Celebrating the Backbone of Hyderabad: Stories of Unsung Heroes of Meat Markets

Labour Day, also known as International Workers’ Day or May Day, traces its origins to the labour union movement in the late 19th century, when workers in industrialised nations fought for better wages, shorter working hours, and safer working conditions. It was the Haymarket affair in Chicago in 1886, a peaceful rally turned violent after police intervened, that galvanised the call for an eight-hour workday and etched May 1 into history as a day of worker solidarity. In India, Labour Day was first celebrated in 1923 in Chennai, led by the Labour Kisan Party of Hindustan, marking the beginning of formal recognition of workers’ rights in a colonial economy rife with exploitation. Today, Labour Day in India stands not only for the industrial worker but also for millions of informal and invisible labourers — sanitation workers, domestic helpers, daily wage earners — whose dignity remains constantly under threat. It is a day for acknowledging the backbone of society: those whose work often goes unnoticed but without whom daily life would collapse. Across the country, rallies, speeches, and small acts of solidarity mark the day, reminding us that the fight for dignity, safety, and fair wages remains unfinished.

The Invisible Backbone of Our Cities

While Labour Day is often associated with factory workers or corporate unions, an entire universe of invisible labourers sustains everyday life, without recognition, applause, or security. Among them are domestic workers, street cleaners, and meat market sanitation workers, whose hands keep our homes, streets, and markets livable. "We work hard and feed our kids; it is our hard work and sacrifice no one can replace," said a woman who has been cleaning a Hyderabad meat market since she was fifteen. Her words capture a truth rarely acknowledged: that their physical labour is only part of the burden. There is also emotional labour—the quiet resilience required to deal with disrespect, risk, exhaustion, and invisibility every day. As another worker shared, "I feel happy my children are fed and go to school. That’s all," reducing years of sacrifice into a single line of fulfilment. 

Many of these cleaners began working as teenagers, some even as children, drawn into the profession through necessity or family tradition. "I worked here because of my father, he worked here too," said another cleaner, reflecting how cleaning has, over generations, become a cycle of survival—handed down like a fragile inheritance, with little chance for escape. Their labour is not just physical; it is generational, emotional, and deeply human, even when society refuses to see it.

Bearing Double the Weight: Women and the Hidden Costs of Labour

For women meat market cleaners, the struggles of labour are not just physical, but deeply gendered. While men and women work side-by-side, women often carry an extra burden—balancing heavy cleaning work with domestic duties, facing harassment from both colleagues and customers, and enduring the silent physical toll of their bodies. When asked about support, many women spoke about healthcare and dignity, but what stood out was their quiet disbelief when told that some countries offer menstrual leave to women workers. “You mean they let you take leave just for that? Here, even fever or bleeding can’t stop us,” said one cleaner, laughing with a mixture of surprise and sadness. 

In spaces like these, the idea of period leave—common in some corporate offices outside India—felt almost like fiction. The embodied experience of labour here is stark: women perform physically gruelling tasks even when battling menstrual cramps, infections, untreated illnesses, or injuries, without access to sanitation, rest, or acknowledgement. As one cleaner mentioned, "The dirt and smoke stay with us till we go back home," — a reminder that the labour lingers not just on their skin but inside their bodies, weighing them down invisibly. Compared to men, women are often blamed more harshly for mistakes, subjected to more social control, and given fewer chances for rest or escape. Their experience of work is thus not just harder—it is heavier, seeped into their very bodies.

Pride in Labour, and the Silent Bonds of Community

Despite the harsh conditions, the meat market cleaners spoke often, and almost stubbornly, about pride. Pride in surviving, pride in feeding their children, pride in keeping the city moving even when no one notices. "We feel proud because of our effort, the world stays clean," said one worker, distilling a lifetime of invisible service into a single, dignified sentence. In the absence of public appreciation, it is often within their small communities, among co-workers and family, that they find strength. Shared hardships create quiet bonds: a meal split during a rushed lunch break, a hand extended when someone falls sick, small acts of solidarity stitched together in spaces that offer little else. 

Yet when asked what kind of support they wished for from society at large, the answers were painfully simple: access to healthcare, sanitation tools, insurance, better wages, and above all, respect. "I want the government to provide health insurance and sanitation tools to improve our condition," said a young woman who had only recently started working after marriage. Recognition, for them, does not mean grand awards or newspaper headlines; it means being seen as workers, as citizens, as human beings who deserve dignity. As one cleaner put it simply: "Society and the world only remember us when things are wrong and abuse us, never when things are good." What they ask for is not charity, but fairness, a recognition that their labour holds the city together, even if it is rendered invisible by the eyes that benefit most from it.

A Labour of Tired Bodies and Unbreakable Spirits

As the sun sets over Hyderabad’s bustling markets, the workers return home carrying not just physical exhaustion but emotions that linger quietly beneath their worn exteriors. "A lot of tiredness and fatigue. Ashamed? Of what — this is our dignity," said one cleaner, firmly rejecting the idea that their work was anything less than honourable. Others spoke of irritation, regret, even sickness creeping in after long shifts spent amidst smoke, dirt, and public indifference. "Very tired and irritated with my sons," another admitted with a weary laugh, revealing how the burdens of labour seep into the rhythms of home life too. 

For many women, the load is heavier still, layered with unrealised dreams, bodily strain, and the endless demands of caregiving after hours of physical toil. Yet despite the fatigue, what shines through is an unbreakable spirit: a pride in survival, in feeding families, in simply enduring. 

This Labour Day, while banners are raised and slogans are shouted, it is these invisible workers we must centre, those whose bodies carry the silent architecture of our everyday lives. True dignity for them will not come from empty praise, but from real structural change: fair wages, healthcare, and a recognition that their labour is not just a job, it is a life held up through resilience, sacrifice, and invisible strength.