Key to Bengaluru’s waste management system, many migrant workers from West Bengal live under constant fear of being labelled as illegal Bangladeshi immigrants
Amoolya Rajappa
Migrant workers from West Bengal sorting through mounds of dry waste collected in Bengaluru, segregating the plastic bottles, sheets, bags and cardboards. Anuradha Nagaraj/The Migration Story
BENGALURU, Karnataka: Noor Jamal Khan is relatively new to the city. He arrived in Bengaluru just two years ago, leaving behind his flower nursery in West Bengal’s Purba Bardhaman district. Encouraged by a friend’s promise of better opportunities and a stable income, he took a leap of faith in his 40s, joining the growing number of migrants drawn to the city’s economic prospects.
“I have a nursery in Bardhman and you will find all types of flowers there,” Khan said, taking a break from filling large bags with plastic segregated from the dry waste collected from Bengaluru homes.
“But in the last two years, it has been unusually warm in the village and my nursery business has suffered. The income was not steady and then a friend suggested I move to Bengaluru,” shares Khan who moved to the city with his entire family including his wife, sons, daughters-in-law and grandchildren.
Khan and one of his sons, Shaji (25) work as rag pickers, sorting through mounds of dry waste collected from the city, segregating the plastic bottles, sheets, bags and cardboard, before loading them onto trucks. They roughly earn Rs 15,000/- a month, while the women in their house earn additional income working as house helps in the nearby high-rise apartments.
Father and son are part of a sizable population of Bengali migrants employed by the city’s civic body Bruhat Bengaluru Mahanagara Palike (BBMP) in the waste picking and segregation sector.
However, while their move to Bengaluru offered the prospect of stable jobs and better wages amid climate distress, it has also brought new challenges. Growing anxieties over their identity have added to the struggles of daily survival, making it even harder for Khan’s family to find a sense of belonging in a city they are still learning to navigate.
Like everyone else, Khan carried all his documents with him, ready to show them each time he is asked to by the police or local residents as proof that he is not an illegal Bangladeshi immigrant.
In the wake of growing suspicion and mistrust, some members of the Bengali migrant population in Bengaluru claim that they have been frequently subject to wrongful allegations of lacking valid citizenship documents followed by instances of repeated harassment by law-enforcing authorities.
“Castigating them as illegal Bangladeshi citizens and subjecting them to harassment is both unjust and unlawful,” said R Kaleem Ullah, an activist with non-profit Swaraj Abhiyan, who has been working for the welfare of the Bengali Muslims in Bengaluru for many years now.
Migrant workers from West Bengal sorting through mounds of dry waste collected in Bengaluru, segregating the plastic bottles, sheets, bags and cardboards. Anuradha Nagaraj/The Migration Story
HOSTILE ENVIRONMENT
Since the partition of British India in 1947, migration from present-day Bangladesh to India has been driven by persecution, economic hardship, and social unrest. While some returned, many settled in border states like West Bengal, Assam, Meghalaya, Tripura, and Mizoram, while others spread across India, often taking up menial jobs in metropolitan areas.
The history of Bangladeshi immigration to India also traces back to the aftermath of the 1971 Indo-Bangla War, when many Bangladeshi refugees were lawfully resettled in various Indian cities. Today, Bengali Muslims form the majority in Bangladesh and constitute the largest minority in the Indian states of West Bengal, Tripura, and Assam.
The Indian government had previously estimated that up to 20 million Bangladeshi immigrants live in the country without authorization, a claim that remains unsubstantiated. However, in recent years, policies like the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) and Assam’s National Register of Citizens (NRC) have heightened tensions and created significant challenges leading to a clampdown on Bengali speaking migrants across various cities in India, according to human rights activists.
Reported instances of Bengali migrants being labeled as illegal Bangladeshi immigrants have been increasing in Bengaluru. In June 2023, a young couple from Burdwan, West Bengal, were arrested on suspicion of being undocumented immigrants. They were jailed for 10 months along with their toddler before being granted bail, raising concerns about the legitimacy of police actions.
