Jahan Jhuggi Wahan Bulldozer: Delhi’s Poor Betrayed as Slum Dreams Turn to Dust

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Jahan Jhuggi Wahan Bulldozer: Delhi’s Purvanchali Migrants Face Betrayal Amid Demolitions

In the labyrinthine sprawl of Delhi, where towering ambitions of urban renewal clash with the fragile lives of the marginalised, a storm of bulldozers has swept through the city’s slums, leaving behind a trail of devastation – and a major section of the Purvanchali community grappling with betrayal. On July 16, 2025, the Delhi Development Authority (DDA), backed by a formidable special task force, demolished over 300 shanties in the Jailor-wala Bagh JJ cluster in North West Delhi’s Ashok Vihar. This operation was part of a ₹500-crore in-situ rehabilitation project, promising modern flats to slum dwellers under the slogan ‘Jahan jhuggi wahan makan’. Yet, for thousands of migrants from Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, the dream of a better life has crumbled into a nightmare of displacement, loss, and political disillusionment.

These demolitions must be viewed within the wider academic discourse on migration and urban informality. Delhi’s slums have historically been shaped by waves of rural-urban migration, particularly from Purvanchal regions of eastern UP and Bihar, driven by poverty, caste oppression, and agrarian distress. For decades, such settlements have formed the backbone of the city’s informal economy – their residents working as construction labourers, drivers, domestic workers, vendors, and small-scale service providers.

The DDA maintained that the demolitions targeted only those allotted flats and served eviction notices 10 days earlier. Of the 2,000 slum clusters in the area, around 1,300 families had been handed keys to new homes, while others secured temporary reprieve through Delhi High Court stay orders. But the operation was marred by chaos, with allegations of brutality casting a dark shadow over government intentions. Among many Purvanchalis, there is now a growing sense of abandonment by a political establishment that had long courted their votes.

Jahan Jhuggi Wahan Bulldozer:

Renu Kumari, a 34-year-old mother of four from Sitamarhi, Bihar, stood amidst the rubble of her home of 28 years, clutching a faded photograph of her family. “We believed in the BJP’s promises of ‘Jahan jhuggi wahan makan’,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “We campaigned for them, convinced our neighbours to vote for them. They called us their ‘Purvanchali family’. But they sent bulldozers to destroy our lives. My husband, an e-rickshaw driver, was beaten by police when he begged them to stop. His rickshaw – our only income – was stolen in the chaos. Where do we go now? What do we tell our children?”

The demolitions extended far beyond Ashok Vihar – to Taimoor Nagar, Madrasi Camp, Kalkaji’s Bhoomiheen Camp, Okhla Phase II, Seelampur, Yamuna Khadar, Sangam Vihar, Govindpuri, and Bhalswa. Eviction notices branded residents as “illegal occupants,” reducing communities built over decades to debris in hours. Framed as a step toward a modern Delhi, the operations have instead ignited a firestorm of resentment among many Purvanchalis, who feel abandoned by political leaders across party lines.

Perma Devi, a 68-year-old widow from Azamgarh, Uttar Pradesh, sat on a broken chair in the ruins of her Seelampur home, her frail frame wrapped in a tattered shawl. “I applied for a flat three years ago,” she said, holding up a crumpled rejection letter from the DDA. “They said my documents weren’t valid, but I’ve had an Aadhaar card, voter ID, and electricity meter here for 25 years. I’m battling diabetes and heart disease, and now I’m homeless. BJP workers told me, ‘You didn’t vote for us, so don’t expect help.’ I voted for them every time, thinking they’d protect us Purvanchalis. This is their gratitude?”

The youngest residents bore the brunt of the upheaval. In Yamuna Khadar, 14-year-old Anjali, a Class 7 student, stood near the wreckage of her home, her schoolbag lost in the debris. “I screamed at the police to save my books and uniform,” she said, her voice trembling. “They pushed me away and laughed. School started today, but I have nothing left. My parents said BJP would give us a better life, but they’ve taken everything. How will I study now? How will I become a doctor?”

Gopal Sharma, a 42-year-old fruit vendor in Okhla, surveyed the remains of his home. “My father came from Bihar 40 years ago. We built this house with our bare hands. We have every document – Aadhaar, voter ID, ration card, electricity meter. If we were illegal, why did the government issue these?” he demanded. “Rekha Gupta’s government has cut off our water, our electricity, and now our dignity. We Purvanchalis have contributed to this city’s growth, but we’ve been betrayed. I swear I’ll never vote for them again.”

The demolitions have triggered a political maelstrom, with AAP and Congress quick to capitalise on the growing anger. On June 29, BJP Minister Manjinder Singh Sirsa delivered a provocative speech in Sangam Vihar. “Arvind Kejriwal, Aatishi, and their AAP can protest all they want for Rohingyas and Bangladeshis, but we won’t let these illegal occupants stay in Delhi,” he declared. His remarks, interpreted as targeting Purvanchali migrants, triggered an immediate backlash.

AAP MLA Sanjeev Jha responded with fury in Taimoor Nagar. “These are not Rohingyas or Bangladeshis – they are Indian citizens, our poor brothers and sisters from UP and Bihar,” he said. “Sirsa’s words are a slap in the face to millions who built this city with their sweat and blood.” On July 15, AAP leaders staged a fiery protest outside Sirsa’s residence, chanting, “BJP, gareebon se maafi maango!” (BJP, apologise to the poor!). One protester, a young tailor from Govindpuri, shouted, “We’re not criminals or foreigners. We’re Delhi’s heartbeat, and BJP has broken our trust!”

Former Chief Minister Arvind Kejriwal led a massive rally at Jantar Mantar on June 29. “Rekha Gupta’s government has failed Delhi’s poor,” he roared to thousands of supporters waving AAP flags. “They’re demolishing homes and punishing the poor who trusted them. We vow to fight for every displaced family and ensure BJP never wins their votes again.”

Congress leader Alka Lamba addressed a gathering in Bhalswa. “BJP’s ‘Sabka Saath, Sabka Vikas’ is a hollow lie,” she said. “Where is the development for the poor? Inflation, unemployment, and now homelessness – how much more will the poor endure under Rekha Gupta’s rule?”

The political fallout has been significant. In Govindpuri, Ravi Yadav, a 47-year-old auto-rickshaw driver, reflected the shifting mood: “We thought BJP was our party. They promised us homes, jobs, respect. Instead, they sent bulldozers and called us outsiders. AAP is standing with us. Maybe it’s time we give them our trust.”

Grassroots resistance is also brewing. In Kalkaji, displaced residents formed the “Jhuggi Bachao Sangharsh Samiti,” led by Sunita Devi, a 50-year-old vegetable vendor. “We’re not just fighting for our homes,” she said. “We’re fighting for our dignity as Purvanchalis. BJP thinks they can crush us, but we’ll show them our strength at the ballot box in 2030.”

As the sun sets over Delhi’s broken slums, the air is heavy with dust, despair, and defiance. For families like Renu’s, Perma’s, Anjali’s, and Gopal’s, the demolitions are not merely about lost homes but a profound betrayal of their identity and aspirations. The BJP’s vision of a gleaming, modern Delhi has come at the cost of alienating sections of the Purvanchali community who built this city’s roads, markets, and homes with their labour. With the 2030 elections ahead, AAP and Congress are seizing the moment, offering hope to those left homeless. For now, the displaced cling to their resilience, their stories echoing through Delhi’s streets – a testament to their struggle, and a warning to those who dare to call them outsiders in the city they built and call home.