By Dipak Kurmi
In the labyrinthine lanes of Shillong’s bustling city centre, a familiar tension brews yet again. The hawkers—ubiquitous, resilient, and often invisible in policy discourses—are once more at the heart of a contentious urban debate. With the Meghalaya Government pushing forward with its plan to relocate street vendors to designated vending zones, a complex narrative of legality, livelihood, public order, and urban design unfolds in full view of a public that is both a participant and spectator in this urban transformation.
Meghalaya’s Deputy Chief Minister in charge of Urban Affairs, Sniawbhalang Dhar, reiterated the government’s position: the ongoing operation is not an eviction drive but an “enforcement action.” The goal, according to him, is to decongest the city and ensure pedestrian safety—a concern increasingly echoed by residents who navigate the narrow, overcrowded streets of Shillong, particularly in the Khyndailad (Police Bazar) area. The relocation of hawkers is being executed under the watchful eyes of the High Court of Meghalaya, whose directives the government is keen to implement with precision.
“We want our streets to be clean, our city to be disciplined,” Dhar declared, positioning the initiative as part of a broader urban renewal mission. The designated relocation sites—the top floor of the MUDA Parking Lot and the Municipal Parking Lot opposite the State Bank of India’s main branch—are envisioned as new, regulated zones where hawkers can continue to operate within a more organised framework. A phased approach is being adopted to execute this move, with over 700 of the 1,400 identified hawkers already in possession of Certificates of Vending (CoV). The remaining, those lacking CoVs often due to incomplete paperwork, are to be considered at a later stage.
Yet, the reality on the ground is far from serene. While the government insists the relocation is a product of several rounds of dialogue with hawkers’ associations, tensions flared on the streets on the same day as the announcement. During a joint enforcement drive conducted by the Shillong Municipal Board, district officials, and the police, several street vendors protested what they described as high-handedness. Allegations surfaced that goods—especially clothing items—were confiscated without due procedure. Vendors accused authorities of misusing power, further aggravating the perception that the relocation is less about order and more about coercion.
This move is not without precedent. Shillong, like most Indian cities, has long been grappling with the balancing act of integrating informal economies into formal urban plans. Hawkers form a critical part of the urban economy, especially for a population that relies on low-cost daily essentials. Street vending is often the only viable livelihood for many, particularly women, who operate with slim profit margins and often without institutional protection. During peak agricultural seasons—like the arrival of oranges or strawberries—seasonal hawkers with only a few baskets set up shop on pavements and street corners. Many of these vendors operate without any formal licensing, adding another layer of complexity to the issue.
Deputy Chief Minister Prestone Tynsong, defending the state’s stance, announced a relocation allowance of Rs 10,000—disbursed at Rs 2,000 per month over five months—for the registered hawkers who comply with the relocation directive. He emphasized that the government’s actions are in line with the provisions of the Meghalaya Street Vendors (Protection of Livelihood and Regulation of Street Vending) Act, 2014, which itself is grounded in the central legislation passed in 2014 to protect the rights of urban vendors.
Crucially, this law stipulates that evicted vendors must be relocated to alternative spaces that offer at least equal, if not better, commercial opportunity. This mandate poses a fundamental challenge to the government’s plan: can the top floors of parking lots, removed from the high-footfall streets of Khyndailad, truly match the income potential of the original vending sites?
Tynsong tried to pre-empt this criticism by assuring that a dedicated vending space across Shillong was part of the long-term vision. He referred to the role of the Provisional Town Vending Committee (PTVC), which has conducted meetings, drawn blueprints, and continues to evaluate and guide the implementation process. Yet, critics argue that these efforts fall short of addressing the commercial viability question, especially when relocation sites lack the pedestrian traffic that sustains hawker businesses.
The situation is further complicated by the ambiguity surrounding the use of the ground floor of the MUDA parking lot—earmarked earlier for hawkers but now in limbo. Deputy Chief Minister Dhar admitted that a decision on this matter is pending, raising doubts about the government’s clarity and commitment to ensuring a comprehensive relocation framework.
At the heart of the issue is a deeper ideological and spatial conflict. On one hand are urban planners, local MLAs like Adelbert Nongrum, and residents who advocate for unobstructed roads, clean footpaths, and safety—particularly for the elderly and disabled. On the other hand are hawker unions and social justice advocates who insist that the right to livelihood cannot be subjugated to aesthetic or infrastructural ambitions.
Shillong is, undeniably, a hawker’s paradise. The city’s narrow alleys and high-density population make it an ideal environment for street vending. For daily commuters, office-goers, and tourists, the convenience of picking up fresh vegetables, fruits, or inexpensive garments on the way home is unmatched. Hawkers offer affordability and accessibility, something formal retail cannot match due to overhead costs like rent, electricity, and staff salaries. And while their presence may obstruct pedestrian flow, it also reflects the state’s economic reality—of unemployment, poverty, and informal survival strategies.
However, the legality of this presence cannot be overlooked. The law caps the number of hawkers in a city to 2.5% of its population, calibrated to the carrying capacity of respective wards. In the case of Khyndailad, this legal threshold becomes a contentious issue. Critics of the government’s drive argue that the administration has not publicly released data to demonstrate whether the number of licensed hawkers in the area falls within this limit. Without transparency, the relocation initiative risks losing moral credibility even if it holds legal justification.
The government insists that its approach is humane, consultative, and law-abiding. Deputy CM Dhar has reiterated multiple times that the hawkers are not being “thrown out” but are being relocated for their own benefit and the city’s order. Yet, the optics of enforcement—particularly the forceful seizure of goods and police involvement—suggest otherwise. The line between enforcement and eviction is dangerously thin, and in many cases, indistinguishable.
There is no denying that Shillong needs a long-term urban vending policy. Piecemeal crackdowns and reactive responses have only deepened mistrust between vendors and officials. What is required is an integrated urban vending plan—one that designates specific vending zones, ensures commercial viability, implements inclusive licensing, and promotes co-existence rather than competition between formal and informal retail.
Moreover, the state must invest in proper infrastructure at the new vending zones: shaded areas, drinking water, sanitation facilities, and storage units that make them viable business locations, not just bureaucratic placeholders. Economic support schemes—such as access to microcredit and cooperative management—can ease the financial shock of relocation and build long-term resilience among hawkers.
But even as the state marches toward its July 22 relocation deadline, it must tread carefully. The hawkers’ union, empowered by national law, holds significant leverage. A prolonged standoff could tarnish the image of the government and deepen the urban governance crisis. What is at stake is not just the question of space, but the very ethos of urban inclusivity—who gets to occupy the city and under what terms.
Shillong’s streets may soon look neater, but whether they become fairer is a question that will echo in the courtrooms, in the parking lots turned vending zones, and in the homes of hawkers uncertain of what tomorrow holds.
(The writer can be reached at dipakkurmiglpltd@gmail.com)