In August 2024, nearly 70 migrant labourer families in S. Bingipura were displaced after the Bannerghatta police allegedly demolished some of their homes and disconnected power lines during an eviction drive, further fueling fears of arbitrary targeting of migrant communities.
Despite their shared cultural, linguistic, and ethnic heritage, Indian Bengalis and Bangladeshi Bengalis continue to face divisive treatment, say human rights activists and campaigners. Kaleem Ullah emphasizes how recurrent eviction threats in Bengaluru, coupled with a widespread narrative in local TV news coverage that often links them to illegal activities in a biased manner, have fostered a hostile environment.
MISTAKEN IDENTITIES
An uneven road branching off the Balagere- Varthur main road, situated in the Eastern periphery of Bengaluru, leads to a cluster of migrant hutments that house Khan’s family. These settlements consist of compact, one-room homes arranged in closely packed parallel rows; their roofs all covered with black tarpaulins. Tucked away from the main road, this cluster of shanties sits amid the towering high-rises of Marathahalli, Sarjapur, and Whitefield—home to some of Bengaluru’s top multinational software companies.
The migrant settlement consists of several compact, one-room homes arranged in closely packed parallel rows_ their roofs all covered with black tarpaulins. Anuradha Nagaraj/The Migration Story
The colony is home to hundreds of migrant workers from West Bengal, the Northeast, Uttar Pradesh, and other northern states, most of whom work in waste picking, domestic labour, and platform-based jobs.
Scenes of parked water tankers, overloaded waste collection tempos, and piles of scattered, recyclable rubbish dot the vicinity, which is located in the middle of a muddy expanse flanked by large sewage drains on both sides.
In this colony, residents are extremely cautious about their documents, keeping it safely wrapped in plastic bags.
Saddam Shiekh, 29, prefers to carry photocopies of his Aadhar, ration and voter ID card along all time. The fear of being stopped or questioned for mistaken identity has led him to also keep records of his entire family’s voting details with him at all times.
“For everyone Bengali means we are all one, whether from Kolkata or Bangladesh. It doesn’t matter that I have been here for more than 10 years, married here and feel this is my home,” Sheikh told The Migration Story.
Like many Bengali migrant workers living in these shanties, Sheikh lives in constant fear of being wrongfully accused. Frustrated by frequent summons, he admits, “I’m scared of facing the police whenever the situation arises.”
Mohammad Shaheen (24), originally from North 24 Parganas district in West Bengal has been in Bengaluru for 13 years now. Six months ago, he was summoned by the police on grounds of identity verification. “I carried all the necessary documents including Aadhar, ration card and PAN card. But when I showed it to them, they asked if I had got these fake documents made using money,” said Shaheen.
Sheikh Abdullah, 50, runs a small tea shop and grocery store in the Balagere-Varthur migrant settlement. Over the years, he has worked in a variety of jobs—housekeeping in Maharashtra, security services in Delhi, and construction work in Bengaluru. As he spoke to The Migration Story about the identity-related challenges Bengali migrants face, Abdullah carefully displayed all his identification cards, including an interstate migrant card—one he has never used for any tangible benefits. However, he admits it comes in handy when authorities question whether he is from India or Bangladesh.
Identification cards, including an interstate migrant card, of Sheikh Abdullah displayed at a tea-stall in the migrant settlement near Balagere-Varthur main road in Bengaluru. Anuradha Nagaraj/The Migration Story
Migrant workers and contractors interviewed by The Migration Story cited various reasons for their frequent visits to the police station, including false complaints by local goons and harassment aimed at extorting money under the pretext of illegal immigration.
“Whether someone is from Kolkata or Bangladesh, they are here because they are poor and there are no jobs near their homes - not for one day or 10 days or more,” shared S K Iyakub, 50, who started working as a rag picker before becoming a scrap dealer and then renting rooms to fellow migrants coming to the city. Iyakub left the scrap business due to delayed payments from the BBMP and its authorized contractors.
