‘They used to run to the shore at dawn. Now they hesitate’

The sun rises over Kerala’s southern coast, casting a dull orange light across the Arabian Sea. But what was once a familiar scene of nets unfurling, boats gliding and fishermen shouting over the surf has turned eerily quiet. Nets lie stacked in courtyards, their threads hardened by salt and neglect. Engines rest on the sand, corroding in the brine. The sea, once a giver of life, has turned into a place of unease and despair.

Nearly six months have passed since the MSC Elsa 3, a Liberian-flagged container vessel owned by the Mediterranean Shipping Company, capsized off the Kochi coast. What began as a maritime accident has since turned into one of South Asia’s worst ecological and livelihood crises in recent memory.

The wreck released oil, chemicals and millions of plastic nurdles that have spread across India’s southern coast and beyond, leaving behind contaminated waters, dead fish and a scarred shoreline. The tragedy is silent yet palpable.

Like the oil that leaked into the sands, the aftereffects of the accident have seeped into daily life, breaking familiar rhythms that defined the life of Kerala’s coastal villages.

Along the stretch between Kochi and Thiruvananthapuram, fishers live in hesitation. In Anchuthengu near Varkala, 38-year-old Fazil Vettoor walks slowly towards his boat at dawn. This was a ritual that once filled him with purpose. “I used to earn more than thirty thousand rupees a week,” he says. “There was always something to take home. Now, even after going out for hours, the nets come up empty or tangled in plastic.”

Before the shipwreck, the sea was generous. Sardines, mackerel and prawns were plentiful. On good days, Fazil could earn enough not only to feed his family but also to save. His wife sold dried fish at the market, his children went to school, life followed the rhythm of the tides. Today, the tides bring a thin film of oil that shimmers in the sunlight, white plastic nurdles that look deceptively like fish eggs, and sharp metal fragments that rip through nets and even boat hulls.

He bends to pick up a handful of nurdles from the beach. They look harmless, like tiny pearls, but “they get stuck in everything”, he says. “Engines, nets, even fish bellies.” From Alappuzha to Vettucaud, Pulluvila to Kollam, stories like Fazil’s echo across the Kerala coast. Daily earnings have dropped and the villagers’ confidence in the sea is badly shaken.

The day the sea changed

It was on 24 May that the MSC Elsa 3 capsized just 14.5 nautical miles off Kochi. The vessel was carrying 643 containers, including 60 filled with plastic nurdles and several others with hazardous chemicals such as hydrazine and calcium carbide. More than 450 tonnes of diesel and furnace oil were stored in its tanks. When it went down, a toxic cocktail of oil, chemicals and microplastics began to spread into the sea.

In the early hours that followed, some coastal residents saw black streaks floating towards the shore. At first, there was confusion. Officials called it a ‘manageable spill’. By the next day, a strong smell of oil spread across the coastal belt, and fishermen began bringing up nets soaked in dark sludge.

The company that owned the ship claimed it had acted promptly. It told the Kerala High Court that the oil sheen had been cleaned, containers recovered, and over 1,000 tonnes of debris removed from beaches between Kochi and Rameswaram. But those living along the coast say otherwise.

“The sea never cleaned itself,” says Musthafa Hahsan, a fisherman from Varkala. “Even now, when we pull the nets, the slick sticks to our hands; fish smell of oil; buyers turn away.”

The hidden contaminants

Scientific evidence has since confirmed the fishers’ fears. The Centre for Marine Living Resources and Ecology, in the ministry of earth sciences, collected water and sediment samples from the sea between Kochi and Kanyakumari. The samples showed elevated levels of petroleum hydrocarbons such as naphthalene, anthracene and pyrene, all known carcinogens. They also revealed high concentrations of heavy metals including nickel, copper and lead.

“These pollutants enter the marine food chain through zooplankton,” says Dr A. Biju Kumar, vice chancellor of the Kerala University of Fisheries and Ocean Studies. “Zooplankton are the foundation of the marine ecosystem, the first food for larvae and small fish. When they are contaminated, the entire food web suffers.”

According to Dr Kumar, hydrocarbon-degrading bacteria have multiplied near the wreck site, a sign that oil contamination remains active. “We are witnessing a slow ecological collapse,” he says. “Sensitive species are disappearing. Fish larvae have shown toxic responses. Seabirds have been found preening oil from their feathers. This is not a local event; it’s a regional environmental crisis.”

