'Hello Chaps! This is Delhi', 1940s. Part 2.

 

This is a second post on the guide Hello Chaps! This is Delhi. This week, I've taken a section of the guide which is replete with instructions on the norms that should guide 'making friends' with women in India. The text is particularly fascinating because wartime Delhi had created a situation in which large numbers of British (and American) servicemen found themselves in the city, in such numbers as never before. And they sought company during their recreational time. In this context, the guide prescribes a set of codes through which servicemen could distinguish themselves as proper British 'men', producing a gendered framework of rules and comportment in a foreign (read 'Oriental') environment. As the guide explains:

 "...But this isn't England or the States, and "Hullo Baby" or "Hi Toots" are not the ideal opening moves for you here. Definitely not. Women who are accustomed to male friends outside their home circle and community aren't numerous and even the freest of them over here do not dispense with the formality of an introduction! Indian women don't as a rule go out with foreigners. But there are quite a large number of quire modern misses around the place - European, Anglo-Indians and evacuees who include Anglo Burmans, Burmans and others....Once you get to know the crowd who are ready to make friends with you, you'll find them a cheery, sociable lot, just as keen on a movie, sing-song, dance or picnic as the ones at home And families don't object to a well behaved boy friend. Here, as elsewhere you'll find people try to give you your due for what you are and not to pay too much attention to the rank badges you wear"

I'll leave you with an image from the guide of servicemen at the 'viceregal estate' in 1945.

'Hello Chaps! This is Delhi', 1940s.

This is the first in a series of posts on British servicemen in Delhi during the Second World War, viewed through the lens of a guide issued at the behest of General Claude Auchinleck, Commander-in-Chief of the Allied Forces. The guide, Hello Chaps! This is Delhi, offers a fascinating template for how the British officer class was encouraged to engage with the city.

It was financed entirely by Khan Sahib S. Rashid Ahmed, a Delhi-born grandson of Sir Syed Ahmed Khan, who, although best known for his ‘Aligarh movement’ and the M.A.O College, had himself written early “guides” to Delhi under the East India Company. The booklet was distributed free of charge to all servicemen stationed in Delhi during the war. 

Meant for easy reading, the guide is replete with puns and military humour. For example, one chapter has a title that calls Delhi the 'Cockpit of India’. In general, Delhi’s history, culture, and attractions, and of course, the new capital city are all highlighted for the reader. Interestingly, the guide also contains quirks that reveal shifting wartime attitudes toward navigating an Indian city. For instance, unlike earlier guides or handbooks that recommended learning Hindustani phrases to interact with locals, this wartime guide discourages such efforts. Instead, it reassures readers that “they don’t expect you to know good Hindustani or Urdu, and you will find that long experience of dealing with tourists has familiarised them with many English words and expressions.” New sentiments for wartime?

Anyhow, I’ll post about another section of the guide next week. See you then.

Delhi Railway Station in 1928

This 1928 photograph shows Delhi’s railway station in the distance, with sidings and a mix of goods and passenger carriages filling the foreground. There isn’t much information about where the image came from; the only note on it simply says “Delhi station, 1928.” 

Around this time, construction had begun on a new station for the imperial capital, located between Ajmeri Gate and Paharganj. As a result, the older station in the photograph began to be referred to as “Old Delhi railway station” in official records. And despite the advent of motor cars, the colonial government still leaned heavily on the railways as symbols of progress and modernity (despite their limitations and lack of reach in India). 

See you next week.

Delhi's Ashoka Hotel, 1962

 

An advertisement from 1962 for Delhi’s first post-independence hotel, the Ashoka Hotel. At the time, Ashoka was still relatively new, having opened in 1956. It quickly became the preferred address for top diplomats arriving in the capital. The hotel was state-owned, a pet project of Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, who envisioned it as a stage on which India could present itself as a confident young nation. Ashoka embodied the modern amenities and “international luxury”, as mentioned, that Nehru believed visitors should find in a newly independent India.

While Delhi already had several notable colonial-era hotels, most were located in or around what was now coming to be known as the “Old” city. The Ashoka was meant to be something different: a marker of what was new, forward-looking, and architecturally modern in the emerging diplomatic enclave of ‘New’ Delhi.

