The Making of a Migrant City

From tents in the rain to teeming barracks and now cramped vertical slums, Ulhasnagar has seen generations of migrants, first from Sindh, and now from within India, battle poor infrastructure, fragile healthcare, and institutional apathy with quiet resilience

Dr Agrima Thakur

Pic credit: Wikimedia Commons

ULHASNAGAR, Maharashtra: Take a walk down the myriad narrow lanes of this bustling town near Kalyan, and chances are you will still find a wizened old man telling the story of how he came to stay here. As a rule, all these stories begin on a grim note; with the partition of 1947 and don’t get any better as the migrants recall spending days under barely-standing tents in the pouring rain.

During the mass exodus of 1947, the Indian government had to rehabilitate several thousand refugees all over the country. Amongst these, a significant part of the Hindu and Sikh communities from Sindh, now in Pakistan, spent their first few weeks out in the open in the August rain. Finally, the government sent word that the British soldiers stationed in Kalyan, about 36 miles from Mumbai, then Bombay, were vacating their barracks. What followed was a mad rush to the five empty barracks, because after weeks of being partially submerged, every family had only one priority: to get the highest barrack room. 

From this strife, the town of Ulhasnagar - ironically meaning City Of Happiness - was born, as it was located close to the Ulhas river. 

A City Rises

Cut to 75 years later, this area has developed into a multi-cultural, multi-faith, manufacturing and commercial hub. Two things, however, have not changed much. Firstly, it is still home to migrants, albeit from within India. And secondly, the basic facilities that they have access to today still leave much to be desired. 

As per historian Nandita Bhavnani’s book, ‘Making of Exile: Sindhi Hindus and the Partition of India,’ the refugees from Sindh started their lives in India with around 12 families crammed in each barrack. They used pieces of gunny sacks and saris sewn together to form curtains, and went from being property and land owners in their hometowns to just refugees, starting from scratch. All they had were these meagre living conditions, limited free rations and language restraints. (1). “Most Sindhi Hindus who settled in West and South India owned urban property back in Sindh. They received 8,000 rupees in compensation for properties worth lakhs of rupees, and believed this wasn’t enough as opposed to what they had left behind,” Bhavnani told The Migration Story.

Yet, they managed to develop trade, educational institutions and small manufacturing units, such as garments and shoes, to sustain themselves. They also carved a niche for themselves developing ‘copies’ or cheap knockoffs of branded goods, spawning an entire generation of ambitious youth sporting ‘Tommy Hilfiger’ shirts, and the ever resilient town took every joke about ‘Made in USA; Ulhasnagar Sindhi Association’ on the chin while at it. (2,3) 

“The first development plan for the region was assigned in 1974. By then, haphazard and unplanned development of the city had already begun,” said  Hardas Makhija, former mayor of Ulhasnagar. (4)

Eventually, the town attracted many migrants from all parts of the country and even some of our neighbouring countries, such as Pakistan, Nepal and Bangladesh. 

Due to space constraints, growth occurred vertically rather than horizontally. (2,4). Picture the streets of Chandni Chowk (Old Delhi) from the 2000s era- narrow roads with potholes which fill up during the monsoon,  webs of electric connections spread out haphazardly in the air, pan and gutka stains at every corner and old, ill-maintained buildings with unsafe-looking floors piled one on top of the other. Add to this unsafe vehicular traffic, power cuts every Friday, irregular water supply and you get an idea of an average day in India’s very own USA. 

The Cost Of Living

A peek into the trust clinic and the state of buildings nearby in Ulhasnagar. Pic credit: Agrima Thakur

This writer, in her capacity as a healthcare professional working with a charitable clinic, has had the opportunity to work with migrant workers who have settled in Ulhasnagar over the years, which forms the basis of this account. 

Sadiq was 16 years old when he visited the clinic due to a high fever and a huge swelling on his face due to the neglect of a rotten tooth. He comes from West Bengal and had moved to Ulhasnagar a few months earlier after his cousin, Siraj, 22, got him a job at a tailoring factory. 

