08 February,2026 09:09 AM IST | Mumbai | Arpika Bhosale
The mental health of labourers came to the fore during the pandemic when many attempted to walk back across states. PIC/GETTY IMAGES
Why is it when we read about a violent incident, and there's a well-to-do person at the centre of it, we like to get to the bottom of it, always asking the same question: What factors in their life could have pushed them over the edge?
And yet, when the aggressor is from the labour class, the answer is assumed: Poverty.
The narrative around the railway rage incident in Malad on January 24 has been along the same lines. Much has been reported about the tragic death of college lecturer Alok Kumar Singh, after metal worker Omkar Shinde stabbed him on the local train with a pair of tweezers. Caught 12 hours later, media reports quote Shinde saying he didn't know Singh was dead. That he had only wanted to teach the man a lesson for "humiliating" him in front of some women.
The metal industry constitutes one of the biggest unorganised labour sectors in the country. REPRESENTATIONAL PIC/ISTOCK
The local train is considered Mumbai's great equaliser and, yet, it is also a physical setting for the great economic divide - between a college lecturer and a worker in a silver polishing factory, the circumstances differ vastly.
Even with all that has been reported about the case, all we know about the accused is that he is "short-tempered", as described by the police and his own father. Just what made Shinde such an angry young man, we might never know. Especially if we never ask.
"If someone is violent and they happen to be from the labour class, [the assumption is] they cannot control their temper because they are poor. That they definitely must be depressed and angry," says Shakti Dwidevi, national secretary of the New Trade Union Initiative.
Any attempt to dig deeper could bring up too many uncomfortable truths about systemic injustice, so we're satisfied with the trope of the angry, poor man.
Alok Kumar Singh, the deceased. PIC/By Special Arrangement
"The blame is laid at the feet of the labourer," says Dwivedi, "The system that uses them, works them to the bone, exploits them is not held accountable - because we like our labourers to be neatly packaged and slotted into a category that we are comfortable with."
Dwidevi, who has worked with kachra vachak (waste collectors) in Mumbai, does not say this lightly, "Physical labour is draining. Whether toiling in a farm, on the streets or in a metal factory, it breaks your body down steadily," he says.
All this, along with the humiliation of being dehumanised by the State and the public, with no social security or dignity of labour. "In countries like Norway and Sweden, there is an integrity in labour. People respect those who work in the labour sector," adds Dwivedi, "During the COVID pandemic, when labourers walked home in droves from Mumbai to their home states, you could also see how the instability of income brings on mental issues."
The bench on platform 2 of Malad railway station, where a bleeding Alok Kumar Singh sat, waiting for an ambulance on Saturday evening. FILE PIC/SATEJ SHINDE
Dwidevi also believes that no matter how dire the situation, it never justifies taking the law into one's hands, "The tragedy the Singh family suffered is unimaginable. But we also have to look at the system of exploitation here. How can a small altercation tip someone so far over the edge that they stab a person?" he asks. "Also, the fact that the man [Shinde] just felt angry on being spoken to rudely in front of women, and the fact that he didn't actually intend to hurt the man, is extremely telling. The injustice and frustration that many workers face while engaging in physical labour has a direct effect on how they deal in such an episode, when it feels like the world is just piling on to their problems," he adds.
We rarely talk about the correlation between mental health and manual labour, which can be backbreaking and soul-crushing. According to the National Crimes Record Bureau's 2018 report, 22.4 per cent suicides in the country were among daily wage earners, with the maximum number of cases being reported from Maharashtra, Tamil Nadu, West Bengal, Madhya Pradesh, and Karnataka.
In fact, the first time the mental health of workers even came up in public discourse was during the mass reverse migration of workers during the pandemic in 2020.
But it would still be wrong to associate crumbling mental health with violence. Contrary to public perception, a labourer is often the last person to be associated with violence, says Manisha Shashtri, a policy researcher and trained social worker. "There is this misconception that people with mental health conditions are violent. People with mental health conditions are actually more susceptible to violence being committed against them. This stereotype is incorrect and dangerous," she says.
Mental health, feels Shashtri, has become the scapegoat in a time when we don't want to hold society accountable for systemic violence. "There is a certain kind of systematic violence happening all around us, and it's getting normalised. So we assume that a labourer can't help but be violent, instead of questioning why," she adds.
