The Building Anger Beneath Mumbai’s Endless Construction

At 8.30 on a weekday morning, the traffic at Andheri’s Gokhale Bridge crawls so slowly that commuters can count the layers of dust settling on their windshields. A delivery rider wipes his eyes at a signal, leaving a grey smear across his cheek. A woman in office formals steps off a broken footpath into traffic because a heap of construction debris blocks her way. Above her, a tangle of cables hangs from a half-installed streetlight.

“Every day, we leave home ten minutes earlier than the previous day,” says 42-year-old accountant Meenal Shah, who has lived in the western suburbs her entire life. “But no matter how early we leave, we get stuck somewhere. Either the road is dug up or there’s a diversion or a barricade. And there are hawkers everywhere. It feels like the city is permanently under repair. And we are permanently paying for it.”

Mumbai’s reputation as India’s financial capital is shadowed by another identity: a metropolis that appears to be forever under construction. Roads are dug for concretisation, reopened for water pipelines, closed for gas lines, reworked for sewage upgrades, narrowed for Metro pillars, and rerouted for flyovers. Old buildings are demolished in redevelopment waves, replaced by taller towers wrapped in green netting. Hoardings rise above traffic snarls, often illegally, until tragedy forces attention.

Over decades, this cycle has hardened into a way of life, and a source of mounting anger. For many Mumbaikars, the question is no longer whether infrastructure is necessary. It is whether the city’s infrastructure machine has become an end in itself, feeding contractors, middlemen, and politicians more reliably than it serves citizens.

A History Of Good Intentions, Poor Execution

Mumbai’s infrastructure crisis is often framed as a contemporary failure, a story of potholes, Metro barricades and redevelopment dust. But its roots lie deep in the city’s post-Independence transformation.

In the 1960s and 70s, Bombay, as it was then known, was India’s industrial powerhouse. The textile mills of Parel, Lalbaug, Byculla and Girangaon drew thousands of workers from across Maharashtra and beyond. The island city was dense but economically vibrant. Suburban railways, already the city’s lifeline, expanded northward, pulling development toward Bandra, Andheri, Borivali and eventually beyond. What had once been peripheral villages were rapidly absorbed into the metropolitan fold.

But this explosive growth outpaced planning.

The Development Plan of 1967 had already flagged the mismatch between population growth and civic infrastructure. Roads in the island city were laid out in the colonial era for trams, handcarts and limited vehicular traffic. Even suburban arterial roads were never designed for the millions of cars, buses and auto-rickshaws that would arrive decades later. As incomes rose and vehicle ownership increased in the 1980s and 90s, carriageways that once handled modest traffic volumes became permanent choke points.

In response, successive governments promised transformation: flyovers in the 1990s, the Bandra-Worli Sea Link in the 2000s, the Coastal Road and Metro corridors in the 2010s and 2020s. Each project was presented as a bold step toward a world-class Mumbai.

Yet the everyday experience of the average citizen remained defined by potholes, diversions, and dust. One of the most persistent complaints has been the repeated digging of the same roads. After the monsoon, potholes are filled. Months later, trenches are carved for utilities. The road is resurfaced, only to be reopened again.

Urban planner Dr. Shirish Patel, one of the early advocates of planned satellite development and one of the main executives behind the idea of Navi Mumbai, once observed that Mumbai’s core problem is fragmentation of authority. “Multiple agencies operate in silos. There is no integrated transport and infrastructure planning. Without coordination, even good projects create chaos,” he said at a public forum years ago, a warning that continues to resonate.

The Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC), among the wealthiest civic bodies in India, has often been accused of failing to synchronise departments and private utilities. Large-scale road concretisation, aimed at eliminating potholes, has intensified debate. While concrete roads may last longer, their construction has narrowed carriageways for months at a stretch, uprooted trees, and raised concerns about heat retention and water runoff.

Environmental activist Stalin D of Vanashakti argues, “We are replacing permeable surfaces with concrete everywhere. The city is heating up. Water has nowhere to go. Then we are surprised when floods intensify.”

