NEW DELHI: For the men and women who make their homes along the Yamuna’s banks, floods and displacement are not occasional disasters but recurring chapters in life’s calendar. Each year, as the river swells, families from Mayur Vihar pack their belongings into aluminium trunks, carry what they cannot pack on their shoulders, and move into government-run relief camps. Home shifts under a bridge; hope hangs by a thread.
In September 2023, Delhi was given a cosmetic makeover ahead of the G20 Summit. Footpaths were repaved, flowerpots and fountains installed, and marble elephants positioned as symbols of grandeur. While much of that facelift has since faded, the painted flyover pillars near Mayur Vihar Extension Metro station remain — depicting monuments like the Red Fort, Parliament, and Birla Mandir, alongside portraits of Subhash Chandra Bose, Bhagat Singh, and APJ Abdul Kalam. Today, these same columns stand over a relief shelter for thousands displaced by the Yamuna’s rising waters.
The families here — about 450 in number, with nearly 3,700 people including newborns — are no strangers to upheaval. Many migrated decades ago from Bihar’s Saharsa and Katihar districts, settling on fertile floodplains where they grew vegetables or worked as daily-wage labourers. Anita Devi, a member of the Mallah (fisherfolk) community, recalls her father catching fish before joining the workforce that built the Akshardham Temple in 2005. Others, like widow Puliya, laboured on the five-star hotels erected for the 2010 Commonwealth Games. “We were paid Rs 125 a day,” she recalls.
This year, displacement has been harsher. Authorities demolished long-standing shanties on the floodplains, leaving families without homes or livelihoods. “They even broke our water taps. We can’t live there, we can’t grow vegetables. Where do we go?” asks Manoj Kumar, a vegetable seller. With crops gone and homes submerged, returning is not an option.
The government has set up white tents along the roadside and under the flyover. Civil defence workers in yellow uniforms distribute dal-chawal twice a day, while tankers supply water and mobile toilets line the camp. Yet conditions remain basic. “The toilets are dirty, and there is no place to change clothes,” complains Geeta Devi, mother of three teenage daughters. Civil defence head Premjit Singh promises improvements: “I will try to arrange that tomorrow, along with tea and biscuits.”
Despite adversity, the camp has the vitality of a temporary bazaar. Under the glare of floodlights, families carve out homes behind thin saris strung as curtains. Women boil rice on small stoves, children watch Bollywood songs on mobile phones, and men gather over card games, discussing uncertain futures. At night, volunteers arrive with packets of biryani for the hungry. A girl applies mehndi to her palm, while a stray dog named Badshah wanders between charpoys.
But hardship lurks behind these moments of resilience. Livestock is often stolen in the dead of night. Fights break out, quickly quelled by women pulling men apart. Amid the noise, a six-day-old baby sleeps quietly, embodying both fragility and the relentless continuity of life by the Yamuna’s edge.
For Delhi’s displaced, survival is an art they have perfected — learning to be at home anywhere, even when their true homes lie underwater.
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