to his sons, they were told to relocate to Deonar.

Expecting to receive equivalent land, they arrived only to find the plot already under MHADA control. “We were told to accept a smaller space. What can ants do when elephants run the show?” he asks, bitterly. “We are still resisting, but most have accepted that truth is what politicians choose to declare.”

One of the key relocation sites under consideration for the “ineligible” residents is Govandi—specifically the Deonar dumping ground, where Patel’s tannery was once relocated. But Deonar is not just inhospitable; it is toxic.

The Deonar landfill is the oldest in Mumbai, and now also a political flashpoint. Recently, Congress MLA Nana Patole alleged irregularities in the BMC’s ₹2,368-crore tender to clean the landfill using bioremediation. Patole claimed that two eligible companies were arbitrarily excluded, favouring a preferred bidder. Raising the issue in the Assembly, he pointed out that while hundreds of acres in Dharavi have been handed to Adani Group for redevelopment, the BMC is now being made to bear the cost of clearing Deonar—potentially to relocate the displaced.

But the issue here goes beyond financial opacity. Faizan Ahmed, a long-time resident of Govandi, says life expectancy in his neighbourhood barely crosses 50 years. Toxic gases from the biomedical and municipal waste processing units cloud the area. According to a 2023 Bombay High Court order, the plant was to be relocated to Raigad. But little action has followed.

Adding to residents' woes is the Waste-to-Energy plant, under construction since 2021 within the landfill’s premises. The project has worsened air quality. A study commissioned by the BMC, conducted by NETEL India Limited in collaboration with NM Consultants and SKW Soil and Surveys, revealed that toxicology levels at the site are up to four times higher than the permissible limits prescribed by the Central Pollution Control Board (CPCB).

“What does development mean if it displaces the very people who built the place?” asks Hamid Jalil, walking down the 60-meter-wide road that links the Western and Eastern Express Highways. This stretch makes Dharavi strategically lucrative for future commercial hubs. “The eviction of artisans and informal businesses is not incidental. It’s part of a larger plan to make way for corporate behemoths, like those in Bandra-Kurla Complex (BKC)—to expand,” Hamid notes.

“Of course, Dharavi needs development,” he adds, pausing for a moment, “but development at the cost of dissent?"

A scrap shop hangs precariously in the Jalil Compound, just before the entrance to Banwari Compound, where the meeting was held. The entire area is lined with mounds of scrap, leading further down to Naya Road, the main unloading point for discarded materials. This ecosystem of waste and reuse organically extends into rows of wooden workshops that open directly into the infamous Gutter Gali. The narrow alley runs alongside an open sewage line. Officials from the Pest Control division under the BMC’s Health Department had come to spread awareness about dengue and malaria. In response, a child laughed, “Tell that to the ones who will continue to live here—we're being thrown out anyway.”