How urban migration strips workers of their social and cultural identities

The migration of thousands of labourers from Bihar to industrial hubs in Hyderabad highlights the profound structural transformations that have taken place in South Asia. 

Neither the life of an individual nor the history of a society can be understood without understanding both, American sociologist and professor C Wright Mills famously stated. From an anthropological perspective, the movement of these labourers is not merely an economic response but also a cultural displacement, shaped by the larger forces of capitalism and the agrarian crisis.

As factories in Hyderabad’s industrial centres, such as Katedan and Balanagar, produce goods ranging from biscuits to electric products, many of the workers who power these industries are rural migrants. The collapse of agrarian livelihoods in Bihar, driven by long-term underdevelopment, poverty and unemployment, has fuelled this exodus. Bihar’s rural population, facing dispossession of their means of production, has been pushed into a reserve army of labour, reinforcing the uneven development of capitalism.

These migrants leave behind not only their homes but also their languages and cultural practices. In Hyderabad, a Telugu-speaking region, migrants from Bihar, who speak vernaculars such as Bhojpuri, Magahi, Maithili and Vajjika, must navigate a foreign linguistic and cultural landscape. 

Anthropologically, this migration represents both a dislocation and a process of cultural adaptation, as individuals and communities attempt to integrate into a new socio-economic environment. The agrarian crisis has thus restructured not only their economic existence but also their cultural identities, illustrating how economic forces intersect with the lived realities of marginalised populations.

Upon arrival, the unfamiliar language and culture create barriers to social interaction. Migrants are confined to a limited social world, interacting mainly with their ethnic peers. However, language, culture, the nature of their industrial work and geographical distance all contribute to this isolation.

Even if they attempt to integrate into Telugu society despite these cultural and linguistic limitations, their long working hours and the demands of an industrial routine hinder social interaction, making their lives difficult. Most of their time is spent on industrial and economic activities, leaving their social life governed by their economic circumstances. They live without physical contact with their villagers, family members, children and other acquaintances.

Ultimately, their limited sociability leads to a form of everyday tyranny. Paradoxically, they are detached from their native social ties and unable to build new social capital in their new environment.

Disconnected sociability

Although there is limited systematic research on sociability, some sociologists have explored the concept. German sociologist Georg Simmel viewed sociability as a democratic form of interaction, where people engage as equals, with no purpose beyond the success of the moment, seeing it as an artful play of social interaction.

French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of social capital highlights non-material capital in social interactions. Scholars like James Coleman and Robert Putnam linked social action to economic processes and social organisation, emphasising the importance of networks, norms and trust.

Sociability fosters solidarity and has socio-economic and psychological benefits crucial for societal development. However, among industrial labourers, there remains a disconnection in sociability, which is vital for achieving social sustainability — a key aim of the United Nations-mandated Sustainable Development Goals.

Labourers in industrial hubs experience a profound deficit in social capital, struggling to form new social ties in urban environments. Migrant Rahul (23) illustrated this, noting the barriers to social interaction: “We don’t have time to connect with others or understand their language. Our 12-hour workdays, followed by domestic chores, leave no room for socialising.”

The monotonous, gruelling nature of their jobs restricts access to the city’s social networks, leading to feelings of isolation, anxiety and mental health issues such as depression and insomnia. This alienation often results in alcohol use as a coping mechanism. Vishal (20) observed, “I’m alone here. While I avoid alcohol, many of my peers spend much of their income on it to combat loneliness.”

For long-term migrant labourers, disconnection from their native social networks becomes even more pronounced. The physical absence from village ceremonies and events leads to a gradual erosion of their original social capital. Ajay (30) recounted the experience of a colleague who missed his father’s funeral due to distance and cost, arriving five days late. his example illustrates how spatial and economic barriers further isolate migrants from their communities, resulting in a diminished sense of belonging and cultural participation. 

The economic activity of migrant labourers, while providing financial support to their families, comes at a significant social cost. Vikas (35) highlighted this trade-off, “I’m neither earning much nor living with my community. I send money, but my life feels empty.” This speaks to the broader issue of labour alienation, where workers are disconnected from the social and cultural fabric of both their urban surroundings and their rural origins.

Labourers often experience industrial quarters as spaces of social alienation, resembling the isolation found in prisons. Arman (20) noted, “I’m just surviving here, with no interest in improving my life.”

This disintegration of social ties and sociability leads to a pervasive sense of pessimism and hopelessness, reflecting how the structural conditions of labour migration foster a form of social death. Ultimately, this erosion of social cohesion among labourers threatens not just individual well-being but the broader social fabric, contributing to societal instability and disintegration.

Being social

The labourers’ vision of an ideal life was surprisingly appealing, emphasising simplicity and community over modern conveniences like multi-storey buildings, hotels and malls. They yearned for a more inclusive and supportive community, reflecting a desire for greater collectivity in urban living. They did not see any value in multi-storey buildings, hotels, cinemas, or large malls, which they considered futile. This perspective drew attention to the disappearing sense of collectivity. They longed for a life centred around the most essential aspect — sociability.

Anil (36) shared his thoughts: “I want to live in my village, with some cattle and land to farm. I miss fishing in the ponds, dancing at ceremonies and being with my people. In the village, collectivity is our strength, helping us endure even in hard times. Here, I’m in pain and there’s no one to share it with.” The labourers long for a life focused on the essentials, especially sociability.

Capitalism has stripped sociability from social life, leaving individuals isolated even in crowded spaces. This is not just the plight of migrant labourers but a broader human condition. Under capitalism, we become passive spectators, driven by the dull compulsion to work, alienated from community and self, while applauding the very system that deepens our loneliness and disempowerment.

Keyoor Pathak is assistant professor, Department of Sociology, University of Allahabad and Dhiraj Kumar is assistant professor, MMV, Banaras Hindu University

Views expressed are the author’s own and don’t necessarily reflect those of Down To Earth