Mumbai Climate Stories

From when Hira was ten years old, she used to accompany her grandmother and a group of fisherwomen to the rocky coasts of Mumbai daily—places like Haji Ali, Valkeshwar, and Lotus jetty. Growing up in this environment, Hira keenly observed her grandmother meticulously scraping oysters from the rocks and lifting heavy stones to collect the clams nestled underneath.

She learned precisely when the oysters were ready, when the tide receded to reveal the rocks, when the clams matured, and when to revisit a specific shore. “We don’t visit the same coast every day; the fish needs time to grow,” Hira explains.

Her beloved grandmother served as an expert guide in passing down the cherished knowledge of kalwe and shivle. The tradition of handpicking rock oysters and clams, along with the livelihood tied to these rocky shores, is inherited from grandmothers by their granddaughters, turning these coasts into daily workplaces for the women. ‍

“This coast was my classroom, my grandmother the teacher, and handpicking is my ‘permanent job’,” reflects Hira, now 50 years old. The skill inherited from her grandmother has provided her with a stable and reliable livelihood for nearly four decades!

Every day, nearly 40 fisherwomen, including Hira, embark from Trombay Koliwada for handpicking—a tradition as old as the Koliwada itself. Their day commences at the break of dawn.

The oysters and clams gathered the day before are sold in Trombay’s wholesale market every morning before they head back to the coasts. Hira stands as the leader among the hand pickers from Trombay.

Groups of fisherwomen hailing from Trombay, Worli, and Mahul convene daily at the jetties along these coasts. Gathering in a circle, they share their packed lunches, engaging in casual conversations with numerous acquaintances and friends — net menders boatowners, laborers (khalashis), and even the traffic police.

They patiently wait for the tide to recede, a signal for them to descend to the rocks and commence their search for kalve and shivle.

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Once, when she was working at Lotus Jetty, near Haji Ali, Hira witnessed a Navy officer in distress in the water. Without hesitation, she plunged in and rescued him. Overwhelmed with gratitude, the officer and his parents offered her a bag of cash as a token of appreciation for saving his life. Hira declined to take it, however, stating, "I acted out of humanity, not for any reward."

‍Since that incident, a lasting bond has formed between Hira’s family and the Navy officer’s. They regularly visit each other during festivals and special occasions. The coast is imprinted with deep friendships, like this one.

During their customary lunch breaks, their conversations revolve around a diverse set of everyday topics:

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Radha: "What’s on the menu for lunch today?"

Ujwala: "I’ve got yesterday’s bhakri and dried fish. Anyone have ghavane?"

Mira: "No luck. Even our vadapav stall was closed today. Today’s lunch isn’t too exciting."

Manish: "Aren’t we waiting for Kaki to join us?"

Hira: "No, let’s start eating. Kaki is always running late. The low tide is starting soon."

Ujwala: "Kaki will be quite upset, Hira."

Hira: "She’s always late. Remember how she arrived late for the coastal road meeting too? If we’re going for the meeting, shouldn’t we all go together?"

Notably, some young men from nearby bastis, not originally part of the Koli community, have learned the kalve and shiwle foraging techniques from Hira’s adept band of women.

‍“They’re poor people, born and raised along these coasts, striving to sustain themselves through this livelihood,” the fisherwomen note. Occasionally, the women purchase from them. This act serves a dual purpose—assisting others while ensuring they themselves don’t return empty-handed if their catch falls short.

The Mumbai Coastal Road Project, an ambitious 4+4 lane freeway initiative by the BMC, was launched in 2018. However, since the construction began, the fisherwomen have had to navigate through cement-laden water to access the rocks. Foraging for oysters and clams had previously sustained their livelihoods in Mumbai.

Until, the construction of the coastal roads slashed their incomes in half. The road now cuts through several of their work sites, and as the project progresses, the fisherwomen fear the complete disappearance of their shores.

With the project’s conclusion, Hira solemnly predicts that the traditional work of collecting kalve and shiple on these shores will cease to exist.

As Hira and her group ready themselves for beginning work, they put on shirts and caps to shield themselves from the scorching sun during the peak afternoon hours. Their daily work involves bending down to scrape oysters and lifting rocks to gather clams.

Among their arsenal of tools are, ‘chitra,’ a palm-sized flat instrument, that serves to turn the rocks. ‘kudali,’ a small axe, employed to crack open the shells of the oysters, while ‘Kadi,’ resembling a screwdriver, is used to scrape the oysters from their perch on the rocks.

The oysters are collected in half-cut plastic bottles and clams in a small basket. With each passing day, the containers have been shrinking in size, mirroring the diminishing space available for their work due to the construction.

For centuries, livelihoods have been painstakingly crafted from these fluid amphibious spaces, while the city’s planners and officials have been busy drawing sharp boundaries between sea and land.

Grandmothers and granddaughters cultivated bonds and knowledge with these rocks. The rocks stand as silent witnesses to the legacy of these resilient women who unearthed vitality and life within a rocky intertidal ecology often overlooked, much like themselves.

Now, the pillars of the coastal road burrow through those same rocks while its tentacles dominate the skyline, stomping on the sites of these fisherwomen one by one, in the name of Mumbai’s ‘development’.

When the koliwadas near the coastal road raised their voice against this project, the Bombay High Court directed the BMC to conduct a comprehensive study to identify and compensate the project-affected persons of the coastal road. Long struggle for a stable livelihood in this increasingly unaffordable city has left these women with scant energy to engage in yet another battle for their already besieged sites.

Meanwhile, the city remains engrossed in celebrating its world-class coastal infrastructure, adding a new topic to the lunchtime conversations of these fisherwomen.

Hira: "Have you heard about the survey happening in Worli koliwada for hand pickers?”

Manisha: “What survey?”

Hira: “They’re compensating the fisherwomen from koliwadas along the coastal road.”

Manisha: “No one has approached us yet-”

Sunita: “Will the hand pickers from Koliwadas not adjacent to the construction sites receive compensation?"

Hira: “God knows! Who will inquire about that? And how? They’ve never listened to us anyway."

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The coastal road is just the latest, albeit the most striking, in a series of adversities endured by Hira and her group. Their baskets were taking a longer time to fill up, the intensifying heat waves were becoming unbearable, and their catch had been losing its flavor for a considerable period. The coastal road has brought visible destruction by graying the waters, but their hopes have been poisoned long before the road emerged.

The shifting urban climate of Mumbai is slowly sapping fisher women like Hira of their strength, impeding access to their livelihood and subtly guiding them towards exiting this intertidal life with all its strange beauty.

The violence of these changes operates slowly and quietly; it cloaks itself in invisibility, making it challenging to track as it unfolds. The anguish such slow violence generates, also fails to draw attention.

There are groups of women and men reliant on this ecosystem who not only inherited the right to work in these spaces but also upheld them as integral parts of the larger ecological commons of the city. There’s an entire ecology of crabs, oysters, clams, fishes, and plants on what appears to be just rocks from afar.

‍“I’ve witnessed the oysters opening their mouths to feed underwater multiple times,” shares Hira. What might the oysters find to eat in the cement-laden waters these days?

Below the gleaming bridges lies a history of exclusion and erasure. What we seem to have lost is not just a traditional skill of fisherwomen; it’s an entire ecology, a knowledge system, a culinary art, a culture.

As a city that prides itself on being world-class, do we truly comprehend the extent of what else is slipping away from us, and what changes these losses will bring – not just for fishers but also for our urban worlds?

Source : Plan to convert Trombay jetty into eco-tourism hub | Mumbai News - Times of India

Women inheritors of the rocky shores

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Women inheritors of the rocky shores