Ahmedabad's Plane Crash Shocked the Nation. The City Barely Noticed a Slum Fire.

A year after the Air India plane crash that killed 260 people shook the city of Ahmedabad and the country, another tragedy has unfolded, but with far less visibility. On June 10, a devastating fire tore through a densely populated slum settlement, also in Ahmedabad, reducing more than 200 huts to ashes. The scale of destruction was immense, yet the incident received only a fraction of the attention accorded to other disasters that affect more privileged sections of society.

News of the fire in the huts deeply unsettled me. My connection to Ahmedabad extends beyond its landmarks and institutions and is rooted in the city's marginalised neighbourhoods, where I have worked and conducted field research for four years. 

I remember asking an auto-rickshaw driver to take me to Gayaspur Metro Station. He replied, “People like you don’t go there, madam. It is a slum area and is very unsafe. Better not go there in this heat.”

Ahmedabad was enduring temperatures nearing 46°C at the time. The oppressive heat, precarious living conditions and everyday strife of residents were a stark reminder of the vulnerabilities disproportionately borne by the urban poor.

In 2023, as a field research consultant with the Indian Institute for Human Settlements (IIHS), I visited a sewage settlement near Gayaspur Metro Station alongside Diptiben Makwana, Ajiveeka Bureau's crèche programme coordinator.

My research focused on understanding the challenges faced by Diptiben and fellow crèche workers, including Tarlaben and Kailashben, in enrolling children of daily-wage labourers from Gayaspur Sewage Basti. After a cyclone in 2021 wreaked havoc in the region, approximately 400 families took shelter there.

Many non-governmental organisations in Ahmedabad, like Parwaaz, Recycling India, Yuva Unstoppable and Aajeevika Bureau consistently report difficulties they face in building trust with families navigating economic insecurity, irregular employment and constant uncertainty, while trying to ensure that vulnerable and malnourished children receive adequate care. 

Children are especially vulnerable in such settlements. In a recent telephonic conversation, Diptiben, who has worked with children's primary education in Gayaspur since 2018, described a major accountability gap on the part of the municipal corporation and the harsh realities obscured by the urban development narrative:

“ગ્યાસપુર બસ્તીમાં આ પહેલાં પણ ત્રણ વખત આગ લાગી ચૂકી છે, પરંતુ અહીં કોઈ પાસે બચાવ માટેના પૂરતા સાધનો નથી. ક્યારેક ચૂલો સળગાવતી વખતે લાકડાની ડાળખી માંથી આગ લાગી જાય છે, તો ક્યારેક આવારા તત્વો દારૂના નશામાં બસ્તી અને અહીં રહેતા લોકોને નુકસાન પહોંચાડે છે. અમારી ફૂલવારી કાયદેસરની પરવાનગી સાથે અહીં ચલાવવામાં આવે છે, છતાં ઘણી વખત અમારી ક્રેશ વર્કર બહેનોને પણ હેરાન કરવામાં આવે છે અને કહેવામાં આવે છે કે, “મજૂરોના બાળકોને શું ભણાવો છો? મજૂરોના બાળકો તો મજૂર જ બનવાના.”

(Three fire incidents have already occurred in the Gayaspur Sewage Basti, yet there are still no adequate rescue facilities here. At times, fires break out while cooking on traditional stoves; at other times, anti-social elements under the influence of alcohol cause harm to the settlement and its residents. Our Fulwaari centre operates here with legal permission, however, even our crèche worker sisters are often harassed and questions, ‘Why are you educating the children of labourers? They are destined to become labourers themselves.')

Diptiben highlighted a range of persistent civic concerns, including irregular access to clean drinking water, uncollected garbage accumulating near the crèche, inadequate medical attention for children, gaps in vaccination coverage and much larger anxieties surrounding women’s safety and health. She noted that these issues are compounded by the indifference of municipal authorities and elected representatives towards the settlement's children. 

The settlement lies in close proximity to a metro station and the depot where city trains are parked, a pointed marker of infrastructural contrast. Yet during fieldwork, many mothers who drop their children at the crèche before leaving for work at construction sites, garbage collection rounds or domestic employment hesitated when asked whether they had ever used the metro. Despite its nearness, the system remains socially distant.

One response captured this divide most sharply:

"वो तो पढ़े-लिखे लोग होते हैं, जिन्हें रोज़ दफ़्तर आना-जाना होता है, वैसे लोग वहाँ जाते हैं। हम तो रिक्शे में जाते हैं, और कभी-कभी छकड़े में भी जाते हैं क्योंकि उसमें केवल पाँच रुपये लगते हैं।"

(Only educated people travel in the metro, those who go to offices every day. People like them use it. We travel by rickshaw and sometimes even by a tractor cart (chakda) because it costs only five rupees.)

Her words not only point to differences in mobility, but also to a deeper urban hierarchy – one where access to infrastructure is shaped as much by classed perceptions of belonging as by physical distance.

Such incidents raise uncomfortable questions about how urban suffering is recognised and remembered. Whose losses enter public consciousness and whose remain confined to the margins? Disasters like fires in the basti or a plane crashes do not discriminate in their immediate occurrence. However, their aftermath lays bare the deeply unequal structures that continue to mould urban life in Ahmedabad.

Tasnim Bharmal is a student and researcher working on urban marginalities at the Centre for Modern Indian Studies (CeMIS), University of Göttingen.

The Wire is now on WhatsApp. Follow our channel for sharp analysis and opinions on the latest developments.