Since its creation, the city has seen an explosion of hotels catering to every kind of traveler, from domestic and foreign tourists, to backpackers and business delegations. However, the Ashoka remains a symbol of early postcolonial aspirations to showcase India (and Delhi) on the world stage.

Tombs near Delhi, 1860s.

 

A picture from the National Galleries of Scotland titled ‘Tombs Near Delhi’. It comes from Eugene Impey’s album on India from the 1860s. Impey was a colonial official and, like Samuel Bourne (whom I’ve mentioned in earlier posts), an early photographic pioneer.

I’m not sure exactly where this is in Delhi, but unlike Bourne’s photographs of a depopulated city at the time, this one is interesting (perhaps an outlier for the time) as it shows a hive of activity around the tombs. There are people in the foreground, and in the distance on the left, others going about their everyday routines. On the right, there’s a blurred figure laying out a charpoy.

It’s possible this was an encampment, with Impey’s retinue of servants carrying on with their work. Or perhaps, as was often the case across India before tombs were turned into ‘monuments,’ this was simply a village, alive and inhabited, with the tombs woven into the fabric of daily life. 

Anyhow, I'll see you next week. 

Source- https://www.nationalgalleries.org/art-and-artists/29788?search=delhi&page=1&search_set_offset=69

A Cricket Match in Delhi - The Princes XI versus The Australian Services XI, 1945.

 For cricket aficionados, here’s a rare scorecard from November 1945 featuring a match between the Indian princes (Princes XI) and the Australian Services XI in Delhi. This scorecard comes from someone who attended the game and, remarkably, preserved newspaper clippings of the first innings as well (see below)!

The Australian Services XI was composed of military personnel stationed in India after the war, including A. L. Hassett and Keith Miller, both of whom would go on to enjoy stellar careers with the Australian national team. They faced off against Indian cricketing legends such as C. K. Nayudu, Lala Amarnath, Vijay Hazare, and Mushtaq Ali, among others.

The purpose of the Delhi match was to raise money for charity and to help revive the public image of cricket after its wartime hiatus. The Australian Services team was on its way home, with its itinerary including stops in several imperial cities. Of course, the apparent ‘normalcy’ of the cricket game must be read against the backdrop of the heated debates about India’s future and impending independence in the aftermath of the war.

Here are some more pictures:

  

Delhi's 'Ivory Palace', circa 1920s.

 A souvenir/ business card from the 1920s featuring Delhi’s 'Ivory Palace'. This also contains a turn of the century image of the shop near the Jama Masjid’s norther Gate. In the foreground you can see craftsmen at work, a tried and tested way to attract onlookers and spark interest.

The Ivory Palace was something of an institution in Delhi. Catering to foreign dignitaries and art collectors, it was also a patron of local craftsmen and jewellers that it took under its wing. The building had workshops and storage on its premises and occupied a fairly large plot. Moreover, like its competitors, Imre Schwaiger and the Indian Arts Palace (see previous posts), the Ivory Palace also supplied museums and international collectors across the world. 

By the 1920s, the business had diversified, venturing into the burgeoning photography market and supplying photographic materials and camera film.

The original premises of the Ivory Palace still stand today, now known by the founders’ names, Faqir Chand and Raghunath Das. However, the workshops appear to be shut, and the building lies derelict.

Any further information about the establishment would be greatly appreciated.

See you next week.

Delhi's Lahore Darwaza and the 'Lahore Gate Improvement Project', 1880s.

Source: Wikimedia Commons (https://tinyurl.com/3v7kk6sc)

This is possibly the only known photograph of the Lahore Darwaza (Gate), not to be confused with the Lahori Darwaza of the Red Fort, which is a different structure altogether. The photograph was taken shortly after the Rebellion of 1857 and shows the Raja of Patiala’s mounted camel encampment outside the gate. The Raja had come to the aid of the East India Company with his camel-mounted troops.

Two decades after the Rebellion, the Lahore Gate was dismantled by the British Crown Government to make way for a city-extension scheme, later known as the 'Lahore Gate Improvement Project'. This plan was proposed by Robert Clark, then Deputy Commissioner of Delhi, with the aim of creating a continuous commercial corridor running from Chandni Chowk to Saddar Bazar, beyond the Lahore Gate.

