What Dharavi Knows About Cities
In the heart of Mumbai, one of the world’s most densely populated cities, lies a neighbourhood that defies easy categorization. To an outsider, Dharavi is often seen through the simplistic and misleading lens of a “slum.” To the nearly one million people who live and work within its 2.5 square kilometres, however, it is a dynamic, self-sustaining city within a city. Dharavi is a powerhouse of the informal economy, a place of immense social cohesion, and an engine of micro-enterprise with an estimated annual turnover exceeding $1 billion USD. Its industries are diverse and essential, ranging from recycling a significant portion of Mumbai’s waste to manufacturing leather goods, pottery, and garments for global markets.
Now, this complex urban ecosystem is the target of the Dharavi Redevelopment Project (DRP), a multi-billion-dollar venture spearheaded by the Adani Group, one of India’s largest conglomerates. The project, with a projected timeline of seven years, is currently completing survey work with plans to begin construction in six months. The plan is incredibly ambitious, promoted as a long-overdue solution to the area’s undeniable infrastructure challenges. However, a closer look reveals a model of development that prioritizes the value of land over the lives of people, threatening to dismantle a vibrant community under the guise of progress.
The case for redevelopment is masked by a narrative of humanitarian concern. Proponents rightly point to the severe lack of basic amenities—in many parts of Dharavi, sanitation is communal and strained, with reports of a single toilet serving hundreds of residents. Housing is often unstable, and the density of the settlement creates significant fire and health risks.
In an attempt to mitigate these conditions, the DRP offers a seemingly straightforward solution: a free 350-square-foot apartment for every eligible family. For those who qualify, this represents a tangible improvement in living standards and the security of a formal housing title. From the perspective of municipal authorities and developers, the project is also framed as an economic necessity. They argue that the land Dharavi occupies is too valuable to be used for low-rise, informal structures and must be “unlocked” to benefit the broader city’s economy.
To qualify for new housing under the Dharavi Redevelopment Project, residents must prove they lived in Dharavi prior to January 1, 2000—a requirement that immediately excludes a large share of the community. Renters, migrant workers, and families occupying upper-floor extensions—often built informally to accommodate relatives or tenants—are all deemed “ineligible.” This narrow definition of eligibility ensures that mass displacement is not a side effect but a built-in outcome of the redevelopment plan. By drawing an arbitrary line at the year 2000, the project effectively erases decades of population growth and urban labour that have sustained Dharavi’s economy. Some estimates suggest as many as 700,000 residents could be forced out. Shweta Damle of the Habitat and Livelihood Welfare Association of Mumbai believes that “at best,” three-quarters of Dharavi residents will be forced to leave.
These residents, who are integral to Dharavi’s economy and social life, will not be part of its new, sanitized future. They face relocation to transit camps or resettlement sites on the far periphery of Mumbai, severing their access to the jobs, markets, and social networks that sustain them. It is a process that effectively culls the population to maximize the land available for profitable real estate development. Ullesh Gajakosh, a local leader of the “Save Dharavi” campaign, demands “a house for a house, a shop for a shop.” He explains, “We want to get out of the slums… But we do not want them to push us out of Dharavi in the name of development. This is our land.”
Beyond the impending housing crisis, the DRP poses an existential threat to Dharavi’s unique economic structure. The settlement’s productivity is not accidental; it is a direct result of its spatial organization. Dharavi is built on a “live-work” synergy, where homes and workplaces are deeply intertwined. Thousands of micro-industries—pottery kilns, leather tanning workshops, recycling depots, and garment factories—operate out of ground-floor rooms and courtyards. This model minimizes overhead, fosters collaboration, and creates a seamless economic fabric.
The plan to move residents into high-rise towers fundamentally misunderstands and destroys this synergy. A 14th-floor apartment cannot accommodate a pottery wheel, a welding station, or the sorting of recyclable materials. As one resident bluntly asked, “If my home is in a tower, how will I run my shop?” The redevelopment project offers no viable answer. Forcing these businesses into sterile, vertically segregated buildings is not an upgrade; it is a death sentence for a unique economic ecosystem that provides livelihoods for hundreds of thousands.
The Dharavi architecture itself is a collective act of invention; just as the economy is built on informal professionalism, so are the buildings. Professional local contractors, masons, and welders build multi-story homes using recycled timber, metal sheets, and poured concrete, refining their methods through years of adaptation. Structures are reinforced, expanded, and repurposed as family workshops grow. A 2018 Bloomberg report notes that true progress “means acknowledging that informal neighbourhoods could actually develop to function well without total re-planning.” Yet the state refuses this possibility, dismissing a living model of urban craftsmanship as irredeemable—something to be demolished rather than improved.
This economic upheaval is accompanied by the destruction of an irreplaceable social fabric. The dense, walkable lanes of Dharavi have cultivated a powerful network of mutual support and trust. Neighbours share tools and resources, provide informal credit, look after each other’s children, and sustain a closed-loop economy of goods and services. This intricate web of interdependence functions as a vital social safety net in a city with inadequate formal welfare systems. The DRP’s plan to sort families into isolated, anonymous apartment buildings threatens to dissolve this communal glue, replacing a deeply connected community with the anonymity of vertical living.
The true tragedy in the case of Dharavi is that the demand for infrastructure never necessitated this particular solution. A more humane and effective alternative exists: incremental, in-situ upgrading that empowers residents instead of evicting them. This approach, successfully implemented in cities like Medellín, focuses on collaboration with the community itself to improve sanitation, provide clean water, reinforce housing, and create public spaces—all while preserving its core social and economic structures. It is development without destruction, progress that includes rather than excludes.
Ultimately, the redevelopment of Dharavi is a defining test for Mumbai. The city must decide if its success is measured by the height of its luxury towers or the security of its working-class citizens. Until the plan for Dharavi begins with the people who call it home—recognizing their economic contributions and respecting their social networks—”modernization” will remain just another word for displacement.
Edited by Marina Gallo.
Featured Image: “Slum in Dharavi” by Kristian Bertel is licensed by CC BY-SA 4.0.