Hussain Indorewala, an urban planner and expert, highlighted how this entire saga is a gold gem for the real-estate sector. “The real-estate industry is the main beneficiary of public spending on large infrastructure projects. Planning authorities hand out public land and development rights as incentives to builders so that a share of development and profits can be “recaptured” from real-estate projects, Indorewala says, adding that when developers profit, something comes back for the public, therefore authorities believe that public interest entails private profits.

“So, the circle is complete: mega-projects inflate land prices, which fuels speculative building, creating some amenities and revenue for public agencies, who then monetise public land parcels to finance even more extravagant mega-projects. It is no surprise that public land in Mumbai is for sale, or that the authorities can afford Metros and freeways but find buses and basic services unaffordable.”

The Court As Chronicler

If Mumbai’s roads tell one story, the Bombay High Court’s observations tell another. In repeated monsoon hearings, the court has pulled up the BMC for potholes and shoddy road work. It has warned that road safety cannot be treated as a seasonal concern and has demanded accountability from contractors, even suggesting blacklisting those responsible for poor-quality execution.

On illegal hawking and encroachments, the court’s frustration has been equally evident. It has consistently directed the BMC to clear non-licenced hawkers from streets and footpaths, ordered eviction drives at 20 crowded locations, and mandated strict licence verification. In one pointed oral remark while criticising civic inaction, the court observed that if such an approach continued, “in the coming decade, people will switch to bicycles and horses and even the civic chief would ride a horse to reach his office.”

For many citizens, that remark felt like gallows humor.

“Sometimes I think walking would be faster than driving,” says a college student who wanted to remain nameless. “But then you try to walk and realise there’s no footpath. Either it’s broken, or there’s a hawker, or construction material. So you’re stuck.”

The Hawker Dilemma

Hawkers are woven into Mumbai’s social and economic fabric. They provide affordable goods and livelihoods for thousands. But unregulated vending has shrunk pedestrian space to vanishing point in many neighborhoods.

Take Dadar’s bustling flower market area. At peak hours, licenced and unlicenced vendors spill onto the road, forcing pedestrians into traffic. Despite repeated court directives, enforcement remains inconsistent. Town Vending Committees, meant to balance rights under the Street Vendors Act, are often accused of delays and politicisation.

If hawkers crowd the ground, hoardings dominate the skyline. Over the years, Mumbai has seen multiple controversies over illegal billboards, erected without proper permissions, flouting size norms, or installed in unsafe locations.

In one tragic case that shocked the city, an illegal hoarding in Ghatkopar collapsed during extreme heavy rains leading to multiple deaths, raising questions about regulatory oversight. Investigations revealed lapses in permissions and allegations of collusion between advertisers, contractors, and officials.

Citizens, meanwhile, see both danger and hypocrisy. “They remove small shop signs for violations but allow giant hoardings over busy junctions,” says retired schoolteacher Prakash Iyer and an Andheri resident. “Who benefits from that?”

Redevelopment: Boom And Fallout

The skyline tells another story: of cranes and glass towers replacing aging structures from the 1960s, 70s, and 80s. Many old buildings genuinely require structural renewal. In 2021, the state government slashed development premiums by 50 per cent to boost the sector, triggering a surge in redevelopment projects.

Residents often welcome larger apartments and modern amenities. But the boom has side effects.

Dust clouds rise from demolition sites. Drilling, grinding, and cutting release fine particulate matter. Builders are required to install sprinklers and dust-control measures, but compliance varies.

In 2023, Mumbai ranked as the world’s second most polluted city in February according to IQAir. A 2020 study by NEERI and IIT-Bombay found that more than 71 per cent of particulate matter in Mumbai’s air comes from road and construction dust.

To curb pollution, the BMC issued stop-work notices to 53 construction sites and installed 662 sensor-based AQI monitors, with 251 more planned. Yet 117 sensors were found inactive.

