For some, Bengaluru’s traffic is a source of work

While the city has been widely criticised for its congestion, some of its busiest junctions serve as a source of livelihood for hawkers — many of whom are migrants from Rajasthan

Samragnee Chakraborty

Working amid moving traffic, hawkers endure heat, rain, and long hours to sustain wafer-thin daily margins in Bengaluru, January 2026. Mritunjay Kumar/The Migration Story

BENGALURU, Karnataka: When the signal at the well-known Anil Kumble junction in central Bengaluru turned red, Pardaan made his move. He threaded through tightly packed vehicles, while twirling a colourful umbrella with one hand, and clutching a bundle in the other.

Commuters glanced at Pardaan as he passed by, his umbrellas on display. During the two minutes the light was red, not a single umbrella was bought by anyone despite the heavy rainfall in late October 2025. But Pardaan was not discouraged, this was routine.

“It is because of the traffic that we survive,” said the 27-year-old hawker, who migrated to Bengaluru five years ago from Rajasthan’s Mangli Kalan village in Bundi district due  to growing agrarian distress. Unlike shops, traffic signals require no rent or other overhead costs, making them an easier entry point into urban work for many migrants. Combined with the steady footfall, junctions offer workers like Pardaan a higher degree of income stability than farm work.

While Pardaan’s earnings are determined by the city’s congestion, commuters struggle with the daily frustration. Traffic has worsened over time because of a population boom fuelled by IT and allied sector growth. This in turn has pushed more private vehicles onto the roads, but infrastructure and public transportation have been unable to keep pace.

“During peak hours, it takes around 50 minutes to travel 10 kilometers compared to 25 minutes in non-peak hours,” said Dr. Somashekar Gejje, a resident of South Bengaluru’s Basavanagudi area.

At a busy junction in Bengaluru, a young hawker sells fresh strawberries, racing against short red-light windows and spoilage, January 2026. Mritunjay Kumar/The Migration Story

Unlike commuters, hawkers welcome the frequent and increasingly longer stops at red lights because it translates to more predictable earnings. These longer intervals make a difference to their earnings, said the hawkers who spoke to The Migration Story. They depend on stationary commuters to sell a variety of goods from electronic accessories and pens to seasonal flowers and fruits. The more money they can make, the longer they can stretch their earnings when they go back home to rural Rajasthan.

Not far from the Anil Kumble junction, similar scenes play out at one of the traffic signals on MG Road, a stretch filled with offices, shops and a steady stream of vehicles throughout the day.

Ramdev hurries from one vehicle to another, coaxing commuters to buy the bouquets of flowers in his hands. When the driver looks straight past him, he darts to the next vehicle and repeats the routine until the light turns green.

“I have spent most of my life at traffic signals because I have been doing this (pointing at the flowers) since I was five,” said Ramdev, a 25-year-old from Rajasthan’s Bhilwara district. He travels more than 10 kilometres every day to the MG road area from Hebbal, where he lives with his wife, Sunita. At the signals, the couple spend up to nine hours selling various goods.

When the light turns red, he runs back to the stalled vehicles and starts all over again. Meanwhile, Sunita, who is sitting on the footpath, video-calls her friend back home in Bhilwara, Rajasthan, to show her the city’s roads, now packed with honking vehicles.

Bengaluru’s traffic, infamous for its gridlocks, offers longer and more consistent stoppages than many other cities, said hawkers. “We go to Delhi sometimes during Diwali to sell flowers there, and all of us combined earn around 1,000 to 1,500 rupees a day,” said Bunty Chauhan, a hawker from Bhilwara. “In Bengaluru, five of us earn 2,000-2500 rupees.”

A hawker sells flowers he gets every morning from the City Market in Bengaluru. Samragnee Chakraborty/The Migration Story

PRECARITY BENEATH THE PREDICTABILITY OF INCOME

While The Street Vendors Act, 2014 recognises mobile vending as a legitimate livelihood and the importance of providing security and protection to them, “hawkers continue to be very vulnerable,” said Dharmendra Kumar, CEO of Janpahal, a non-profit collective working with informal workers.

However, regular income does not always translate to security. Hawkers at traffic signals are exposed to police harassment, frequently fined, and are always in close proximity to speeding vehicles. Then there’s the constant pollution and exposure to the vagaries of an ever-changing climate.

