Mohd Ashraf
New Delhi: In the hidden corners of Delhi’s vast sanitation network, where the city’s waste disappears out of sight, workers like Sudhir and Jitender carry out some of the city’s most dangerous and invisible labour. Their work keeps drains flowing and neighbourhoods livable, yet their own lives remain marked by insecurity, stigma, and neglect.
Through their stories emerges a larger reality shaped by caste, hazardous working conditions, and economic hardship — but also by a quiet determination to build a different future for the next generation.
Sudhir, who goes by his first name, has worked as a contractual sewer cleaning worker with the Delhi Jal Board (DJB) for nearly a decade. Born and raised in Delhi after his family migrated from Haryana, he now lives in a joint family of seven members. Along with his father, he is the primary breadwinner, supporting his wife, children, and sisters.
Despite years of service, Sudhir says little has changed for workers like him.
“The focus is only on getting the work done,” he says. “No one looks at our salary or our rights.”
As a child, Sudhir believed that everyone was equal. But school became the place where he first became aware of caste divisions and learned that he belonged to the Valmiki community — a Dalit community, historically pushed into sanitation work for generations.
“What we studied in books slowly became reality in life,” he says.
That reality often reveals itself in small but painful moments.
Sudhir recalls asking for water while working in residential colonies. “Sometimes they make us wait. Sometimes they give water separately,” he says. In one instance, after using a utensil, a woman asked him to take it away instead of returning it.
“She said, ‘Brother, you keep it. We don’t want it back.’”
The memory lingers not just as an insult, but as a reminder of how deeply caste discrimination continues to shape everyday interactions.
Jitender, a self-employed septic tank cleaner and sanitation worker, shares a similar story. Supporting a family of six, including three children aged 6, 9, and 11, he lives in a rented house with a monthly rent of ₹10,000. Every expense is carefully calculated.
“I tried many other jobs,” he says, “but the salaries were too low.”
Eventually, he returned to sanitation work — not out of choice, but necessity.
Yet there is determination in his voice when he speaks about his children. Recently, he shifted them from a government school to a private school in the hope of giving them better opportunities.
“I want my children to study so they never have to do this work,” he says.
Sudhir shares the same dream. For both men, education represents a possible escape from an occupation that has trapped generations before them.
But survival in the present remains uncertain.
Sudhir describes a system marked by delayed wages and a lack of accountability. While the official salary for semi-skilled labourers is said to be around ₹20,000, he says he has never received that amount.
“I have never seen ₹20,000 till today,” he says. According to him, most workers receive between ₹14,000 and ₹16,000, often after long delays.
“Sometimes salaries come after the 15th. When we ask for our wages, it feels like we are asking for a loan.”
The delays affect every aspect of life. Families rely on borrowed money for groceries, rent, school fees, and daily expenses, expecting to repay debts once salaries arrive. When payments are delayed, debt accumulates further.
Sudhir says contractual workers receive no provident fund (PF), employee state insurance (ESI), or medical benefits.
“We are only getting exploited,” he says.
Jitender faces similar struggles. As an independent worker, his income is irregular, while the cost of safety equipment falls entirely on him.
“The full safety kit costs around ₹16,500, and we have to buy it ourselves,” he says. “Sometimes we rent equipment for ₹1,000 a day, which can be more than what we earn.”
For many workers, even that expense is unaffordable, forcing them to enter sewers without proper protective gear and exposing them to serious risks.
The dangers are constant.
Sudhir recalls injuring his hand while closing a heavy sewer lid. Though he required a plaster cast, he returned to work soon after because missing work meant losing income.
Jitender describes the risks inside septic tanks and sewer lines — toxic gases, infections, skin diseases, and long-term respiratory problems.
“This work is very dangerous,” he says. “There is infection, dirt, and many health risks.”
Although manual entry into sewers is legally prohibited except under exceptional circumstances, both workers admit that emergencies often leave them with little choice.
“I go inside when there is no other option,” says Jitender.
Before entering, workers try to release toxic gases by opening the sewer lid for some time. In the absence of proper equipment and safety systems, such precautions are often inadequate.
Training, they say, is almost nonexistent.
“We learn by watching senior workers,” says Sudhir.
There are no structured training programmes, regular health checkups, or long-term medical monitoring despite the hazardous nature of the work.
Outside the workplace, exclusion often continues.
“Some people don’t even give us water properly. They ask us to sit outside,” says Jitender. In some places, workers are handed disposable plastic glasses separately from others.
At the same time, he acknowledges that not everyone behaves this way.
“Some people treat us respectfully,” he says.
But the inconsistency itself becomes a reminder of their social position.
For Sudhir, the lack of job security creates an additional layer of anxiety. As a contractual worker, he says his employment can end at any time.
“We are working at the mercy of the board(DJB),” he says. “If they tell us not to come tomorrow, we can’t do anything.”
His frustration extends beyond the workplace to the system itself.