Ritu Dewan, developmental economist and president of the Indian Society of Labour Economics, is heartbroken for both Singh and Shinde. She believes that most citizens have become victims of rising inequality.
"We have all become victims of progress without people at the centre," she says, "The effect on the labour class - who are often invisible anyway - is brutally ignored. The train tragedy is such a telling incident of what is happening to people in Mumbai."
The recent gig workers' strike on New Year's Eve in 2025 is a rare instance of the working class' plight entering mainstream discourse. Unlike the invisible workers who built this city, clean our offices, and grow our food, "we see the delivery partner come to our door" and that is why so many people participated in that strike, Dewan adds.
Even if the Malad train murder was just that - an episode of railway rage on a train network that's bursting at the seams - it points to another pressure point for the working class. "Mumbai's infrastructure is breaking down for the common man," says Vinod Shetty, a human rights and labour law advocate and founder of ACORN Foundation. "We don't have the vision nor the political will to include the ordinary Mumbaikars travel needs in our planning. We have not been able to improve public transport, despite having the established infrastructure for train and bus services in the city which is used by lakhs of commuters on a daily basis."
Many compare, quite unfairly, the stress of labour-intensive work to the exhaustion of a corporate job. And yet, labour workers have none of the protections that corporate workers do. "While labour rights in the West too need to get better, India has some of the worst working conditions you will ever see, from financial insecurity, to no health care and increased risk of injury, to no Provident Fund or any other benefits," says Dwivedi. "And paid leave? That seems like a cruel joke for the labour class," he adds sardonically.
Anu Kant Mital worked as a psychiatrist at the Kalwa municipal hospital for 25 years before starting his own clinic in Churchgate. "When I started practice, most of my patients were rural poor of Thane. They were farmers who worked as labour hands during the off-season. The lack of stable income, the unpredictability of harvest would give them extreme anxiety and depression, along with the extreme wear and tear of the body that comes from prolonged physical labour," he recalls. Many were unable to even afford the R10 intake form. Their only request? Medication to help them sleep. "The anxiety wouldn't let them sleep even if they were bone-tired," he adds.
This city grows on the backs of its workers and, yet, they are increasingly being left behind. How can we help, you may ask. "Community building," says Mital, will be the key. "Look around for the unseen workers in your and engage with them so they don't feel as isolated," he adds.
It's advice that makes us think: when was the last time any of us stopped to talk to a construction worker on our way home?
Navin Biswas (name changed) is a driver for a property developer in the western suburbs. Before he learnt to drive in 2018, though, he did odd jobs: cooking, cleaning, construction labour. "I knew that either the physical labour would kill me, or I'd kill myself," says the 35-year-old.
Now, he earns a steady income of Rs 25,000, but the title of "driver" does not cover all his tasks. "I live in my employer's home, so as soon as I get up, I am expected to help around the house. Then I wash the car and get ready for the day. My shift has no timings; it can go on as long as 10 to 12 hours," he says. On days work ends early, he heads out on his cycle to make food deliveries till 1 am, just to eke out an extra Rs 150.
The strain is taking a toll on him. "Doctors said something is wrong with my brain; my vision often blurs, and my fingers don't form a fist. I am losing control over my body," he says. The only thing that helps to dull the sense of injustice is smoking up. "I have a smoke before going to work, otherwise I can't deal with the injustice of it all," he adds. "I might go back home to Lucknow eventually, but as long as my hands and legs work, I will work."
In 2023, a US-based construction company initiated a mental health survey among 151 workers at various sites. As per the report, Exploratory Study on Construction Workers' Mental Health, about 49 per cent of the respondents said they experience stress and depression, while 35 per cent feared that work stress led them to be physically or mentally ill.
When Babloo Paswan, 35, moved to Mumbai 10 years ago, he found work as a live-in domestic worker for a family in Navi Mumbai. Then, the pandemic hit. "I went back home to Darbhanga, Bihar, and my employers hired someone else," he says.
Babloo Paswan
When he returned, he ended up selling vegetables near their home. Standing under the harsh sun, barely breaking even, Paswan's health hit rock bottom. "I was desperate, ill, and extremely stressed. I had to support my wife and two kids in the village," he adds.
His ex-employers heard about his situation, nursed him back to health and re-hired him. "I am still traumatised from that one year, and my kidneys keep having some issues because of the toll it took," he adds.
