In Mumbai’s Colaba, a paradox is playing out in plain sight: Citizens are bound by law to preserve their heritage structures, while the State reworks the very coastline under the same watchful legal eye. The law, it would seem, knows whom to bind — and whom to bless.
Recently, a group of concerned citizens from Colaba reportedly approached the Bombay High Court, challenging the State's move to erect a new jetty just off the iconic Gateway of India. Their grievance was profound but simple: while private homeowners in the heritage precinct are forbidden from even minor alterations — barred from replacing windows, repainting facades, or erecting small extensions without elaborate clearances — the State itself, “without much public consultation”, is set to alter an old sea-lining wall and the adjoining pathway to carve into a historic coastline to facilitate the construction of the jetty.
This jetty, projected ostensibly as a means of easing tourist inflow and enhancing maritime connectivity, comes at the cost of both heritage integrity and coastal ecology.
Ironically, the very laws cited to restrict private citizens from preserving, repairing, or modifying their century-old homes — in the name of protecting 'heritage' and 'coastal character' — have been invoked to justify state action that could irreversibly alter the same historic landscape.
The message, as always, is unmistakable: Some rules are stricter for the ruled than for the rulers. If you’re a private citizen dreaming of undertaking any construction by the sea, brace yourself.
You’re about to collide headfirst into a wall of Indian bureaucracy, armed with the Coastal Regulation Zone (CRZ) law, a maze of clearances, and a general air of suspicion about your intentions.
The message is simple: The coast belongs to everyone. And by everyone, we mean the government. Under India’s evolving coastal regime, construction within regulated zones is not prohibited outright — but it is deeply conditional. The critical distinction lies in who seeks to build.
The State, invoking its sovereign functions, is permitted to construct jetties, ports, harbours, defence installations and more. These activities, while scrutinised, enjoy a mantle of presumed legitimacy.
The Coastal Regulation Zone framework operationalises the Public Trust Doctrine, vesting in the State a fiduciary role, while relegating private claims to strictly regulated exceptions.
This distinction is rooted in the Public Trust Doctrine, a principle formally recognised in Indian jurisprudence through the seminal case of M.C. Mehta v. Kamal Nath (1997). In that landmark judgment, the Supreme Court categorically held that natural resources are not private property but held in trust by the government for public use.
There, the Court famously intervened to protect forest land along the Beas River from being leased to a private hotelier — reinforcing that even the State cannot alienate commons at will. When the State builds, it is expected to act not as an owner, but as a trustee of public good. Sovereignty, therefore, is no license for exploitation.
Contrast this with the citizen’s position: every private initiative — no matter how sustainable, no matter how community-focused — must first overcome the presumption that private interest threatens public ecology.
The procedural rigmarole is immense: Environmental Clearances (ECs), Consent to Establish (CTEs), No-Objection Certificates (NOCs) from myriad agencies, and, often, public hearings fraught with hostility. In coastal jurisprudence, sovereignty does not confer ownership but trusteeship; any State construction derives legitimacy not from power, but from demonstrated public necessity.
In Indian Council for Enviro-Legal Action v. Union of India (1996), the Supreme Court emphasised that environmental protection is a constitutional obligation, interpreting Articles 48A and 51A(g) of the Constitution expansively.
Coastal degradation, in particular, was recognised as a form of constitutional injury — meaning that regulatory restrictions are not mere bureaucratic hurdles but constitutional imperatives. Yet, when it comes to State-led projects — such as the jetty proposed off the Gateway of India — public purpose is presumed far too easily.
Scrutiny becomes deferential; objections are often steamrolled under a development narrative. Judicial dicta reaffirm that natural resources, including coastlines, are held by the State in trust — insulating them from alienation, whether by private enterprise or sovereign overreach.
The inconsistency was sharply illustrated in the case of Goa Foundation v. Union of India (2014), where the Court ordered the suspension of mining leases in Goa. There, too, despite ostensible clearances and procedures, the Court found that State actions had irreparably damaged natural resources and violated the Public Trust Doctrine.
It underscored that mere formal compliance is insufficient; the State must demonstrate substantive environmental fidelity.
And yet, examples like the proposed Colaba jetty suggest that lessons learned remain lessons unheeded. The Supreme Court, in its more recent pronouncements, has sought to address this by tightening the fiduciary leash on the State itself.
The Supreme Court’s interpretation of the Public Trust Doctrine imposes upon the State a non-derogable duty to preserve coastal commons, limiting both governmental prerogative and private encroachment.
In Centre for Environmental Law, WWF-India v. Union of India (2013), the Court clarified that the State’s trustee obligations over ecological resources are non-derogable — meaning they cannot be abandoned, bartered, or diluted under political or economic pressures. This jurisprudence demands that any State action altering coastal ecology must meet the highest standards of necessity, transparency, and public accountability.
Yet, for the private citizen, the coastline remains largely forbidden territory. The barriers to legitimate, sustainable private engagement with the coast remain high, often prohibitively so.
And ironically, it is these barriers — designed to protect the coast — that sometimes shield governmental excess. In today’s India, caught between accelerating development needs and deepening ecological anxieties, the coastline is not just geography. It is a battleground of rights, duties, and future claims.
The coast must be defended — not merely from private profiteers, but equally from public overreach.
At its best, the CRZ law defends the shoreline for future generations. At its worst, it becomes a shield for bureaucratic privilege and a hammer against private ambition.
Either way, one truth remains: The coast isn't for sale — unless, of course, the State is buying.
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The writer is a Solicitor, Editor of The Draft, founder of The Public Space Project and spearheads The Right To Walk campaign. Source: The Draft
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