To cut a long story short, Clark’s extension scheme proved to be a failure for the government. Its intended objectives were never realised, and the entire project was beset with problems. Plot holders sublet their plots; the government struggled to evict unauthorised tenants; there had never been a plan in place to reclaim the land for public use if required; and officials failed to ensure compliance with regulations regarding the dimensions and use of plots.

Though both the Lahore Gate and Clark’s Lahore Gate Improvement Project have long vanished from public memory, traces of their existence remain in the archives.

The 'Lodi Road Transmitting Station', 1940-5.

 

Two grainy photographs from a British military album in the 1940s that capture the ‘Lodi Road Transmitting Station’ in Delhi. At first glance, the pictures seem quite innocuous; a white building façade on top and just under, heavy machinery in a large hall. However, during the Second World War, this was a crucial hub in the British Empire’s communication network. The Lodi Road station, manned by British and Indian army personnel, would have transmitted encrypted messages, received dispatches etc. The two photos therefore, offer a rare glimpse into the hidden wartime infrastructure of, and within, Delhi.

Where the building and its heavy machinery went after the war or post 1947 is a mystery. Perhaps, behind Lodhi colony’s big arches somewhere? If you know, do give me a shout. 

See you next week.

Ferguson tractors and playing cards in Delhi, 1960s

 

A solitary card from a 1960s playing deck, branded with the title “Ferguson System” and sold by Escorts (A & M) in Delhi. This card offers a unique glimpse into a moment of agricultural transformation in Delhi and India.

Playing cards would have served as an effective advertising tool, used to promote a new generation of Ferguson tractors and heavy machinery in the country (see back of card below). In the 1960s, the Indian government was actively incentivising agricultural mechanisation, seeing it as a critical solution to recurring food shortages—particularly during droughts in regions like Bihar.

The investment in, and arrival of, Ferguson tractors, coincided with the early stages of the 'Green Revolution', a state-led initiative aimed at boosting food production through the use of high-yield seeds, irrigation, and mechanised farming.

This single playing card stands as a poignant reminder of the broader shifts in agriculture taking place across India during the mid-20th century—shifts that would go on to reshape the rural economy and food systems in the country.

Delhi's Behari Lal Ghasi Ram - 'Preserved Provision Manufacturers' (circa 1920s)

A popular dealer in preserved fruits, Behari Lal Ghasi Ram had a long-standing reputation for serving the British Empire, supplying everyone from dignitaries to Indian troops. During the First World War and the Third Anglo-Afghan War (1919), the company—listed as "Preserved Provision Manufacturers"—was contracted to provide Indian soldiers with pickles and other preserves at the front. This, along with their service to the Prince of Wales, was prominently highlighted in their catalogue.

Here are some items from that price list:

Delhi's cultural events in the 'Indian Bulletin', 1959.

 

Here is a picture of the Indian Bulletin for November 1959 released by Sita World Travel Inc. The tourist pamphlet was published weekly and provided a glimpse of the major cultural events and happenings in Delhi. If you have a closer look, you can see Hindustani films, exhibitions, music recitals by artists such as Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan and Bharatnatyam performances by Smt. BalaSaraswati.

While the pamphlet was published in English and is clearly for tourists visiting the city, it also captures a rmoment in time that speaks to more than just foreign visitors. For Indian audiences—then and now—it serves as a vivid record of Delhi and the new Indian Republic's artistic and cultural life in the 1950s.

More on Delhi next week.

Kashmiri women attending the Delhi Durbar, 1911.

 

A fascinating photograph found online, titled "Women from Kashmir for the Durbar," offers an intriguing glimpse into the imperial event. The Delhi Durbar of 1911 has typically been represented as a highly orchestrated, masculine space—a grand performance of imperial authority and control. The presence of “women from Kashmir” at the Durbar—if indeed they were attendees—raises compelling questions. It isn’t clear from the photograph whether the women were accompanied by male family members; it would have been unusual to see respectable caste Hindu women, as these women appear to be, without male chaperones. We can also see a coolie carrying their belongings, further suggesting a level of social status and purpose to their travel.

The photograph at the railway station was perhaps premeditated: with throngs of visitors arriving for the Durbar, the photographer wished to document the different regional attendees appearing for the event (therefore the reference to Kashmir). In this sense, the image fits squarely within the colonial ethnographic project.

