Life Aboard India’s Most Treacherous Harbour

Before dawn in Chennai, India, 60-year-old Pavadairayan begins his shift at Kasimedu Fishing Harbour. Known locally as a “basket man,” he transports heavy loads of fish from returning boats to the auction house, navigating slippery, scale-strewn pathways in pitch darkness. Working from 2 a.m. to 7 a.m., he makes dozens of round trips covering nearly a third of a mile each way for the 4 a.m. auction.

Pavadairayan is one of hundreds of migrant laborers enduring these harsh conditions. Each basket weighs approximately 35 pounds, and workers face strict oversight; supervisors may deduct wages or impose fines of several thousand rupees if any fish appear to go missing. Despite earning only about $5 a day, Pavadairayan values the job because it allows him to spend his afternoons sleeping outdoors under the open sky. “Sleeping with a full belly under open skies, a salt sea breeze fanning your face: that’s what I call heaven,” he said.

The harbor is a crowded hub for roughly 30,000 people, including fishermen, wholesalers, ice suppliers, and auctioneers. Originally designed to accommodate fewer than 600 vessels, it now serves an estimated 1,000 or more boats, creating a chaotic and competitive environment.

Among the harbor’s regulars is 65-year-old Nandu Kumar, who now runs a fish shop on shore but once relied on smuggling to survive. In the early 1980s, during a period of steep customs duties and import limits in India, Kumar used his boat to smuggle imported alcohol and cigarettes—a profitable but risky endeavor that lasted until economic reforms in 1991.

Kumar’s transition back to fishing was marked by personal tragedy. In December 2010, his daughter’s husband drowned after falling off a boat while intoxicated. Months later, his daughter took her own life. To care for her two young children, Kumar abandoned the weeks-long voyages at sea, which offered no financial guarantee, and started a land-based business supported by his sons.

Bhagat Singh, a researcher and member of the Coastal People Rights Movement, describes the economic reality of the harbor as “feast or famine.” He notes that the average fisherman earns around $200 a month, contingent on successful catches. There are no safety nets, and limited access to government support leaves families vulnerable to poverty from a single bad season or illness.

This precariousness drives many younger workers toward more stable employment, yet Singh observes that the allure of the sea often pulls them back. “Many of my friends are not happy in corporate jobs… Eventually, they do find their way back fishing again, and many make this career change mid-life,” he explained.

For 25-year-old Nizamuddin, one of the few young men still working at the harbor, fishing remains a necessary livelihood. Wearing a wetsuit while repairing nets and hauling catch, he supports his family and has funded his brothers’ education. “It’s a hard life but I wasn’t very good at studying,” he said. “This is the only work I know and it has helped my family survive.”

Kumar echoes this enduring connection, comparing the ocean to a mother’s lap—something you may leave but always return to for comfort. Even now, watching boats return at sunrise, he admits to missing the unpredictability and excitement of life at sea.