Between Acceptance and Alienation: The Complex Reality of Northeast Indians in Mumbai
Mumbai has long marketed itself as India’s most cosmopolitan city—a place where ambition overrides origin, where the daily grind of the local train and the glow of Marine Drive somehow dissolve regional differences. For thousands of people from the Northeast who have made the city their home, this promise holds partial truth. Many describe greater freedom and economic opportunity here than in Delhi or other metros. Yet the same city continues to confront them with racial stereotyping, casual humiliation, and the exhausting need to prove they belong. Their lived reality sits uncomfortably between acceptance and alienation.
People from Assam, Manipur, Nagaland, Mizoram, Meghalaya, Arunachal Pradesh, Tripura and Sikkim have been migrating to Mumbai for decades. The numbers remain smaller than in Delhi or Bengaluru, but the community is visible and concentrated. Neighbourhoods such as Kalina in Santacruz, Khar Danda, Vakola, Juhu and parts of Navi Mumbai host significant clusters of Northeast families and young workers. Shared rooms, often no larger than 60–70 square feet and occupied by four to six people, are common among students and those in the lower rungs of the service economy. These pockets function as informal support networks—places where people can speak their languages, cook familiar food and find temporary relief from the city’s gaze.
Work is the primary reason most come. Northeast migrants are disproportionately present in hospitality, hotels, restaurants, salons, spas, retail and customer-facing roles. Employers frequently praise their English fluency, presentation and reliability. The same physical features that mark them as “different” on the street become assets in front-line service jobs. Women, in particular, have found employment in beauty and wellness sectors. Over time some have moved beyond wage work to run Northeast grocery and food shops that import produce and spices from home. These shops double as community hubs, offering both livelihood and a tangible link to the region.
Yet employment has not translated into full social acceptance. The most persistent form of discrimination is verbal. Slurs such as “chinki,” “Chinese,” “Nepali,” “momo” and “chowmein” remain everyday currency. During the early months of the COVID-19 pandemic the insults grew sharper; people were called “corona,” accused of eating bats, or asked to stand at the end of grocery queues. Even in quieter periods, strangers on trains or streets mimic Chinese accents or demand proof of Indian identity. Women face an additional layer of gendered stereotyping. Assumptions that Northeast women work in massage parlours or are sexually available surface with disturbing regularity, sometimes escalating into harassment or following on the street.
Physical appearance remains the most cited trigger. Features that do not conform to dominant North Indian or “mainland” norms lead to instant othering. A study examining hate crimes against Northeast people across six metropolitan cities found Mumbai recording the highest share of incidents and the highest incidence of offensive language. Respondents overwhelmingly identified looks as the primary reason for prejudice. Recent incidents continue the pattern: a group of Manipuri youth assaulted and racially abused in Khar Danda in 2025; a man forced to show his Aadhaar card to children who mocked him as Chinese. Such events are not daily occurrences for every individual, but their recurrence keeps a background sense of vulnerability alive.
Housing presents its own quiet barriers. Landlords sometimes refuse to rent once they see a prospective tenant, or later invent reasons once food smells or visitors become noticeable. Stereotypes about “partying too much” or “eating stinky meat” circulate. During the 2020 lockdown many Northeast workers in the unorganised sector lost income overnight and faced pressure over rent while being stranded far from home. Some landlords showed flexibility; others did not. The experience reinforced how precarious belonging can feel when economic security disappears.
Despite these difficulties, many long-term residents insist Mumbai is better than the alternatives. Compared with Delhi’s more aggressive reputation for hostility, Mumbai’s work culture and sheer scale of migration create pockets of relative indifference. Several people interviewed over the years have said they have never faced open racial abuse here, or that the city “gives you the good and the bad, but the good is so nice you cannot help feeling overwhelmed.” Freedom of movement, the chance to pursue careers unavailable at home, and the presence of other migrants create a sense of possibility. Community organisations, churches, student groups and informal networks provide practical help with housing, jobs and emotional support. Music nights, Northeast food gatherings and small cultural events further strengthen internal bonds.
The deeper issue is structural. Northeast Indians occupy a peculiar position in India’s metropolitan imagination: visible enough to be stereotyped, useful enough to be employed in customer-facing roles, yet still coded as perpetual outsiders. Food habits, language and assumed occupations become tools of both mild mockery and sharper exclusion. The problem is not unique to Mumbai; it reflects a wider national failure to treat citizens from the Northeast as fully Indian without qualification. High-profile violence elsewhere, including killings and public assaults in other cities, keeps the community alert even when local conditions feel relatively calm.
Younger migrants arrive with higher expectations and greater digital awareness. They document incidents, share them online and push back more openly than earlier generations. Some have begun running small businesses or entering creative fields, refusing to remain confined to service roles. Others simply adapt—learning enough Marathi to shut down teasing, choosing neighbourhoods with higher community density, or building tight social circles that buffer daily friction. Resilience is real, but it should not be romanticised. The energy spent navigating prejudice is energy not spent on ordinary life.
Mumbai’s self-image as a city of opportunity remains partially true for Northeast residents. Jobs exist, friendships form, and many build stable lives here. Yet the repeated need to assert “I am Indian” reveals how incomplete that opportunity remains. True belonging would mean walking through a railway station or apartment complex without the flicker of suspicion or the casual slur. Until that becomes ordinary rather than exceptional, the experience of Northeast people in Mumbai will continue to sit in the uneasy space between welcome and watchfulness—a space the city has not yet fully resolved.
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