Hope steams up among Dharavi’s idli-makers over redevelopment plan | Mumbai News

MUMBAI: In the early hours of dawn, as most of Mumbai still sleeps, the narrow lanes of Dharavi echo with the whistle of steamers and the clatter of aluminium vessels. In makeshift kitchens tucked inside shanties, women like Alaguthai Thangapandi are already deep into their day’s work — grinding soaked rice, mixing batter, and steaming fluffy idlis that will feed hundreds across the city.The supply chain is precise, personal, and proudly preservative-free. Most raw materials are sourced through trusted agents — Ponni rice arrives from Tamil Nadu in bulk, and urad dal is bought from local wholesalers. “We don’t use shortcuts,” says 26-year-old Prabhu, who assists his aunt Stella Nadar (57) in their small home kitchen. “The batter is made fresh every night. We prepare at least 15 litres of batter daily, along with seven litres of sambhar and two litres of coconut chutney.“Their idlis — four for Rs 40 — reach breakfast counters in Sion, Matunga, Mahim, and Bandra. A few families also sell surplus batter to nearby eateries. Some vendors now operate out of small galas, but most still work from their homes, adjusting between steamers and sleep.Stella, who runs her stall near Pila Bungla, says, “We are the city’s breakfast makers, but we don’t get any respect. Our kitchens are clean, but step outside and it’s dirty, smelly, flooded in rains. How can we serve good food in such surroundings?”As the Dharavi Redevelopment Project gains pace, the women are cautiously hopeful. “We want clear answers. Will we get better kitchens? Where will we go?” asks Thangapandi. “If they give us proper homes and space to cook, we can make 10 lakh idlis daily. Mumbai won’t go hungry.”Entrepreneur Ganesh Gajakosh says Dharavi’s food makers are the backbone of informal Mumbai. “All they ask for is dignity, better roads, clean water — not charity. Let redevelopment not erase them, but empower them,” says Gajakosh.The Tamil community living around 90-feet road, once drawn to Mumbai from Tirunelveli in the 1970s, has turned the humble idli into an economic mainstay. While the men initially found work in mills or informal trades, the women took charge of food — making idlis, appams, and vadas to support their families and children’s education.Mary and Rupan, a couple who’ve sold idlis on 90-feet road for over 15 years, say the monsoon hits them the hardest. “People can’t even walk when it rains. Roads are flooded, drains overflow. Business drops badly every year,” says Rupan.Yet the entrepreneurial spirit remains intact. Savita Muthuraman, a 22-year-old BBA student, helps her father carry steaming aluminium boxes across the city. “If we had a proper kitchen, I wouldn’t worry about my younger siblings having to do the same,” she says.Most vendors earn between Rs 1,000 and Rs 3,000 a day. A few have scaled up into wholesale suppliers or caterers. Every morning, taxis line up on the 90-feet road, ferrying groups of idli vendors to railway stations. From there, the women fan out — on foot, with baskets on their heads or tiffins in their hand — to serve Mumbai its favourite breakfast.