The contamination is not confined to Kerala. Currents have carried plastic nurdles into the Gulf of Mannar and even as far as Sri Lanka’s western and southern coasts. The Marine Environment Protection Authority of Sri Lanka has confirmed the presence of debris from the MSC Elsa 3, making this one of the few shipwrecks in South Asia with such widespread transboundary effects.

A crisis without relief

While scientists study the sea, coastal families are fighting a more immediate battle. Many have exhausted their savings. Boats lie damaged, engines rust in salt water, and nets, once their lifeline, now hang like symbols of despair.

In Pulluvila, 37-year-old fisherman Denson Joseph has not taken his own boat out in weeks. “I spent seventy thousand rupees repairing my engine and nets after they were shredded by floating debris,” he says. “Now I work on another man’s boat for less than half of what I used to earn. I have two children in school, and every day I think about giving up fishing.”

The crisis has disrupted not just an ecosystem but a mini economy and entangled lives and livelihoods. Women who sold fish at the local markets have lost customers. Ice plant workers, boat mechanics and small traders dependent on fishing income now find themselves without work.

“It’s not just a loss of fish but a loss of faith,” says Fr Eugine Pereira, vicar general of the Latin Catholic Diocese of Thiruvananthapuram, who has long worked with coastal communities. “These people have known hardship for generations, but this disaster has taken away something deeper — the certainty that the sea will provide.”

The struggle for justice

In June, the Kerala government filed an admiralty suit before the High Court seeking Rs 9,531 crore as compensation from the Mediterranean Shipping Company. This figure included claims for environmental damage, loss of income and clean-up expenses. The company contested the claim, arguing that the ship sank outside India’s territorial waters and that its liability was limited under international maritime conventions.

After months of hearings, the court directed MSC to deposit Rs 1,227.6 crore as a security amount. The court also ordered the detention of its sister vessel, MSC Akiteta II, at Vizhinjam Port until payment was made. The company has yet to deposit the amount, and the ship remains under legal custody.

Kerala’s advocate-general K. Gopalakrishna Kurup told the court that the state had full jurisdiction because the environmental and economic impacts clearly extended into Indian waters and the Exclusive Economic Zone. “The ‘polluter pays’ principle is not a slogan,” he said in court. “It is a duty enshrined in our environmental jurisprudence.”

The National Institute of Oceanography has since been commissioned to assess both short-term and long-term losses. The findings will determine if the state can revise its compensation claim upward in the coming months.

For fisherfolk, the language of the courts offers little comfort. Most do not even understand what ‘jurisdiction’ or ‘admiralty suit’ means. What they do understand is that their lives have been turned upside down.

“The government speaks of crores, but we are yet to see a single rupee,” says Jackson Pollayil, president of the Kerala Swatantra Matsya Thozhilali Federation, which represents around 10,000 artisanal fishers in the state. “When the court tells us to file claims, it expects us to produce documents that most of us do not have. We don’t keep receipts for nets or repairs. Everything is informal. How can we prove what we have lost?”

Under the current process, fishers must submit individual claims through the high court with supporting evidence. Deadlines are short, legal help is costly and paperwork is unfamiliar territory for communities that live hand to mouth. Many simply give up.

Greenpeace India, which investigated the aftermath of the wreck, has warned in its report titled ‘Wrecked Futures’ that the Elsa 3 disaster is creating a ‘cycle of debt and desperation’ in coastal Kerala. “The legal structure favours corporate entities that can hire lawyers and delay proceedings,” says Amruta S.N., a climate campaigner with the organisation. “Meanwhile, communities wait for justice that may take years.”

The road to recovery

Recovery, experts say, cannot rely on litigation alone. It requires a long-term, coordinated response that integrates ecological rehabilitation with livelihood restoration. The Kerala government has announced plans for a relief package, but its scale and timeline remain unclear.

Public health experts warn that communities exposed to chemical residues and microplastics could face health risks for years. Marine biologists are calling for sustained monitoring of water and sediment quality. Economists emphasise the need for direct income support to families who have lost their means of subsistence.

For now, many households survive on informal credit from local lenders. Women have taken up casual labour to fill the gaps, while children help mend nets or collect plastic from beaches for cleanup drives.

“It is painful to see the next generation growing up afraid of the sea,” says Fr Pereira. “They used to run to the shore at dawn. Now they hesitate.”