“Abhi toh bas yeh hi baat ho rahi hai ki saat tareek ko kya hoga,” (Right now, all we can talk about is what will happen on the 7th) says Sumudhi, a middle-aged Tamil domestic worker, her voice heavy with anxiety. She is a resident of Madrasi Camp, a 60-year-old settlement of working-class Tamil migrants that nestles next to Delhi’s 400-year-old Mughal-era Barapullah Bridge. Her anxiety resonates among all the residents here. On October 7, the Delhi High Court was meant to hear the plea against the demolition of their colony. The hearing has since been postponed to October 23.
In the camp in Jangpura in southeast Delhi, the atmosphere is thick with uncertainty. “It is said that if a person lives in a place for 10 years, the place becomes theirs. We have lived here for three generations,” Sumudhi says. Her family, she says, moved to Delhi 27 years ago from Tamil Nadu’s Villupuram district, about 170 km from Chennai. “All our documents, like Aadhaar, ration, and voting card, have Madrasi Camp as the official address,” she says. Like many others, Sumudhi’s family arrived in Delhi in search of better opportunities. Over the decades, the camp evolved from a small temporary settlement to a large close-knit community.
“We built this place with our own hands. When we arrived, there were maybe 100-150 people living in thatched huts. There weren’t even any semi-pucca houses and no electricity. Over the years, we worked hard to make this home,” says Padma, who was a child when her family migrated to Delhi. “Now around 2,000 people live here,” she says. Padma’s family is originally from Chennai and had to leave when their small landholdings could no longer sustain them, a story similar to most families in the camp. Today, most of the women work as domestic helpers in the upscale neighbourhood next door while the men work as daily wage labourers or as helpers in the local shops.
A notification from the PWD Minister’s office states that Madrasi Camp dwellers have the right to rehabilitation before any demolition. | Photo Credit: Vitasta Kaul
On September 5, eviction notices were served to the residents of Madrasi Camp by the Delhi government’s Public Works Department (PWD), ordering them to vacate their homes in five days. It created a furore. On September 8, PWD Minister and now Chief Minister, Atishi, stepped in and warned PWD officials that any demolition action at Madrasi Camp was illegal and would attract disciplinary action. Her note, copies of which are posted all around the camp, reads: “This is a DUSIB (Delhi Urban Shelter Improvement Board) notified JJ cluster, therefore, the residents have a right to rehabilitation before any demolition. As the list of DUSIB notified clusters clearly shows, the land on which the JJ Cluster is present belongs to the Railways, and not PWD… any removal or demolition of the said JJ Cluster by PWD is illegal,” the note read. JJ stands for Jhuggi Jhopdi, and DUSIB is the body primarily responsible for improving the quality of life of slum and JJ dwellers in the capital.
The Delhi High Court issued a notice on September 8 forbidding any action against residents for the time being. Prabhsahay Kaur, representing the Delhi Development Authority (DDA), said in court that the settlement was blocking the flow of water in the Barapullah channel. The DDA comes under the Ministry of Housing and Urban Affairs and its chairperson is the Lieutenant Governor (L-G) of Delhi. The bench ruled that if the colony was indeed blocking the flow of water, it would have to go, but it stayed the eviction until the DDA and PWD could present evidence of such blockage. As of October 8, Prabhsahay Kaur’s office said there was no update on such a report.
Proxy battle between AAP and BJP
The matter soon became a tiff between members of the Aam Aadmi Party and the BJP, with each accusing the other of instigating the eviction order. The president of the BJP’s Delhi unit, Virendra Sachdeva, accused the Delhi government of depriving slums of basic facilities and said the DUSIB department had done no work to improve their condition. In response, senior AAP leader Manish Sisodia, who visited Madrasi Camp, said the AAP government would not allow it to be razed and accused the BJP of using the L-G’s office to issue demolition notices.
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Despite the High Court’s stay order, several families anticipate the worst and have begun moving their belongings to safe havens. “If they come to destroy our home tomorrow, I won’t be able to save anything,” Sumudhi told Frontline. “I’ll probably bring it all back after the hearing but for now, we’ve kept only the things we need for everyday life. It’s not just me; many others too have taken this precaution. Some have kept their belongings in rented homes, others with relatives.”
Sumudhi’s house is close to Barapullah Bridge, now being restored by the Archaeological Survey of India. Her tiny semi-pucca accommodation shares its walls with the demolished ruins of her brother-in-law’s house, which was bulldozed before the High Court stay order was implemented. “We built both houses together, painfully, over two years. Initially, they were made of mud but whenever we got some money, we rebuilt the walls with bricks,” she says. For the residents here, demolition and reconstruction are a constant. “Fifteen years ago, they demolished our homes. Then, they allotted this space to us, and we rebuilt, thinking it wouldn’t happen again. Even if we have a small space, we want to maintain it well; why should we live in dirt?”