The secondary school dropout had little idea that he would be sharing a cramped room with seven others, much like the original inhabitants of this town years ago. What started as a small decay in a part of his tooth eventually progressed to a condition that required surgery and intravenous medication. 

Sadiq ignored his symptoms for as long as he could, so as not to disturb his and his brother’s work and finances. 

“The only government-run dental treatment centre I can afford to go to is two hours away, and I’ll need to take leave to go there,” said Sadiq. “Taking leave, however, is not an option, as it will cost me a day’s pay.”

A similar plight is shared by 21-year-old Komal, who moved to Ulhasnagar with her parents and siblings when she was six years old. She hails from Amari in the Azamgarh district of Uttar Pradesh. Having grown up with two brothers in a household which ran on the meagre salary of her daily wage labourer father and house help mother, Komal is underweight and anaemic. She’s enrolled in a local college but barely ever attends. 

When asked how she spends her time, her vague response was, “Ghar pe (I stay at home).” When she visited the clinic, her medical records revealed that she was a tuberculosis (TB) patient and had been on an anti-TB regimen for the last six months. This was a common occurrence among patients who visited the clinic, and true to their suspicion, the doctors found out that Komal contracted TB from her brother, who, in turn, got it from his colleague when they worked in a factory together. 

Cramped work and living conditions with inadequate ventilation and social distancing are conducive to such respiratory diseases, and even with the government-supplied anti-TB medication, patients have little hope of complete recovery unless they isolate themselves from crowded spaces for good. Komal’s body is doing all it can to fight the chronic infectious disease, but she faces frequent complications like fever and infectious flare-ups, despite all precautions during her surgical procedures.

Tuberculosis has been a rampant problem in Ulhasnagar ever since its settlement era. (1) Bhavnani points out that due to the sudden deluge of refugees, the then Bombay Government had to accommodate them in some way or the other, and health needs often went unnoticed. Lack of town planning meant that the single government-run Central Hospital was unable to cater to the vast number of TB patients in its small TB ward, with insufficient staff and medication. 

Today, the state of affairs remains largely unchanged. Even with access to anti-TB medication, people living in cramped spaces due to financial limitations are unable to isolate, and hence become vectors of the disease. While the Central Hospital hasn’t had many updates, the upcoming 200-bed Ulhasnagar Municipal Corporation Multispeciality Hospital could help address the specific healthcare needs of its people.

Sarita Devi works as a cook in the homes of two prominent businessmen in Ulhasnagar. She’s from the Mithila region of Bihar, and proudly proclaims the fact that her ancestors ‘carried Sita Ma on her palanquin’ to Ayodhya. 

Sarita confesses to having a sweet tooth, which is why she has multiple decayed teeth. These give her intense migraines, but she has been putting off getting corrective treatment due to time and financial constraints. For instance, her husband, who works at a garment factory in Ulhasnagar, had to take almost a month’s leave and attend to his sick mother back in the village. 

The financial responsibility of the household, hence, falls on Sarita’s shoulders, and she must choose between her pain and her children’s tuition fees. So, she takes pain medication and carries on with her day-to-day, eagerly waiting for the additional income her husband will bring in once he is back.

Every year, thousands of men and women like Sadiq, Siraj, Sarita and Komal’s parents migrate from villages in Uttar Pradesh, Bihar, Odisha and other states in search of employment, ready to accept any job that can get them a daily wage. They find employment as contractual labour in construction or factories producing all sorts of goods, like clothes, plastic ware, food items and furniture. Many also work as multi-purpose handymen in small businesses. Whatever their profession, most of the migrant workforce is engaged in unorganised labour, with little to no control over their wage, working conditions or hours. 

Dire economic and social conditions often lead to neglected health amongst these families. Specialised healthcare, such as dental aid in times of emergencies, becomes so out of reach that people have to rely on small-scale charitable trusts and local clinics, sometimes run by unqualified para-medical professionals. 

As with its original settlers, though, the new migrants of Ulhasnagar, too, are a resilient lot. 