Santra Devi from Ghar village of Tonk district in Rajasthan said, “About 12 years ago, a motorcycle hit me when the signal turned green. It still hurts,” she said, pointing at her back. With no safety gear, insurance, or medical cover, even minor injuries can disrupt livelihoods.

“We earn 200-300 rupees a day selling pens and earbuds,” said her husband, Kajormal. “This is barely anything given that we have a loan of 20 lakh rupees to pay back in the village.” Back in Rajasthan, the landless couple said they would do odd jobs in other people’s homes to make money, but that didn’t suffice. Today, they sleep on MG Road’s footpaths at night because they cannot afford renting a space, despite migrating to Bengaluru to earn a living hawking. “It is very cold at night and gets very difficult during rains,” said Santra Devi.

For many migrant hawkers, this lack of security shapes how long they choose to remain in the city.

TRACING THE JOURNEY FROM RAJASTHAN

Most of the migrant workers who spoke to The Migration Story said that they do not stay in Bengaluru for more than a quarter of the year at a stretch. “We stay here as a family for two to three months and then go back home to Rajasthan. We save whatever we can here and then spend it there,” said 24-year-old Nisha Meena. “There, we remain for 15 days to three months and don’t work during that time.”

Pardaan, who also migrated with his parents and brother, said, “We go back home to Bundi frequently because we don't have much of a connection to Bengaluru. Humein Kannada bhi nahi aata [We don’t even know Kannada]. ”

Hawker Kajormal displaying pens he sells alongwith the QR code for payment in Bengaluru. Samragnee Chakraborty/The Migration Story

Almost all the hawkers this reporter met at the junctions in the Central Bengaluru district traced their journeys back to districts such as Bundi and Bhilwara in Rajasthan. This pattern is not incidental, said Suresh Kantha, a Senior Coordinator at Association for Promoting Social Action (APSE), a Bengaluru-based NGO. “Most migrants [in Bengaluru] who are street vendors come from North Indian states such as Rajasthan,” said Kantha.

Low rainfall, dwindling water tables, and frequent droughts make agriculture difficult, according to a study on Labour Migration from Rajasthan by Aajeevika Bureau. The report also cites caste violence and inadequate access to education and healthcare as key drivers of migration.

These long-standing pressures were sharply intensified during the COVID-19 pandemic. More than 1.3 million migrant workers returned to Rajasthan during the COVID-19 lockdowns, according to a March 2021 Lok Sabha response by the Ministry of Labour and Employment.

Many hawkers from Rajasthan tend to move in groups when searching for work, a pattern Kumar of Janpahal compared to nomadic communities.

At Bengaluru’s  traffic signals, hawkers sell low-cost everyday items, from snacks and accessories to small household wares.  Mritunjay Kumar/The Migration Story

Travelling together also makes economic sense as families are able to bring goods in bulk from north India, where manufacturing costs are lower. Hawkers who spoke to The Migration Story said they source these goods by either ordering from wholesale sellers in Delhi, or bringing large quantities of stock when they return from their villages. 

Once this inventory is sold, hawkers switch to locally sourced items such as flowers, or to whatever the season demands. “When it rains for two days straight, we start selling umbrellas on the third day”, said Ramdev while taking a break to eat lunch.

For commuters, these purchases are often impulsive or driven by necessity. Bengaluru resident Sona Endow said she buys goods like umbrellas during the rains. Dr. Somashekar Gejje, who comes across many hawkers on his way to work, said, “I sometimes buy things when I feel like they are striving to make enough for two meals a day.”

Traffic hawkers have lunch in groups sitting along the footpaths. Samragnee Chakraborty/The Migration Story

Back at the MG Road junction, around 10 to 15 hawkers operate across all four sides of the signal during a peak hour rush. During breaks and between signal cycles, families can be seen eating meals or drinking tea together. Sharing signals necessitates that they split and coordinate work accordingly.

For many, this life between the traffic lights has stretched across decades.

Kamlesi Gujjar sips a cup of tea on the footpath—a part of her everyday routine after lunch—while watching vehicles pass. “My kids were born, grew up, got married, and now they have kids too,” she said. “All of this happened while my husband and I worked at the signal.”

Edited by Vishaka George

Samragnee Chakraborty is pursuing her Master’s in Development at Azim Premji University. Her work primarily focuses on citizenship, gender, conflict and migration.

Disclaimer: Photographs accompanying this story are representative and avoid identifying the migrants interviewed.