For the past four decades, Mumbai resident Premlata Soni and her husband have fed the pigeons that flock around Bandra Lake. Sometimes it’s a few fistfuls of corn and millet; sometimes an entire bag. Even during the pandemic lockdown, Soni would sneak out to feed the birds, a practice she sees as part of her Hindu faith. “God wants us to do it,” she says.
But Mumbai authorities disagree. In July, amid concerns about the city’s growing pigeon population, the municipal government banned pigeon feeding in public spaces. Officials covered popular feeding spots with blue tarpaulin sheets, posted warnings linking pigeon feathers and droppings to respiratory diseases, and moved to enforce the ban at sites long tolerated by residents.
Pigeon feeding has long been a pastime in Mumbai, a port city of some 20 million where birds nest in apartment ducts and near air-conditioning units. The city itself once marked out 51 pigeon feeding spots, called kabutarkhanas (literally “houses for pigeons”). In neighborhoods without kabutarkhanas, locals fed pigeons on pavements and at intersections.
The crackdown did not deter people like Soni. Vikram Kumar, who guards Bandra Lake—a Mumbai heritage site—says dozens defy the ban every day. When he tried to stop feeding near the reservoir, he says, “one man punched me in the face.”
Feelings run high in multi-faith Mumbai, where feeding pigeons is a religious duty for some communities. The Jain tradition, for example, emphasizes non-harm to living creatures; community leader Puran Doshi traces pigeon feeding to scriptures in which a god sacrificed himself to save a pigeon, a story that inspires adherents to care for birds. After the ban, hundreds of Jains and bird-lovers protested outside a popular kabutarkhana, tearing down barriers put up by authorities.
That provoked pushback. Some local residents accused Jains of seeking special treatment and organized counter-protests against pigeon feeding. Pradeep Samant, secretary of the Marathi Ekikaran Samiti—an advocacy group for Marathi-speakers—said the dispute over pigeons is an “entry point” for broader social tensions, accusing Jains of creating exclusive neighborhoods and imposing restrictions on meat sales. Doshi rejects such claims, noting Jains have lived in Mumbai for generations.
Politics entered the fray. With mayoral elections scheduled for early 2026, both sides warned they would mobilize voters around the issue. In October, a Jain monk said his community would form a political party using a pigeon symbol. Facing mounting pressure, municipal authorities relented, announcing that feeding would be permitted at four parts of the city.
Ornithologists and public-health experts say the core problem is population size. Mohammed Dilawar, an ornithologist, calls it a “human-induced population,” driven by feeding. A 2023 survey by Indian birdwatchers estimated that the dominant rock pigeon species had increased by 150% over two decades. More pigeons mean more droppings, which cause economic damage to heritage and commercial structures, Dilawar notes.
Health concerns have been central to the government’s justification for restrictions. Dr. Sujeet Rajan, a lung specialist, told a Bombay High Court that pigeon antigens—proteins in droppings—can cause hypersensitivity pneumonitis, a potentially severe lung disease. A 2019 study in the European Respiratory Journal examined 60 Indian patients diagnosed with hypersensitivity pneumonitis and found pigeon droppings were implicated in nearly one in three cases. The disease can progress to fibrosis; there are no drugs to reverse fibrosis, and late diagnosis often leaves patients dependent on oxygen or facing costly, risky lung transplants, court documents quoted Rajan as saying.
Personal stories underscore the stakes. Vaishali Chodnekar’s husband died after irreversible lung damage that doctors linked to long-term exposure to pigeons nesting at their terraced apartment. Chodnekar now runs a foundation to help others secure early diagnosis and treatment. “In India, any issue can get mired in politics and religion,” she says. “But the main focus should be on the health of the people.”
Yet for many individuals, feeding pigeons is about companionship rather than theology. Pinku Kumar Goswami, who moved from a north Indian village and now collects recyclables in Mumbai, says pigeons keep him company during a lonely job. “Pigeons are lovely,” he says. “If you feed them, they start recognizing you. They might even come and sit on your shoulder.” For him and others, in a vast city, feeding birds is a way to feel at home.
The debate in Mumbai has been a balancing act between public health and heritage concerns on one side, and religious practice, compassion for animals, and personal solace on the other. After protests and legal action, authorities modified the ban to allow pigeon feeding at four designated locations, but tensions remain—mixing ecology, religion and politics in a city where small daily rituals can become flashpoints.