A PWD notice posted on the Barapullah Bridge pillar, next to the demolished remains of a resident’s house. | Photo Credit: Vitasta Kaul
Her brother-in-law now rents a room, while Sumudhi’s plans of slowing down in her old age might not take off. “I raised two children on my own with great difficulty. Now my son works as a contracted sanitation worker in the Supreme Court, along with 20-30 men from our settlement. I thought now that my children are married, I could work for another one or two years just for myself. But if my house is demolished, I might have to keep working. I don’t know if my children will be able to take care of me,” she says.
A piece of Tamil Nadu
Despite living 2,000 km from home, the residents of Madrasi Camp have brought a piece of Tamil Nadu with them. From language to customs and festivals, they celebrate it all. The faces of the older women light up when they say, “We celebrate all our festivals; be it Pongal or Thaipusam, we celebrate everything. Whatever is celebrated in Madras, we celebrate it here,” says Nagamma, who migrated to Delhi in the early 1970s.
“Delhi has acted as a welcome leveller of socio-economic and caste-based discrimination for most of the migrants.”
A temple for Lord Murugan was built alongside the settlement and on special occasions the air is filled with notes of the nadaswaram (wind instrument similar to the shehnai) and the rhythms of the pambai drums (two damru-shaped drums tied together and beaten with batons or palms). “We don’t return to our villages to celebrate festivals anymore. I only go on rare occasions like marriages, funerals, or housewarmings,” says Sumudhi. “We pray here as we used to in our villages. This place is our temple now.”
Language remains the cornerstone of the community. Conversations, both at home and in the lanes, are always in Tamil. “We’ve preserved our language,” says Padma proudly. “I have taught all my children Tamil. My son even got his job because he speaks Tamil. He has a bilingual role, communicating in Tamil and English at a call centre in Noida.”
A blend of cultural iconography and bilingual advertisements catering to the Tamil-speaking population of the camp. | Photo Credit: Vitasta Kaul
Educating their children is an important priority for all of them. “My grandchildren go to a Tamil school nearby. We couldn’t afford a proper education for our children, but we are making sure our grandchildren are fully educated,” says Nagamma. They worry that the eviction will affect the children’s education. “Our kids are halfway through the year. Do they [the authorities] have no regard for the children and how this eviction will affect them?” asks Ana, a second-generation resident in her 30s.
Moving to a new city has had its share of challenges. For a community so deeply rooted in tradition, the residents of Madrasi Camp faced logistical and cultural issues when they first came to Delhi. Food was a challenge. “When we first came, we couldn’t get the same rice we used to eat in Tamil Nadu. We had to adjust to the taste of the city,” recalls Vembi, who migrated with her parents 50 years ago. “Even the vegetables here were different from what we ate in Madras.”
Despite the hardships, many of the older residents speak fondly of the early days, acknowledging the government’s help in securing jobs for them. “During Indira Gandhi’s time, the government helped poor people like us,” Vembi says. “Because of her, our husbands got government jobs.” She gestures to the women around her, adding, “All their husbands worked in the Railways and after they passed, the wives were given their jobs. No one bothers now.” Padma has moved from domestic work to running a small saree business from her home. “My health is poor. I can’t work as a domestic help anymore and my son insists I shouldn’t,” she says.
Reverse migration?
With the threat of displacement looming over their heads, the residents of Madrasi Camp have begun to ponder the possibility of reverse migration. However, for most of them, especially the older generation, the idea of going back to their villages in Tamil Nadu is neither feasible nor desirable.
Delhi has acted as a welcome leveller of socio-economic and caste-based discrimination for most of the migrants. “Back in our villages, caste divisions are maintained by segregating communities, forcing different castes to live apart from one another, but here we all live together peacefully,” says Vembi. Padma agrees. “Gaon ka hisaab alag hota hai [Things are different in the villages]. Here there is nothing like that. All of us live peacefully together. We all go to temples and pray together. Everyone is equal here.”
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A few of the younger ones have moved to Chennai, but the majority do not want to leave. For them, Madrasi Camp is home. “We have lived in Delhi for three generations. When we return to our villages, they tell us to go back to Delhi. We can’t settle there,” explains Sumudhi.
As the fate of Madrasi Camp hangs in the balance, awaiting the court’s decision, the community stands firm in its resolve. “Even if they give a small space, we will go there. But if they don’t, then we’ll stay here. We cannot afford to live in rented flats,” says Nagamma. “If they demolish my house, I’ll camp on the debris. I will not move until they give me a place.”
Frontline tried to contact Praveen Kumar, the AAP MLA from Jangpura, and the offices of the PWD and DUSIB for comments, but there was no response. The copy will be updated if they comment and after the court hearing.