“The government has closed its eyes,” he says. “We keep the city clean and prevent diseases, but no one takes care of us.”
Despite the danger, stigma, and financial instability, both men continue working because they have few alternatives. Yet their aspirations extend beyond survival. Again and again, their hopes return to education, dignity, and the possibility of a different future for their children.
Their stories are not isolated. Across India, thousands of sanitation workers, many from Valmiki and other historically marginalized Dalit communities, continue to perform hazardous sanitation labour under precarious conditions.
Their experiences reveal a system where essential labour remains undervalued, worker safety is routinely compromised, and caste continues to shape both opportunity and treatment.
Yet within these stories is also resilience: a refusal to accept this reality as permanent, and a determination to ensure the next generation does not inherit the same burden.
Deaths Between March and May 2026: Data by DASAM
The continuing dangers faced by sanitation workers were highlighted during a press conference organised by the Dalit Adivasi Adhikar Manch (DASAM) at the Press Club of India on May 22, 2026.
According to DASAM, at least 36 sanitation workers died between March and May 2026 while cleaning sewers, septic tanks, drains, and sewage chambers across the country. The deaths were reported from Bihar, Chhattisgarh, Madhya Pradesh, Delhi, Haryana, Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh, Maharashtra, and Tamil Nadu.
Most of the deceased workers reportedly belonged to Valmiki communities, other marginalized caste groups, or migrant labour backgrounds, and were employed through informal contractor systems.
Speakers at the event alleged that workers were sent into toxic confined spaces without oxygen cylinders, gas detectors, harnesses, or proper protective gear. They also highlighted the recurring “rescue-chain” pattern, where workers attempting to save collapsed colleagues also lost their lives due to toxic gas exposure.
Speaking at the event, Dharmendra Bhati, president of the Municipal Workers Lal Jhanda Union affiliated with CITU, alleged that the growing dependence on contractual labour had worsened the condition of sanitation workers, particularly in the Delhi Jal Board (DJB).
“The government says sanitation work has been mechanised, but the ground reality is completely different,” Bhati said, claiming that workers continue to enter hazardous spaces without proper protection.
He further alleged that the number of permanent workers in the DJB has declined sharply over the years, while contractual workers continue to work without minimum wages, regular health check-ups, safety equipment, or social security benefits.
The event took place amid concerns over the implementation of the Prohibition of Employment as Manual Scavengers and their Rehabilitation Act, 2013, which bans hazardous manual scavenging practices.
In January last year, the Supreme Court directed authorities to eliminate manual scavenging in six metropolitan cities, including Delhi and Mumbai, while criticising the Union government over slow implementation.
Kawalpreet Kaur, a lawyer and human rights activist, described the deaths as “completely unacceptable” despite existing laws and court directions. She alleged that under the contractual labour system, neither civic agencies nor private contractors take responsibility for workers’ safety. She argued that sanitation workers should be recognised as frontline workers and provided permanent employment and living wages.
Mohsina Akhter, National Coordinator of DASAM, said the deaths reflected “structural caste discrimination, unsafe working conditions, weak implementation of the law, and lack of government accountability.” She also highlighted the long-term health impacts faced by sanitation workers, including respiratory illnesses, trauma, and reduced life expectancy.
Government data on deaths linked to hazardous sewer and septic tank cleaning between 2017 and 2026.
In a written reply to a question by Samajwadi Party MP Iqra Choudhary on March 17, Minister of State for Social Justice and Empowerment Ramdas Athawale informed the Lok Sabha that as many as 622 sanitation workers have died due to hazardous cleaning of sewer and septic tanks across India between 2017 and 2026.
Athawale, citing state-wise data presented in Parliament, stated that full compensation was given to 539 families, while 25 families received partial compensation.
However, 52 of the affected families never received any compensation, as per the data, six cases were closed without any resolution.
Uttar Pradesh, at 86, was among the states that recorded the highest number of fatalities, followed by Maharashtra at 82, Tamil Nadu at 77, Haryana at 76, Gujarat at 73, and Delhi at 62.
There is no further information available on how much a family received as compensation.
However, Independent organizations report significantly higher death tolls. DASAM recorded that 116 workers engaged in manual scavenging had died in 2024, and 158 alone had died in 2025,* highlighting the gap between official records and ground realities.
Athawale stated that a “fresh survey” under the Prohibition of Employment as Manual Scavengers and Their Rehabilitation Act, 2013, has found “no manual scavengers” in any district across the country, and the ministry stated that sanitation is an “occupation-based activity rather than caste-based”
Although around 58,098 manual scavengers, including 32,473 in Uttar Pradesh, had been identified during the two surveys conducted in 2013 and 2018, he said.
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Mohd Ashraf is a freelance journalist and a student of Convergent Journalism at AJK Mass Communication Research Centre, Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi.
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Note: The author has obtained permission from the respondents.
* Data reported as claimed by DASAM, but not confirmed in third-party sources.
