Illegal Hawkers and the Death of Mumbai’s Pavements
By Manu Shrivastava
The crisis of illegal hawkers that once seemed confined to Colaba’s Causeway has long metastasised across Mumbai: from Dadar’s arterial markets and Andheri’s footpaths to Bandra’s shopping stretches and Borivali’s suburban lanes.
In legal terms, this borders on dereliction of statutory duty. The BMC, mandated under the Maharashtra Municipal Corporation Act, 1949, to safeguard public spaces and ensure pedestrian safety, has, instead, reduced itself to a fine-collecting agent for the illegal occupiers of those very pavements.
The Hawkers (Protection of Livelihood and Regulation of Street Vending) Act, 2014 was designed to balance livelihood rights with public order through the creation of vending zones, registration, and spatial regulation. A decade later, however, the law’s implementation remains conveniently “under process.” No demarcation, no survey, no enforcement - just perpetual ambiguity that fuels political manipulation.
A senior resident of Dadar described it aptly, “These raids are not enforcement, they are instalments. Every demolition is a transaction, not an action.”
In Colaba, after residents issued a rare ultimatum, even threatening symbolic defiance by setting up their own stalls outside the A-Ward office, the BMC conducted one such token crackdown. Sixty stalls were removed; sixty returned by evening. The law, it seemed, took a lunch break.
But beyond the grime lies a deeper erosion, that of the citizen’s faith in governance. The Rule of Law, the cornerstone of municipal democracy, has been supplanted by trivia. The hawker mafia thrives not because the law is weak, but because its guardians have chosen to be.
Legal redress now feels performative like a ritual the city repeats to convince itself that justice is still possible. Until another contempt petition is filed, until another “drive” makes headlines, until another politician promises reform. And then, as always, the city resets to default ... back to compromise.
What Mumbai faces today is not merely an encroachment crisis; it is a constitutional crisis. When public land becomres private property by political arrangement, when enforcement becomes extortion, when civic silence becomes policy, the Republic itself is undermined at street level.
The pavements are dead. The BMC has signed their death certificate. And the citizens, the rightful heirs to public space, have been reduced to mourners, watching yet another funeral in a city that has forgotten how to protest.
The crisis of illegal hawkers that once seemed confined to Colaba’s Causeway has long metastasised across Mumbai: from Dadar’s arterial markets and Andheri’s footpaths to Bandra’s shopping stretches and Borivali’s suburban lanes.
Illegal hawkers, like a string of unresolved civic issues plaguing the metropolis, have become a moot grouse for voters - a grievance that resurfaces before every election, loudly debated yet perpetually deferred. What was once dismissed as a symptom of urban poverty has evolved into a full-fledged parallel economy, a Shadow Economy, thriving in plain sight, sanctioned by silence, and sustained by systemic corruption.
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| Hawkers at Colaba Causeway in Mumbai continue to return ... soon after BMC raids |
A City Held Hostage
Across Mumbai’s 24 wards, the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC) has ceded control of public space to a cartelised nexus of hawkers, inspectors, and politicians. The transaction is brutally simple: illegal hawkers pay regular “fines,” conveniently collected through “raids” that are neither preventive nor punitive but cyclical and profitable. There is no deterrence in the least.
In legal terms, this borders on dereliction of statutory duty. The BMC, mandated under the Maharashtra Municipal Corporation Act, 1949, to safeguard public spaces and ensure pedestrian safety, has, instead, reduced itself to a fine-collecting agent for the illegal occupiers of those very pavements.
The Hawkers (Protection of Livelihood and Regulation of Street Vending) Act, 2014 was designed to balance livelihood rights with public order through the creation of vending zones, registration, and spatial regulation. A decade later, however, the law’s implementation remains conveniently “under process.” No demarcation, no survey, no enforcement - just perpetual ambiguity that fuels political manipulation.
The Institutional Theatre
Every few months, a “drive” is launched with much fanfare, demolition squads descend with photographers in tow, seizing handcarts and plastic sheets while officials pose beside confiscated goods. But the outcome is scripted. Within hours, the same hawkers return, reoccupying the same spots, sometimes under the same inspectors’ watch.A senior resident of Dadar described it aptly, “These raids are not enforcement, they are instalments. Every demolition is a transaction, not an action.”
In Colaba, after residents issued a rare ultimatum, even threatening symbolic defiance by setting up their own stalls outside the A-Ward office, the BMC conducted one such token crackdown. Sixty stalls were removed; sixty returned by evening. The law, it seemed, took a lunch break.
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The Legal Farce
From a legal standpoint, the city’s response borders on contempt, not merely of citizens but of judicial directives themselves. The Bombay High Court has, time and again, pulled up the BMC for its failure to regulate hawking.The 2003 judgment in Janhit Manch vs State of Maharashtra and subsequent orders have laid down specific norms for licensing, zoning, and clearance. Two decades later, the civic body’s compliance remains an elaborate act of evasion.
Every election cycle introduces another excuse. Under the Model Code of Conduct (MCC), civic action is halted to “avoid political bias.” Ironically, this moratorium functions as the hawkers’ most powerful protection, a temporary yet renewable license to encroach. The State, under the garb of electoral neutrality, becomes complicit in perpetuating illegality.
Every election cycle introduces another excuse. Under the Model Code of Conduct (MCC), civic action is halted to “avoid political bias.” Ironically, this moratorium functions as the hawkers’ most powerful protection, a temporary yet renewable license to encroach. The State, under the garb of electoral neutrality, becomes complicit in perpetuating illegality.
The Pavement’s Funeral
Mumbai’s pavements, once symbols of urban accessibility, now lie buried under the detritus of this deceit. Pedestrians are forced onto congested roads, jostling for space with traffic and danger. The waste generated by unregulated vending chokes drains and feeds rodent populations. In public health terms, it is civic suicide.But beyond the grime lies a deeper erosion, that of the citizen’s faith in governance. The Rule of Law, the cornerstone of municipal democracy, has been supplanted by trivia. The hawker mafia thrives not because the law is weak, but because its guardians have chosen to be.
The Real Liability
When the BMC cites “lack of manpower,” it ignores the law’s mandate: failure to perform a statutory duty invites legal remedy. Citizens can, and have, approached the courts under Article 226 of the Constitution, seeking mandamus to compel enforcement. Even judicial intervention has become part of the civic circus, producing temporary compliance and permanent fatigue.Legal redress now feels performative like a ritual the city repeats to convince itself that justice is still possible. Until another contempt petition is filed, until another “drive” makes headlines, until another politician promises reform. And then, as always, the city resets to default ... back to compromise.
What Mumbai faces today is not merely an encroachment crisis; it is a constitutional crisis. When public land becomres private property by political arrangement, when enforcement becomes extortion, when civic silence becomes policy, the Republic itself is undermined at street level.
The pavements are dead. The BMC has signed their death certificate. And the citizens, the rightful heirs to public space, have been reduced to mourners, watching yet another funeral in a city that has forgotten how to protest.
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