Life In The Cracks 

Children at Ulhasnagar train station. Pic credit: Wikimedia Commons

Ghousiya Begum is 63 and sells fruits under the bridge in front of the Ulhasnagar railway station. She tells us she moved to this town from the ‘beautiful and peaceful village’ in Yadgir, Karnataka, after she got married at the age of 16. Ever since, the chaos of this migrant land has been her home. 

“Even today, I don fresh flowers in my hair, as it is done in my native place. My husband passed away 11 years ago, so I run the house now. I spend time selling fruit and video-calling my grandchildren, who live in the Gulf,” she said. 

She is also regular with her health checkups, and whenever she needs a medical procedure, she prefers the charitable trust clinic as a matter of convenience. 

“The waiting period for the government hospital is simply too long, and I prefer getting treatment fast and moving on with my day,” she added. 

Much like Ghousiya Begum, charitable clinics are simply a matter of convenience rather than affordability. 

Khushiram Ratnani is the son of refugees from Sindh. He proudly recounts that he was able to buy two rooms adjacent to their originally assigned barrack room, where his family still resides. His father worked as a helper to a wealthier Sindhi businessman, but today, Ratnani, 60, has a thriving business selling lighting fixtures. Yet, his entire family visits the clinic, even though they can afford private medical services, simply because it is closer to home. 

Dimpal and Lekh Nath, meanwhile, are a couple from Nepal who have been living in Ulhasnagar for the last four years. Lekh Nath is a cook at a restaurant, and Dimpal is a beautician who provides home–visit services. 

“Our three-year-old son was born in Ulhasnagar, and will start school soon, once his documents are sorted. We have a small but supportive community here of Nepali natives, and we celebrate our festivals, like Daishan (Vijay Dashami) and Bhai Tika (Bhai Dooj) together,” said Lekh Nath. 

And how did they come to the charitable clinic? It was recommended by members of their community, they tell this writer.

Many draw hope from the story of Dr Ravindra Surana, who runs the trust and charitable clinic. The son of Marwari refugees from Karachi who moved to Nashik and later settled in Ulhasnagar as grocers, the doctor speaks excellent Marathi, Sindhi and Marwadi, apart from Hindi and English. With specialisation in not one but two different medical branches (oral surgery and periodontics), Dr Surana runs multiple small businesses apart from his private dental practice to fund the low-cost and high-standard treatment he provides. “This is my effort to give back to the place where I earned everything,” he told The Migration Story. As a result, the clinic’s waiting room is a veritable melting pot of cultures and populations, not unlike the town itself. 

What started as a refugee camp is now a centre of small-scale entrepreneurship and employability. This City of Joy gives livelihood to Komal’s family, a better education to Sarita’s children than they could hope for in their native place, financial support to Sadiq and Siraj’s family back home, a sense of community to Dimpal and Lekh Nath and a much-needed independence to Ghousiya Begum. 

It may have been born out of hardship and might carry a grim legacy, but those who came here with hope in their hearts, be it from Karachi, Kolkata or Kathmandu, find themselves well cared for. 

Agrima Thakur is a Pune-based medical professional, researcher, and writer interested in healthcare inequalities, gender and science.

The names of people mentioned in this article have been changed to maintain anonymity. These stories were recounted to the author by people she met as their doctor, when they were seeking healthcare in a charitable clinic. Via this article, the author’s intention is to convey the resilience of migrants and the hope that springs from their stories. 

References

1. Making of exile: Sindhi Hindus and the partition of India. Nandita Bhavnani. Westland (Tranquebar Press), 2014, India.

2. The Print: USA- How Sindhis created businesses after partition. Available from: https://theprint.in/pageturner/excerpt/made-in-usa-ulhasnagar-sindhi-association-how-sindhis-created-businesses-after-partition/1107658/ [Accessed on 1 May 2025].

3. Outlook India: Ulhasnagar- Brands of Ethnicity. Available from: https://www.outlookindia.com/society/ulhasnagar-brands-of-ethnicity-news-210645 [Accessed on 1 May 2025].

4. Sindhishaan: Ulhasnagar- A Glance down History from Shambles to a Settlement. Available from: https://sindhishaan.com/article/history/hist_01_02a.html [Accessed on 1 May 2025].