Aishwarya Rajput & Sinjini Ghose | 25th September 2025
Heritage does not only belong to stone monuments. It lives in people, songs, flavours, and rituals. The Koli community carries Mumbai’s origin story in its boats, its prayers, its laughter. To let this fade would be a betrayal of the city itself.
In a city obsessed with skyscrapers and sea links, Worli Koliwada is easy to overlook. To some, it’s just another cluster of colourful houses on prime real estate. But to dismiss it as such is to erase Mumbai’s first chapter. Koliwada is not a relic of the past — it is the living soul of this metropolis.
The Kolis, Mumbai’s original inhabitants, have safeguarded their traditions for centuries. Their festivals, music, and food are not just cultural markers; they are the DNA of the city itself. To walk through Koliwada is to step into a Mumbai that still breathes with rhythm, unity, and resilience. And yet, this heartbeat is being muffled by rising waters, dwindling fish stocks, and relentless real estate greed.
Urban “development” has typically been at the expense of erasure. Glass towers displace villages, highways slice through histories, and what’s left is a sanitised, soulless city. Koliwada is in danger of being the next victim. If that is allowed to happen, Mumbai won’t only lose a neighbourhood — it will lose its memory.
The decision in front of us is easy. Do we let Koliwada sink in neglect and development? Or do we respect it as Mumbai’s real heart — preserving its culture, while building sustainable prospects for its community?
In Mumbai, it is simple to confuse glass towers and highways with progress. The city markets itself as a tale of speed, steel, and unyielding ambition. Yet hidden along the Arabian Sea exists a quieter reality — one that beats in Worli Koliwada’s narrow streets.
Koliwada is not just a fishing village. It is the origin of Mumbai. Even before the initial colonial forts or sea-view apartments, the Koli people settled on these shores. Their boats etched out livings from the sea, their music resonated defiance, and their rituals sewed together a culture that survives to this day. To walk in Koliwada today is to walk into a living museum — one
painted with color-homes, the aroma of fried bombil, women’s laughter in nauvari sarees, and murals murmuring the sea’s memory.
Real estate builders envision prime coastal property. Climate change delivers sea surges and unpredictable monsoons. Overfishing and pollution are draining the waters that were once fed by generations of life. The outcome? A culture that must stand by and let its roots wash away, wave by wave.
But to write off Koliwada as a “slum” or an “obstacle to development” is not merely unfair — it is suicidal. Mumbai without the Kolis is as useful as a ship without an anchor. Theirs is not a decorative culture. It is a foundational one. It reminds us where this city started, and what it once prized: community, tenacity, and accommodation of the sea.
Fortunately, recent efforts — murals, heritage lighting, plans for community cafés and cultural walks — gesture toward a different kind of progress. Rather than destroying Koliwada, why not honor it? Rather than oblivion, why not affirmation? Cities everywhere retain their historic neighbourhoods as jewels — from Barcelona’s Gothic Quarter to Istanbul’s fishing areas. Why should Mumbai, home to its proud Koli heritage, be content with less?
Conservation, naturally, does not involve locking up Koliwada in a time capsule. Conservation involves developing sustainable livelihood, tourism, and infrastructure support that respect its people. Fish fry festivals, walking tours, and oral history sessions could welcome the world to live Koli life without commercializing it. Conservation of coastal ecosystems could preserve tradition along with the future.
The reality is harsh: if Worli Koliwada goes, Mumbai will not only lose a community — it will lose its soul. The glass skyscrapers can still go up, but the city will be emptier, hollower, severed from its own pulse.
The answer must be clear. Koliwada is not something to be erased, a stain that must be removed. It is a heritage to be preserved. Preserving it is not charity — it is a sense of duty. Because as long as the waves caress the Worli shore, the history of Mumbai must still be narrated in the words of the Kolis, its original and only true inhabitants.
The preservation of Koliwada, however, requires more than sporadic projects — it demands a shift in perception and policy. Too often, coastal communities like Koliwada are viewed as impediments to urban development rather than as integral parts of the city’s identity. This mindset must change. Heritage should not be confined to monuments or museums. It lives in people’s stories, food, rituals, and relationship with the environment. Government policies must prioritize coastal protection and ensure that infrastructure projects incorporate the needs of fishing communities. Disaster management plans need to be tailored to flood-prone areas, and health services must be accessible to mitigate the risks of water-borne diseases. Legal frameworks that recognize and protect traditional fishing rights are essential to ensure that livelihood practices are not pushed to the margins.
Koliwada’s lessons are timely. Amid a time of speeding up climate change and mass urban migration, coastal communities are usually the first to suffer. Theirs are the secrets of the sea, the knowledge of weather, and the practices of sustainable living that hold the key to resilience strategies for the larger world. It is a moral imperative, as well as a practical one, for cities struggling with environmental and social crises, to safeguard such communities.
In the end, the destiny of Koliwada depends on how we, as society, prefer to campaign, defend, and redefine heritage. It requires empathy, vision, and concerted effort. In embracing Koliwada’s tale, we reassert that heritage is not a fixed entity — it is a movement that crafts identity, belonging, and development.
As Mumbai races toward its next level of development, the question is: Will it retain the heartbeat that originally brought it to life, or will it allow it to go silent?
The answer will not only decide the destiny of Koliwada but the very essence of Mumbai itself.
Aishwarya Rajput and Sinjini Ghose are writers passionate about documenting stories of heritage, culture, and communities that shape India’s urban landscapes. With a keen eye for detail and empathy for lived realities, they bring forward voices that are often overlooked in the glare of modern development.
