HANDS THAT SHAPE CITIES: THE INVISIBLE WORKERS BEHIND EVERY INDIAN HOME

The alarm rings at 4 a.m. and Pappu Kumar is already half awake. For 15 years, his body has kept time with construction work. In the soft light of a single bulb in his two-room home in Ghaziabad, he sits up on the charpoy and places his feet on the cool, uneven floor. The smell of last night’s dal hangs in the air, mixed with the familiar trace of sawdust that never quite leaves his clothes. Outside, the neighbourhood is just beginning to stir. A chai kettle whistles somewhere, dogs move through empty lanes. Pappu’s day has already begun. His wife Sunita turns on her side, her sari pallu resting over their youngest, three-year-old Ravi. She asks if he wants tea, already knowing the answer. He nods and pulls on his faded kurta. In one corner, their older children, 10-year-old Meera and seven-year-old Amit, sleep under a thin blanket. Their home, about 300 square feet, is something Pappu has slowly shaped himself. He reinforced the walls after the last monsoon, fitted a crooked window from scrap wood, and f ixed what he could with his own hands. It is not grand, but it is solid. It is theirs.

The Home a Carpenter Built With His Own Hands

By 4:30 a.m., he is on his cycle rickshaw, lunch packed under his arm, heading toward the edge of Delhi-NCR where new townships rise every year. Two hours later, Pappu reaches Sector 107, Noida, where the city is quietly rising, floor by f loor. Tower cranes sway in the haze, concrete mixers hum, and men in helmets move with practiced rhythm. Sector 107 isn’t just another construction site, it’s one of Noida’s premium residential hubs, a place where luxury apartments nestle among green spaces, and every road seems designed for convenience. From here, Delhi feels close enough for a weekend escape, Greater Noida just a short drive away. The nearby metro stations and the Sector-37 Golf Course add a touch of convenience and leisure, while thoroughfares like Sector-18 and the DND Flyover link the sector directly to the city’s sprawling extensions.

Amid all this modern planning and promise, Pappu is a constant. Pappu is not the architect whose name appears on hoardings. He is the man who turns drawings into cupboards, doors, and shelves. To most, the buildings gleam; to him, they are a canvas of sweat, skill, and patience, a reminder that every luxury home carries the mark of hands you may never see. “Wood has its own nature,” he says later, wiping sweat from his face. “You work with its grain, not against it.” Today, he is making kitchen cabinets for people he will never meet. When he finishes, smooths the edges, and steps back, he feels the quiet satisfaction of knowing something he made will be used every day. But the work is getting harder. “There are fewer hands now,” he says. His team has shrunk from 12 workers to seven. Younger men are choosing factory jobs with fixed hours, or app-based work that pays more. “Why work in dust all day for 800 rupees,” he asks, “when a phone can earn you double?” He stays because he loves the craft. But with fewer workers, projects get delayed and payments come late. At home, families wait.


Across construction sites, the shortage of skilled hands is reshaping timelines, living conditions, and the daily reality of workers who keep the industry moving.


Bricks, Heat, and a Daughter’s Future

The same rhythm repeats itself across cities. In Bhopal, Javed Alam, 42, wakes before the sun has properly climbed into the sky. He lives in Pilukhedi, a fringe settlement on the southern edge of the city, where the last houses give way to open land and the road thins into dust. The village sits far from Rajgarh town, nearly 84 kilometres away, tucked inside the Narsinghgarh tehsil of Madhya Pradesh. Here, rows of low brick homes lean into each other for support, many patched with blue tarpaulin and tin sheets to keep out the rain. From his doorstep, Javed can see narrow lanes already stirring, women filling water containers, a kettle beginning to hiss on a makeshift stove. His wife Aliya manages the home and their four children. Their eldest daughter, 12-year-old Aisha, already helps at construction sites on weekends. Javed smiles at her strength but hopes she will choose education over masonry. His own hands have laid bricks for over twenty years, from small houses to tall apartment buildings. At his current site at Airport Road, a mid-rise building for young professionals, Javed works carefully, laying each layer of bricks with steady rhythm. “It is not just about stacking,” he says. “The walls must hold through heat, rain, and time.” By noon, the sun is harsh. He drinks from a battered water bottle and scans nearby sites, many short of workers like his own. “During festivals, half the crew goes home,” he says. “Overtime increases, pay remains the same.” He hears talk of robots and machines, but he is sceptical. “A machine can mix cement. It cannot feel if a wall is true.”


“We need 15,000 workers every day, but we rarely get more than two thirds of that. Pradeep Agrawal, Signature Global.”


