Where maachh guarantees a plate of bhaat: East Mdn fishermen battle tides of change

Digha/Tajpur: Subhankar Majhi doesn't know of the intense political battle centred around fish. The East Midnapore fisherman is more concerned about his livelihood, because even as his day still begins with brine and salty air, it's now ending with empty nets.For 26 years, Majhi's world has been measured in tides and catch.The rhetoric of "Maachhe-Bhaate Bangali" is a little too real for him, with daily catch of fish in the Bay of Bengal fishing villages dwindling. "It's so low now that some of us have turned to agriculture, some are working in the fishing harbours in Kerala," Majhi says. "But there are still thousands like me who go out fishing at every chance. We hope the Bengali's appetite for fish will never fade," said the Olichak resident.Standing among boats pulled ashore, Palash Nandi's voice carries both pride and unease. In his area of Dakshin Purusottampur, 112 families share a common inheritance — fishing knowledge passed down like an heirloom. Yet the future feels uncertain."Every family here has inherited this work," he says. "It is the only thing we know. But unless the ecosystem survives and basic facilities improve, we are not sure our children will follow us."From Baguran Jalpai to Digha — across Mandarmani, Tajpur and Shankarpur — fishing has defined life along the coast for generations. Today, however, that continuity is under strain. When Cyclone Yaas ravaged the coast in 2021, the geographical and ecological makeup of the region shifted. Fishers now speak of new ‘chars' (silt islands) emerging near their traditional fishing grounds.The changes are not always visible. Warmer waters and disrupted currents are pushing fish, especially those carrying eggs, into deeper waters. What was once accessible is now often out of reach for small fishermen like Majhi and Nandi.At the Jalda Matsya Khoti, a community-managed landing centre near Tajpur, Palash Bar describes a growing imbalance between small fishermen and those using metal-hulled trawlers. Traditional boats usually operate within three to five nautical miles of the shore, using fixed nets. Trawlers, however, sweep, across the seabed. The economic fallout is staggering. Bar notes that daily earnings from his boat have plummeted from Rs 5,000 to Rs 7,000 per trip to a meagre Rs 2,000 to Rs 3,000. According to Pradip Kumar Chatterjee of the National Federation of Small Scale Fish Workers, the crisis is concentrated in the ‘Goldilocks Zone' — the shallow, nearshore waters up to 100 metres deep that are typically rich in marine life. "This is the most productive zone, and it is being hollowed out," he says, pointing to the estimated 15,000 trawlers operating along the coast.Layered onto ecological and economic stress is a growing sense of policy neglect. Across much of India, annual fishing ban during spawning season exempts traditional fishers. In Bengal, however, the restriction applies uniformly, regardless of scale. "The weather is already unpredictable, with storms even in March," says Nandi. "Just as we try to recover, the ban begins in April." While schemes like Lakshmir Bhandar offer some financial cushioning, targeted support for fishing communities remains uneven. Fishers in East Midnapore say the Rs 5,000 relief during the ban period is inconsistently distributed, especially when compared to neighbouring South 24 Parganas. "All we want is a dignified life," says Majhi, "and a boat full of fish".
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