In the BMC elections, the ballot paper reads less like a list of politicians and more like a census of the city’s labourA ballot paper that looks like a city directory From paanwalas and bartanwalas to retired BMC employees and on-demand domestic workers, almost everyone seems to have found a way into the municipal electoral fray this year.Among the candidates are a transgender beggar whose profession as bhiksha has declared assets of Rs 50,000; a mathadi worker (head loader) with assets of Rs 26 lakh; a bus driver, a postman, and a vada pav seller who is also a crorepati. There are beauty parlour workers and chai stall vendors, half a dozen private drivers, a few autorickshaw drivers, tailors, a milkman, an ASHA worker, tiffin service providers, several teacher and a daily wage worker— all listed, neatly and uniformly, on affidavit forms.In this election, the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation has become a kind of open register of the city’s working life.The great cacophony called “business”The single largest category, however, is simply “business”.Around 650 candidates describe themselves as running a business — anything from a cable and internet café to a travel firm, a scrap-dealing unit, a masala shop, or a small logistics operation. Another 400 candidates are housewives. A little more than 100 are advocates.The result is a ballot paper that reads less like a political contest and more like a cross-section of Mumbai’s informal and semi-formal economy — a city where work is fragmented, unstable, and often self-defined.Occupational labels here are not merely descriptions; they are claims to legitimacy, survival and aspiration.The Driver from Kandivli who wants his area seenSanjay Sakpal is one of them.He has declared his profession as “driver” and is contesting as an independent from Ward 26 — the Lakshminagar–Bhimnagar–Gautamnagar belt near Kandivli. A resident of the area and a grassroots activist for over 26 years, Sakpal says the neighbourhood has been allowed to slip into a kind of administrative invisibility.“The condition here is terrible. It doesn’t feel like this is even part of Mumbai,” he said, pointing to chronic water shortages, the absence of schools and what he describes as rising crime.For Sakpal, the election is not a ladder upward, but a way to force attention sideways — towards areas that exist physically within the city but politically outside its priorities.“Bhiksha” as a Political IdentityGhulam Ali Aksari, who identifies as of the other gender and represents the Bahujan Samaj Party from Jogeshwari East, has declared his profession as bhiksha — begging.“The last time my application was rejected,” he said. “But I always wanted to stand for elections and improve the city’s living conditions for the poor.”Standing this time, he says he is popular in the area and confident of winning.His presence on the ballot challenges conventional ideas about who gets to represent the city — not only socially but administratively — and exposes how formal politics often excludes the most informal lives.Politics as accumulation, not ambitionIn Ward 27, Katarmal Lakhan — a driver by profession — is contesting on a BSP ticket. His entry into politics, he says, is less ambition than accumulation: years of neglect, frustration and personal loss.Twenty-six years ago, Lakhan’s house was demolished after the land was declared forest land, triggering a long series of court cases and legal battles that shaped his political journey.“There has been no development of any kind in our area,” he said. “I have been trying continuously to improve conditions here.”If elected, his priorities are basic and specific: toilets for women, and street lighting.“There are no lights, so the area remains dark. That is how bad elements and drug peddling enter,” he said.Elections are expensive, he acknowledges, but his campaign is sustained by small contributions from local karyakartas and neighbours.When occupations become metaphorsElsewhere, the range becomes even more literal.There is a cook who describes herself as a roti-maker.Balkrishna Kamble from Ward 200 runs a tea stall, has declared assets of Rs 1.6 lakh, and hopes to win — perhaps inspired by a national leader who once sold tea himself.One domestic worker has declared zero assets and a monthly income of Rs 5,000. A poll observer wondered aloud how she was funding her campaign, or whether she was prepared to lose her deposit if the votes fell short.There is no minimum education qualification required to enter the race.Sangeeta Shitole from Ward 199 lists her occupation as tailoring, her education as SSC, and her income and assets at around Rs 25 lakh.These are not career politicians. They are political participants.What affidavits reveal about who is contesting When the professions listed in the election affidavits are grouped together, a clear socio-economic profile of the candidate pool begins to emerge. The largest share — roughly 35 per cent — comes from the broad category of business, trade and entrepreneurship. This includes candidates who describe themselves as traders, proprietors, contractors, manufacturers, shop owners, distributors, consultants, rental business operators, and small industrialists. It is a deliberately expansive label that captures everything from informal retail and small contracting to organised manufacturing and professional consulting, reflecting how many livelihoods in the city straddle the line between enterprise and survival.The second-largest group, accounting for about a quarter of all candidates, consists of housewives or homemakers. Their occupations are variously recorded as housewife, गृहिणी, housework, homemaker or domestic work. While this category does not map onto income-generating employment in a formal sense, its size is striking — suggesting a significant political entry of women whose primary labour remains unpaid, home-based and largely invisible in economic statistics, but who are increasingly visible in civic participation.Around 20 percent of the candidates describe themselves as being in service or employment. This includes those who list their occupation as service, job, private job, government job, employee, nokari, semi-government service or PSU employment. This group represents the formal and semi-formal working middle — salaried workers whose relationship with the state and the market is mediated through institutions, payrolls and bureaucracies rather than through self-run enterprise.A smaller segment, roughly five per cent, consists of the self-employed who are not running businesses in the conventional sense. These are freelancers, solo consultants, independent professionals, artists, fitness trainers and others whose work is individual, skill-based and typically project-driven rather than organisational. Their presence reflects the growing, if still marginal, visibility of gig and independent work in the city’s economic structure.Another seven per cent come from recognised professional fields such as law, medicine and architecture — including advocates, lawyers, doctors, dentists, chartered accountants, architects and medical practitioners. This group brings credentialed expertise into the electoral space and represents the more formally institutionalised professions that have traditionally had a stronger presence in politics and civic life.Finally, about six per cent of candidates are from the education sector — teachers, lecturers, professors, tuition teachers, educators and coaches. Though numerically smaller, this group carries symbolic weight, representing knowledge, instruction and the social infrastructure of learning within the city.A city that rarely gets to see itselfTaken together, the affidavits read less like political CVs and more like a social map — stitched from small trades, unstable incomes, informal labour and personal histories that rarely enter official narratives.They record not just what people do, but how they survive.They show a city run not only by planners and politicians, but by cooks, drivers, tailors, vendors, and domestic workers who make urban life function but are rarely invited into its governance.More than an electionThe BMC election, in that sense, is not just about who governs the city.It is a rare moment when the city — in all its economic unevenness and social texture — puts itself up for representation.The ballot paper becomes a mirror.And what it reflects is not ideology or party structure, but Mumbai itself: layered, precarious, industrious, unequal, restless, and still hopeful enough to believe that participation might lead to change.