Despite employing scores of Bengali migrants in its Solid Waste Management (SWM) wing, the BBMP remains opaque about the nature of their employment and contracts. When approached for comments, officials were either unavailable or declined to respond.
“We hate it when they (police) mistake us for being Bangladeshis and call for us. It all works in a complex system where some thekedars (contractors) collect haftas (commissions) from poor labourers to make sure the police do not trouble them,” shares a distraught Salma Bibi (25), a single mother who works as a domestic help.
“Even in cases of legitimate complaints, the police often arrest and detain random workers from the community, who are not connected to the case at all. In a way, they too fall victim to their own preconceived notions about an ethnic group, whose services are crucial in keeping a city like Bengaluru running,” said a 40-year-old advocate and trade unionist, who wished to remain anonymous.
LEASING AND SUB-CONTRACTING AS A WAY OF LIFE
Sheikh’s day begins at 4 AM when he sets out in his garbage collection van to collect dry waste from residential areas in Balagere and Munekolala. Workers like Khan are employed by smaller contractors like Sheikh, who receive work orders from the BBMP to collect waste from houses and smaller apartment complexes.
Sheikh first arrived in Bengaluru in 2008 from West Bengal’s Nadia district, along with his brother. Having initially worked as a construction labourer, he switched to waste picking and segregation after a contractor cheated and withheld his wages.
“In this line of work, at least there is a guarantee of money,” said Sheikh, who has since moved up the ranks and now employs 6–7 workers as a thekedar (contractor) himself.
Kaleem Ullah is a trusted figure among Bengaluru’s Bengali migrant community, often serving as their go-to person in times of adversities, allegations and legal challenges.
Kaleem Ullah, a trusted figure among Bengaluru’s Bengali migrant community, listening to grievances of residents in the migrant settlement near Balagere-Varthur main road. Anuradha Nagaraj/The Migration Story
He explains that the BBMP issues work orders to contractors, who in turn subcontract the work to smaller contractors. Each subcontractor manages a team of workers who are responsible for sorting plastic waste. The workers sell recyclable materials at Rs 22 per kilogram. By supplementing their BBMP wages (Rs10,000-12,000) with earnings from selling recyclables, the workers typically earn between Rs 20,000 -30,000 a month.
Several workers, including Sheikh and Iyakub, have leased land in the Balagere-Varthur migrant colony, which they rent out to other workers. This arrangement mirrors the existing thekedari system found in other sectors employing migrant labour, where contractors are often in a financially better position than the workers under them.
Despite having lived in Bengaluru for over a decade, both contractors and workers from West Bengal continue to face challenges as they navigate their daily life and work. “Just two weeks ago, a group of drunk local men caused a ruckus in the colony, threatening all of us,” shares Champa Bibi (32), Iyakub’s wife. “We filed a complaint at the HAL police station, but we still feel unsafe whenever we are treated like outsiders”.
Srikar Raghavan’s debut book, Rama Bhima Soma: Cultural Investigations into Modern Karnataka, explores the marginalisation of Bengali migrant workers in Bengaluru, among several other themes. Drawing from his fieldwork experience, he notes how the Bengali identity of workers has led them to “confrontational encounters with locals” and that their vulnerabilities have been “cunningly exploited by the establishment towards electoral ends.”
“A political atmosphere that amplifies hate against Muslims has also appropriated complex questions of migration and economic inequalities into a rhetoric of mindless vilification,” the author further observed.
UNDER CONSTANT SCRUTINY
In the 17 years Shazira Khatun (42) has been in Bengaluru, she has seen the city evolve as a bustling metropolis in the process of accommodating people from various regions and ethnicities.
Salma Bibi, 25, is a single mother and works as a domestic help in Bengaluru.
Anuradha Nagaraj/The Migration Story
Like many other Bengali migrant women, she supplements her household income by working as a domestic worker. “Back home, women aren’t allowed to work, but here, domestic work offers a chance to earn and save,” she said. However, she notes the constant scrutiny they face.