The Invisible Work of Water and Wires

The shortage is felt in other trades too. Ajay, 29, a plumber, lives in a rented room in Karol Bagh, Delhi with other migrant workers. His family still lives far away in Koilwar, a small village about 40 kilometres from Patna, Bihar, stretched quietly along the Arrah–Patna highway, NH-922. It is a place of slow mornings and open fields, where dust rises with passing buses and evening settles in with temple bells and the smell of cooking fires. His parents, his wife, and the life he calls his own are all rooted there, waiting at the edge of the road that carries him back whenever work allows. He dreams of a home with reliable water pressure and steady income. Each day begins with his toolkit and a long metro ride to luxury housing sites. “Plumbing is invisible work,” he says, tightening a joint under a tiled floor. “When it works, nobody notices. When it fails, everything stops.” These days he moves between three sites a day, working 12 hour shifts. Many workers who returned home during COVID never came back. “Some sites have improved conditions,” he admits. “Clean water, meals. It helps. But we need proper training centres. Skill cannot depend only on mistakes.” In Faridabad’s smoky industrial area, where factories run day and night, Nasir Khan, 46, works quietly among tangled wires.

With steady hands, he fixes connections inside small junction boxes, bringing power back to machines that would otherwise stand still in the dark. His small flat is filled with wires, tools, and dim bulbs. His two sons already like taking apart gadgets. Nasir studies building plans carefully before starting his work each morning. “Electric wiring is like the nerves of a house,” he explains. “One wrong move can cause disaster.” He trains helpers, only to lose many to higher-paying jobs abroad. Festivals thin out his workforce too. Still, the moment when lights flick on in a newly finished home keeps him going. Safety remains his biggest concern. “Machines help,” he admits, “but hands that know the current will always be needed.” Across cities and across trades, the days begin differently but end in much the same way. As light fades, Pappu wipes the dust off a freshly built shelf and packs away his tools. In Bhopal, Javed sets the last brick of the day into place, stepping back to judge the line before the scaffold empties. Ajay tightens one final joint, listens for the steady rush of water, and moves on to the next site before darkness fully settles. Nasir flicks a switch, watches the lights come on, and checks his wiring one last time before shutting the panel. Work does get done. Buildings do rise. But everything now moves at a slower, more strained pace. With fewer hands on site, days stretch longer, deadlines slip, and expenses creep steadily upward. What was once an occasional worry has become a daily reality.

Why Construction Sites Are Running Out of Hands

Developers openly acknowledge the strain. Pradeep Agrawal of Signature Global has said that his projects alone require around 15,000 workers daily, but the company often manages only two-thirds of that number. Festivals, migration, and the long shadow of the pandemic have all deepened the gap. His solution, like many others in the industry, is greater use of technology to reduce physical labour. For workers like Pappu, machines help, but they cannot replace the judgement of an experienced hand. Veteran developer Niranjan Hiranandani has estimated that nearly two million skilled workers are currently missing from the construction workforce. The most affected trades are carpenters, plumbers, painters, wiremen, and electricians. While he points to the sector’s rapid growth as a major engine of employment, workers like Javed see that growth differently. “Give us clean living spaces, medical help, and respect,” Javed says. “Then people will stay.” Some builders are responding. Ajay has seen camps with clean drinking water, working toilets, and regular meals. Payas Agarwal of Great Value Realty has spoken about providing food, transport, and hygiene facilities at sites to improve productivity and retention. Mechanised bar-bending plants are also being introduced to reduce dependence on manpower. Nasir appreciates the relief this brings, but he knows precision work will always need skilled hands.

What Workers Want Beyond Wages

By nightfall, Pappu cycles back to Ghaziabad. The children crowd around him with stories from school. When Meera asks if he built a house for a princess that day, he smiles and says he built a home for a family like theirs. Later, as Ravi sleeps on his chest, Pappu speaks of young workers he trained who have since left the trade. “We need real training centres,” he says. “Not just learning by getting hurt.” Javed spends his evenings at a tea stall with other masons, discussing work, wages, and weariness. Aliya worries about his long hours. Aisha’s hands are already rough. “Respect matters more than money,” Javed says quietly. Ajay returns to his crowded room in Karol Bagh, still dreaming of his future home in Koilwar, Bihar. Nasir checks his sons’ homework, warning them about the dangers of electricity even as he teaches them curiosity.


Food, transport, and hygiene facilities are no longer optional. They are essential to retain workers and improve productivity. Payas Agarwal, Great Value Realty


The Road to 2047

Government schemes promise skill development, and companies speak of a better future through technology and training. But for workers on the ground, dignity remains the foundation on which everything must stand. As India looks toward 2047, these men continue to build its cities before dawn each day. Pappu hopes his daughter will one day design homes instead of constructing them. Javed dreams of his daughter becoming an engineer. Ajay imagines steady water flowing through pipes he no longer has to fix. Nasir hopes for brighter, safer streets. From the foundation to the final switch, they shape the spaces where life unfolds. Their labour is quiet, constant, and often unseen. Yet every home carries their mark. Not just in brick and wood and wire, but in the steady human effort that holds the country together, one workday at a time.