As the sea changes, Tamil Nadu’s fisherwomen struggle to stay afloat

A minute is always 60 seconds. But it rarely feels that way when Kavitha (40) sells fish under the unforgiving sun.

Every morning by seven, he must organize the day’s catch at a small table in Chennai’s bustling Nochikuppam fish market, one of the city’s fishing hamlets between the Marina Loop Road and the Bay of Bengal. Shoppers come here, bargain, leave and come back.

“I watch the fish between each sale. As the mornings get warmer, I’m anxious to sell everything before the sun spoils their freshness,” she says.

Rising temperatures are not the only challenge facing female fishermen. Changes in the sea itself have made it much more difficult to earn a living. Kavita’s husband is among the artisanal fishermen who plan their work around the predictable rhythms of two fishing seasons: vaadai, characterized by northerly winds and currents, and kachan, characterized by southerly winds and calmer seas. But those rhythms are not so reliable anymore.

Changing seas, shrinking catch

According to S. Palayam, a veteran fisherman from Urur Kuppam in Chennai, the traditionally quieter kachan season has shortened by an average of 33 days from what it used to be, while the vaadai season now lingers well beyond its usual end.

His study, Seasons Changed: A Fisher Science View of Climate Change, which draws on daily observations recorded over 1,179 days between September 2018 and October 2023, also found an increase in the number of rough sea days during the kachan, a disruption in the productive transition between the two seasons and, in recent years, the disappearance of vanda thanni fish, a traditional nutrient-rich phenomenon.

Fishermen feel these changes not by measuring wind speed or currents, but by the uncertainty they bring to their daily work. Disruptions at sea, whether bad weather, poor catches, or fewer fishing days, reduce the amount of fish available for sale, reducing women’s daily earnings and thus the financial agency they exercise within their families.

“My husband manages the bigger expenses and pays off our loans. But the money I earn gives me some independence. I can buy groceries, pay for my son’s school supplies or spend on small things without having to ask anyone,” says Kavitha.

Fishermen say the waters near shore are no longer producing the catch they once did. They are forced to travel further out to sea, incur higher fuel costs and spend longer hours fishing, even as their returns continue to decline. “We spend ₹5,000 to ₹7,000 more per month, but the catch is much less,” says Kavitha.

Although overfishing by mechanized trawlers remains the biggest reason for declining catches, many female fishermen say changing weather and sea conditions are making their jobs increasingly precarious. The seasonal cues they once relied on are no longer reliable. Erratic winds, rough seas and unpredictable ocean currents make it increasingly difficult to predict the availability of fish and plan fishing trips as it was in the past.

Pollution increases misery

S. Velvizhi, a marine biologist at the MS Swaminathan Research Foundation (MSSRF), says climate change is only one of several pressures on marine fisheries. Marine pollution, overfishing and degradation of critical habitats such as coral reefs, seagrass beds and estuaries have all contributed to the depletion of fish stocks, he says.

In Pulicat, India’s second-largest brackish water lagoon that straddles Andhra Pradesh and Tamil Nadu, fishermen say declining catches are also linked to the regular closure of the lagoon’s estuaries, which regulate water exchange with the Bay of Bengal. When these remain closed, water flow into the lagoon is restricted, salinity rises during the summer months and fish populations decline.

Standing knee-deep in the waters of Pulicat Lake in Tiruvallur district, 50-year-old Sarala spends hours picking prawns by hand to earn a living. But revenues have declined sharply over the years. Decades of industrial pollution have degraded the lagoon’s ecosystem, while invasive species believed to have been introduced by ballast water have further disrupted native fish populations.

Sarala recalls that she earned ₹200 to ₹300 after two hours of shrimp collection; today, she says, four hours in the lagoon will set her back only about ₹150.

Declining income has implications beyond the daily meal, says Sarala. “I use it to take care of my elderly parents, pay my monthly seta (chit) allowance and save what I can for my daughter. I used to manage it all. Now that I’ve met my daily expenses, there’s hardly anything left to save.”

Make ends meet

Like many fisherwomen in Tamil Nadu, Selvi (50), a resident of Pattipulam in Chengalpattu, says she survives on borrowing. As dwindling fish catches reduced her daily earnings, she found it increasingly difficult to meet household expenses, let alone pay off old debts. She is currently juggling five or six loans at a time, borrowing from one lender to repay another and to keep her fish business afloat. “I keep rotating the loans,” he says. “If the catch is bad, there’s not enough money to pay it off. So I’ll take out another loan. That’s how we farmed.”

“Meenava” Shanthi, a fisherman based in Kasimedu, says the welfare system continues to view fishing through a predominantly male lens. Although the Tamil Nadu Fishermen and Fish Workers Protection Board is tasked with covering those involved in the fishing industry, it says there are few social measures tailored to the realities of women’s work.

“Most welfare programs are for those who go to sea. Even if the benefits reach the family, they usually come through the fishermen. Women like us who sell, process and dry the fish have no support specifically for us,” she says.

With a little help from targeted government support, many fisherwomen are finding their own ways to stay afloat. As the sale of fish has become less reliable, some turn to tailoring, catering, day labor for wages or working under the Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme (now VB-G RAM G) in lean times.

Coping with change

In the hours between returning from the market and preparing for the next day, Kavitha began sewing clothes. At first, she learned to sew simply for herself, her mother and sister. Encouraged by her younger sister, she now hopes to turn it into another source of income.

“My younger sister keeps telling me, ‘Why don’t you take orders from others? You sew well.'” She hasn’t started taking on customers yet, but sees tailoring as a way to supplement her family’s income on days when there are few fish to sell. “If I can get more orders, I will continue to do it. At least I will have some income, even if business is bad at the fish market,” he says.

Others turn to value-added products such as dried fish and pickles, or small self-help groups. That extra income helps soften the blow, but the women say it rarely makes up for the steady earnings the fish once brought. “A few of us get together to make small batches of fish pickle that we sell at the neighborhood grocery store,” says Sarala.

Velvizhi says many fishing villages have already demonstrated that alternative livelihood models can work when women are given the right support. “There is a lot more entrepreneurial mindset among fisherwomen today. When we used to suggest making value-added products like fish pickles or marketing them through WhatsApp, many were hesitant. Now they are much more open to trying new ideas,” she says.

But adapting to a changing fishing industry, she says, requires more than just encouraging women to diversify. The state must invest in building new skills that match today’s markets. “Old approaches will no longer suffice. Women need digital literacy, digital marketing skills, quality control and value-adding training to access better markets and earn more from their products,” she suggests.

(This story is part of the Climate Change Media Hub mentoring program at the Asian College of Journalism.)