“It is not new that we are subject to questioning and scepticism all the time. The apartment owners and potential employers thoroughly check our ID cards to ensure we are not Bangladeshi immigrants. In case of allegations of theft, sometimes they make sure they ban the entire community from working in a particular apartment,” shared Khatun.
Shazira Khatun earns ₹15,000 a month working as a cook in four neighbouring households, while her husband works as a bus driver in a nearby school. Together, they have raised their daughter Rojeshiya, who is pursuing an undergraduate degree at one of Bengaluru’s top colleges.
“The city used to feel much safer, but lately, many communities are unfairly targeted over language issues,” said Rojeshiya, who has spent most of her life in Bengaluru.
The Migration Story has reached out to the Bengaluru police for a response. This story will be updated with their comments once we receive it.
Geeta Menon, a women’s rights activist and the co-founder of Stree Jagruti Samiti, a non-profit organization advocating for domestic workers’ rights, explained that these blanket bans and reservations toward hiring workers from certain ethnic groups stem from deep-rooted feudal mindsets and caste-based tenets.
“At the heart of these issues lies a reluctance to accept migrant groups, who provide essential services, as part of the community,” shared Menon. “Many domestic workers even change their names to avoid being ostracized and to secure employment opportunities in the city,” she added.
‘BENGALURU IS HOME’
In just one year of being in Bengaluru, Noor Jamal’s son Shaji has come to associate with the city as home. “The weather is great here and there are many tourist places to go around,” quips Shaji leaning on a huge white plastic bag stuffed with recyclable material that is being readied to be sold off. “The work is mostly comfortable too except that sometimes rain hinders the sorting work and we end up losing out on wages for those days when it rains heavily,” he added.
“To ensure that all communities and working groups feel safe in the city, there is an urgent need for police reforms and strong political will to address this issue,” emphasized Kaleem Ullah.
A tailor shop at the migrant settlement near Balagere-Varthur main road in Bengaluru, which like other tiny corner shops doubles up as a meeting space during tea time. Anuradha Nagaraj/The Migration Story
At first glance, the cluster of shanties housing Bengali migrant workers on an undeveloped stretch near Varthur may seem like a temporary settlement with little structure. But a closer look reveals a tightly knit ecosystem that sustains both lives and livelihoods. In the narrow alleys crammed with hutments, the realities of daily life and local enterprise emerge in sharp focus—marked by resilience, informal networks, and rigid hierarchies that shape the migrant experience.
Scattered throughout the settlement are tiny corner shops that double up as meeting spaces during tea time, makeshift tailoring units, and small scale eateries with conventional wood stoves—transforming the space into more than just a place of transit. For many migrants, this colony has become home.
Saddam Sheikh, who has lived in Bengaluru for 16 years, has spent the last seven in this settlement near Balagere-Varthur Main Road. “I have loved the city since the very beginning because of its pleasant weather,” he said. “I go back to my native place in Nadia just once or twice a year, so Bengaluru has been home for a while now. But after the pandemic, the growing hostility towards our community is a concern.”
Despite Bengaluru’s thriving tech industry, its presence has done little to ease the struggles of waste-pickers and pourakarmikas, observes author Raghavan. Most interventions, he notes, have focused on surveillance measures like biometric scanners—often unreliable and prone to malfunction—rather than meaningful support.
Raghavan recalls a poignant moment from the pandemic that highlights the deep-rooted concern these low-income migrant workers have for the city. “At a time when hospitals were facing serious paucity of blood, it was the Bengali-speaking Muslims who contributed in the largest numbers to blood camps organised by one of the activists I met,” he shared.
“Cities are shaped by all its citizens, and these unspoken debts should inspire some soul-searching in all of us so that we can begin imagining more sustainable, decentralised societies where citizens themselves can exercise genuine responsibilities,” he added, reflecting on their quiet contributions.
Amoolya Rajappa is a Bengaluru-based independent journalist and reports on labour, internal migration, climate change and displacement in India.
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