Kolkata's chronic hawker problem — immortalised in Usha Uthup's celebrated ode to the city over four decades ago — remains as entrenched as ever, even as local authorities have launched fresh eviction drives across central commercial corridors. The song's lyric, 'Hawker footpath-e bendhechhe ghorbari' (hawkers have set up houses on the sidewalks), reads less like poetry today and more like a municipal complaint register.

A Song That Became a Mirror

When Uthup first sang her tribute to Kolkata (then spelt Calcutta) in the early years of Communist rule in West Bengal, the lyrics catalogued the city's familiar contradictions: incessant political processions, hawkers colonising footpaths, power cuts, traffic gridlock, handcarts and rickshaws blocking roads. Her refrain — 'Tobi tumi sundari koto Kolkata' (Yet, how beautiful you are, Kolkata) — turned urban dysfunction into a term of endearment. More than four decades on, the dysfunction persists; the endearment is wearing thin.

Where the Hawkers Are — and Why They Stay

The most visible concentrations of pavement vending run through Esplanade, Gariahaat, Burrabazar, Lalbazar, New Market, College Street, and Camac Street in central Kolkata. Stalls frequently spill from sidewalks onto carriageways, obstructing both pedestrian movement and emergency vehicle access.

The vendors' wares span clothing, stationery, household goods, artwork, and food. Along Camac Street, a stretch flanked by office buildings and restaurants, food stalls cater to workers who rely on them as cheaper alternatives to adjacent eateries. At College Street — one of Asia's largest second-hand book markets — pavement booksellers offer new, old, and out-of-print titles at prices formal shops cannot match.

Most hawkers are migrants from neighbouring districts and states, for whom street vending is a primary livelihood. The majority operate without formal licences or fixed premises, making them legally vulnerable but politically significant.

The Political Arithmetic of Eviction

Successive administrations have attempted what locals call 'hawker uchhed abhijan' — remove-hawker operations — but these have historically been symbolic rather than sustained. The Left Front governments that dominated West Bengal for over three decades positioned themselves as champions of the labouring poor, which made any iron-fisted eviction drive politically costly. Makeshift stalls cleared one week would typically reappear at the same spot within days.

Critics argue this pattern reflects a structural lack of political will rather than a failure of enforcement capacity. The hawker vote bank, spread across multiple constituencies in a densely populated city, has long acted as a check on decisive action.

The Urban Cost

The consequences extend beyond aesthetics. Blocked footpaths increase pedestrian risk and commute times. Waste accumulation from vending clusters strains already limited drainage and sanitation infrastructure, contributing to localised flooding during the monsoon. In a city with a documented stock of dilapidated and hazardous buildings, restricted lane access also complicates emergency response.

Pedestrians across affected areas continue to report daily impediments, particularly near railway stations and busy market belts where footpath encroachment is heaviest.

Fresh Drives, Familiar Resistance

Authorities have recently launched more systematic decongestion operations in central Kolkata, targeting high-visibility stretches to restore pedestrian space and traffic flow. Municipal teams have removed unauthorised stalls and relocated some vendors to designated vending zones. However, hawker associations have responded with protests, demanding negotiated and humane relocation plans rather than forced removal.

Whether this round of drives will hold — or fade like its predecessors — remains to be seen. As Uthup's song reminds the city, the gap between Kolkata's beauty and its livability has been acknowledged for generations. Closing it will require more than an eviction notice.