New Delhi: Manju Jana, 55, who hails from the crucial constituency of Nandigram in West Bengal, looks lost on a heaving platform in New Delhi Railway Station, her limited grasp of Hindi making it harder for her to navigate the chaos. Clutching her bags, she scans a packed general coach where her husband and young son have somehow squeezed in. Around Manju, the station surges with Bengali migrant families — factory workers, labourers at construction sites and domestic helps — jostling through the swell, many without confirmed tickets, all desperate to board overcrowded trains to poll-bound West Bengal.With children precariously balanced on hips and bags piled high on their heads, the migrants race against uncertainty and time, driven by a single urgency: to return home and ensure their votes are counted, amid fears and confusion swirling around the special intensive revision (SIR).For these migrants, the revision is more than an electoral update. While there is no official confirmation linking SIR to citizenship, the scale of deletions has unsettled many. The exercise began in Bengal on Nov 4, 2025, and a draft roll was released on Dec 16 excluded over 58 lakh names marked as ‘absent’, ‘shifted’, ‘dead’, or ‘duplicate’. When the number later rose to 63 lakh, it sent ripples of anxiety across communities living far from the state. For many people from Bengal living and working in Delhi-NCR, these numbers translate into a fear of being erased from the system altogether.Today, as they navigate overcrowded railway platforms and embark on uncertain journeys, their return home is not just about exercising their franchise. It is about being counted, about not slipping through the cracks of a system they barely understand but deeply fear.This fear is prompting lakhs like Baneshwar Adak to scamper home. The 42-year-old steel factory worker from Ashok Vihar is travelling with family members to Bengal’s Medinipur, even as the cost of undertaking the journey weighs heavily on him.“My name was struck off the list, so I registered again as a new voter,” he tells TOI, wiping sweat off his furrowed forehead as he shifts from one side of the platform to the other to dodge the afternoon sun. Despite paying over Rs 20,000 — nearly two-thirds of his monthly income — for his family on Duronto Express to Howrah, the uncertainty doesn’t end there. “Our return ticket isn’t confirmed yet, though I have to be back in Delhi by the end of this month.”The buzz of the temporary “exodus” of domestic workers from Delhi-NCR ahead of the Bengal polls resonates in the New Delhi station. Shamin and his sisters — domestic workers in Delhi heading to South 24 Parganas district — risk losing their jobs by making the trip to Bengal, having moved to the capital just a year ago.“In view of the SIR, our parents told us to rush to Bengal, fearing our names would be struck off the rolls in future if we don’t vote this time,” Shamin says, though there’s no govt directive stating so. Without paid leave and with employers reluctant to accommodate sudden absences like these, their journey is a gamble between livelihood and identity.The rush of the migrants is evident across New Delhi station. At gate number 11, Abdul Mateen, an RPF member, tries hard to control the swell, stopping those without tickets even as crowds from behind push the queue forward. “We are doing our best to regulate the passengers and help find coaches and seats,” he says.However, once inside the station, the semblance of order quickly dissolves into chaos. People squat on the floor of the platforms in the sweltering heat, guarding their ‘spots’, ready to charge as soon as their trains pull in, hoping to somehow make it inside.This scramble for space is what frustrates passengers like Jolodhor Shahu, a tailor in a Noida garment factory, who moves along the platform with his family of six, scanning for seats in the general compartment of a train that’s already packed to the doors. “The least the railways could have done was add more coaches,” he says. “We can’t afford sleeper tickets, and there’s no alternative.”Nearby, Falguni Khara, a domestic worker heading to Purulia, clutches her bags and tickets. “We could get only one confirmed seat for the three of us. Only God knows what the next 24 hours have in store for us,” she says.With fears that access to benefits like ration cards and govt welfare schemes is tied to their presence on electoral rolls, casting one’s vote now feels a non-negotiable exercise. The lack of clarity around SIR has only deepened this perception.Meanwhile, TOI finds Manju Jana still waiting on the platform, eyes fixed on the coach where her family seemingly has found a foothold. “Jete to hobei, she je bhabei hok (we have to go, by hook or by crook),” she says, softly yet firmly, as if speaking for her fellow migrants desperately trying to reach Bengal just in time for the first phase of polls on April 23.
