Back To Cracked Walls And Broken Promises: Joshimath’s Forgotten Families Return To Unsafe Homes Amid Rising Fears

Nearly two years after land subsidence devastated Joshimath, forcing hundreds of families to flee their homes in panic, a tragic pattern has emerged—most of them have now returned to the same unstable, cracked, and sagging houses they once ran from. With no new homes, no long-term shelters, and little compensation, the residents of this Himalayan town say they are living not just in ruins, but in fear and frustration.

“I had no choice but to return,” said Uma Devi, a resident of Manoharbagh, who moved back into her dangerously damaged home for her son’s wedding. “We lived in a rented room for nearly two years, but when the government stopped giving the monthly rent assistance, we just could not manage anymore. Every night I wonder if the roof will come down on us—but where else can we go?”

Her house, its walls visibly split and one side sinking, is symbolic of a town that has been left to fend for itself. And she is not alone.

According to Atul Sati, convenor of the Joshimath Bachao Sangharsh Samiti, around 200 families had initially shifted to relief camps. “Now, barring just seven families, almost all have returned to their homes which were officially declared ‘unsafe’ by the administration,” he said.

“A few are managing in rented rooms, but the majority are back in cracked buildings where tragedy could strike any moment. With the monsoon around the corner, we fear a repeat disaster,” Sati told this reporter.

In Singhadhar, 76-year-old Bharti Devi now lives in the wreckage of her once-prized two-storey house. “The house was worth Rs 50 lakh. I received Rs 15 lakh. That is not even enough to buy land, let alone build a home,” she said. “Now six families in our lane are back in our broken homes. We cook in open courtyards and sleep where the ceiling has not yet fallen.”

In Ravigram, Ramesh Negi, who stayed for weeks in Hotel Dronagiri with his wife and two children after the disaster, was eventually forced out when government subsidies dried up. “The hotel owners told us to leave once the government stopped paying them. I tried renting, but even a single room cost Rs 7,000–8,000 per month. We were helpless. We had to return to our cracked home,” he said.

Sunita Rawat, a mother of three, described the dehumanizing experience of living for a year in a tin shed. “There was no water, no electricity. In winter, the tin walls froze. Now we’re back in a damaged house, but at least there’s a roof. Even if it might collapse,” she said. “We’re stuck between fear and survival.”

Even Kedar Prasad, a 58-year-old shopkeeper from Marwari Bazaar, has moved back to his tilted house despite visible fissures in the floor and walls. “The officials keep coming and taking photos, they keep making lists—but nothing changes,” he said. “We do not want relief camps, we want dignity. We want safe homes.”

Scientists Warned, Government Ignored

Joshimath’s vulnerability was no secret. As far back as 1976, the M.C. Mishra Committee report had warned that the town was built on a fragile foundation of landslide debris, making it geologically unstable. In January 2023, ISRO satellite images revealed that Joshimath had sunk by 5.4 cm in just 12 days. More recently, NGRI data shows the land continues to sink—at an alarming rate of 0.5 mm per day.

Despite this, authorities failed to curb rampant construction and infrastructure development in the fragile zone.

Residents continue to point fingers at the NTPC Vishnugad-Tapovan hydroelectric project, which involves large-scale underground tunneling. “Ever since the boring machines started under our homes, we have felt vibrations regularly,” said Girish Joshiyal, whose home was destroyed in the 2023 collapse. “NTPC halted work for a few months when the media showed interest, but now they have resumed. No one cares what happens to us.”

Relief Funds, but No Relief

In May 2024, the Centre announced a Rs 292 crore relief package. A senior government official claimed that Rs 1,700 crore has now been sanctioned for full-scale rehabilitation. The administration has begun labelling buildings with colour codes—red for severely damaged, blue for minor cracks—with promises that red-zone families will be shifted soon.

But for the people of Joshimath, these codes are little more than cosmetic gestures.

“We are tired of surveys, stickers, and empty meetings,” said Suresh Chandra, a retired schoolteacher. “We do not want red or blue paint. We want safe roofs over our heads.”

Sati, who remains the most consistent voice for the people of Joshimath, said he continues to meet officials in Chamoli and Dehradun. “Every meeting ends with assurances. But nothing happens on the ground. Meanwhile, people are returning to homes that might collapse any day.”

The residents of Joshimath now live in a dangerous limbo—trapped between government promises and geological reality, between bureaucratic announcements and visible, widening cracks in their walls.

In this holy town at the base of the Himalayas, where homes once stood proud, people now live in fear—under the very roofs that may soon give way, and beneath the weight of promises that never came true.

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