Corruption: The Open Secret

Corruption allegations have trailed infrastructure projects for decades. From inflated road repair contracts to irregularities in procurement, investigative agencies have periodically unearthed evidence of collusion between contractors, politicians, and sections of the bureaucracy.

Transparency activists argue that short-term contracts and frequent tenders incentivise repeat digging and repair cycles. “If a road lasts 20 years, there’s no new contract,” says an activist. “But if it’s resurfaced every two years, that’s recurring business.”

Politicians defend large-scale projects as necessary modernisation. They describe them as transformational and essential to ending the pothole crisis. Critics counter that visibility often trumps durability.

Navi Mumbai And The Mirage Of A Third City

In the 1970s, planners conceived Navi Mumbai as a counter-magnet, a planned satellite city to decongest the island metropolis. CIDCO laid out wide roads, nodes, and open spaces. The vision was to redistribute population and employment.

Yet economic gravity remained tied to old Mumbai. Jobs, finance, and cultural capital stayed rooted. Navi Mumbai grew, but congestion in the parent city persisted.

Now, talk occasionally turns to a “Third Mumbai.” Opposing the state government’s plan to develop Karnala-Sai-Chirner (KSC) New Town (Third Mumbai), encompassing areas of Uran, Panvel and Pen, villagers of the region formed a committee and initiated an awareness campaign to be conducted in all the 124 villages. There are plans to launch an agitation opposing the plan, alleging that Third Mumbai is being developed for the benefit of top developers at the cost of the villagers. PAP leaders, who held a meeting in December 2025 under the aegis of ‘MMRDA Virodhi Shetkari Samiti Raigad’ to plan their course of action, have now formed MMRDA KSC Navnagar Virodhi Shetkari Samiti Raigad. It launched a ‘farmers’ movement’ after paying tributes to the martyrs of the Chirner Jungle Satyagraha that opposed land acquisition for Navi Mumbai.

“The government has decided to set up KSC Navnagar ignoring farmers’ opposition. We are being rendered landless through CIDCO, NAINA and Navi Mumbai airport projects. Our houses are being declared illegal and demolished,” said Rupesh Patil, general secretary of the committee to HT. “We have begun a village awareness campaign which is being welcomed by the farmers.” Sudhakar Patil, president of the committee, said awareness meetings have been conducted in 36 villages of Uran and Panvel. “Our campaign in the remaining villages will be completed in a month. We will then hold a meeting of farmers and activists to finalise the direction of our movement,” he said.

The Anger Beneath the Dust

For many Mumbaikars, the anger is personal.

Auto driver Santosh Yadav sums it up bluntly: “Petrol, CNG is expensive. Time is money. My vehicle gets damaged on bad roads. Who pays? We do. But where do our taxes go?”

Housing society meetings echo similar frustrations. Middle-class residents speak of rising property taxes, water charges, and maintenance costs, even as they navigate broken footpaths and polluted air.

“There is a feeling of betrayal,” says sociologist Dr. Leela Fernandes. “Mumbai’s citizens are remarkably resilient. But resilience should not be mistaken for acceptance. The perception that public money enriches a corrupt few erodes trust.”

A City At A Crossroads

Mumbai’s endless construction reflects both ambition and dysfunction. Infrastructure upgrades are undeniably needed for a metropolis of over 20 million people. Aging pipelines must be replaced. Unsafe buildings must be rebuilt. Transit systems must expand.

experts agree: coordination, transparency, and enforcement are the missing pillars.

Integrated planning across agencies. Public disclosure of contracts and timelines. Strict blacklisting of errant contractors. Genuine hawker regulation that protects both livelihoods and pedestrians. Real-time pollution monitoring with penalties that bite.

Without these, the scaffolding will remain, a metaphor for a city that never quite finishes rebuilding itself.

As the sun sets behind a haze of dust over Lower Parel’s towers, people scramble in Dharavi’s maze and Andheri see never ending work on bridges, people of the city wait at yet another barricade. Until then, Mumbai remains a city digging into its roads, its skyline, and perhaps, its own patience.