The rickshaw puller and other transport in Delhi, 1944

 

This photograph from 1944 captures the different modes of transport operating in Delhi at the time. Empty buses line the background, while a bicycle appears to the right and a hand-rickshaw puller takes center stage. By then, hand-pulled rickshaws were already facing competition from the newer cycle rickshaws, introduced only a few years earlier.

Both forms of rickshaw served the needs of a rapidly growing city, yet the men who powered them remained on the margins of society. Whether pulling by hand or pedalling, rickshaw workers earned a pittance for long hours of gruelling labour. That reality persists today: most rickshaw pullers in Delhi are migrants striving for a better life, working 12–15 hours a day, eking out a meagre living, and navigating not just the city’s relentless motor traffic but also the control of contractors.

The image itself was taken by an American photographer stationed in Delhi during the Second World War. At the time, the city saw a significant American presence due to the China-Burma-India (CBI) war theatre, and it is likely the photographer was posted here as part of that effort.

For more information the contemporary conditions of rickshaw pullers see here:https://www.hindustantimes.com/delhi/when-the-wheels-don-t-turn-poverty-stalks-delhi-s-rickshaw-pullers/story-sfS54LP52hdtYncEQyISiJ.html

The image above was found on the internet.

Delhi, Gaza and airmail, circa.1931

A wonderful piece of philatelic history that connects Delhi and Gaza as well as the histories of colonisation and the legacies of Empire! Here is a letterhead found on the internet that presents the first airmail exchange between Gaza, from the then British Mandate of Palestine and Delhi. It is addressed to J. Davis, the postmaster of the newly inaugurated city of New Delhi in 1931. The route of the flight can be traced through Karachi, another vital node of Empire.

At the time, both Gaza and Delhi were firmly embedded within imperial structures. Palestine had become a British Mandate in 1920 after the defeat of the Ottoman Empire in the First World War. While the British government instituted the mandate under the aegis of the League of Nations, it functioned less as a step toward self-determination and more as an instrument of imperial control—a compromise between colonial ambitions and the emerging tide of nationalist movements.

Similarly, the inauguration of New Delhi as the premier imperial city in 1931 marked a fresh phase of consolidation and spectacle in Britain’s rule over India. Both events—the mandate in Palestine and the ceremonial birth of New Delhi testify to the adaptability of empire, its shifting strategies of governance, and the enduring legacies that affect us today.

With Gaza, in solidarity.

Ref- Private philatelic seller on eBay

The rubble between the Jama Masjid and Lal Qila, 1862.

Another image from Samuel Bourne's collection focusing on Delhi. This was taken from the Jama Masjid in Shahjahanabad (Old Delhi) and shows the Lal Qila (Red Fort) in the distance. Remarkably, since Bourne captured this photograph in 1862, it documents the freshly demolished area between the Fort and the Jama Masjid.

The mounds of rubble in the foreground are telling — they mark the remnants of entire neighbourhoods, havelis, mosques, and work quarters that were razed by the authorities. As we know, this demolition was carried out to create a ‘firing line’ from the Fort — a military measure intended to secure the city in the aftermath of the 1857 uprising.

I haven’t come across any other photographic records of the demolitions from this period, making this an especially valuable image. Bourne’s aesthetic of desolation — or, in other words, his inclination to depict Delhi in a state of decay — inadvertently captures the cataclysmic transformation of the city’s urban fabric.

MD Yaqoob and MD Ayoob, hair dye merchants in Saddar Bazar, Delhi, 1924

 

This is another, slightly longer post on Delhi’s postal and business history. Pictured above is an envelope from the office of Md. Yaqoob and Md. Ayoob, importers and exporters of hair dyes in the 1920s—discovered during an online search. Based in Delhi’s Saddar Bazar, the brothers were the sole agents importing and selling a Japanese product, The Night Star Hair Dye Powder, in Delhi and beyond. Intriguingly, the letter was addressed to an American company, offering a small but telling piece of evidence about trading networks and business ties that stretched beyond British imperial spaces.

Historians have written about Indian merchants under colonial rule and scholars such as Douglas Haynes have explored how advertising—by American and British firms—took root in India, and was transformed by appealing to a notion of the Indian middle-class family. Yet postal ephemera like this raises new questions about the role of newly industrialising nations, particularly Japan, and the allure their products held. Why were Japanese goods, such as hair dyes, popular in 1920s Delhi? And what did they signify to consumers at the time? 

Equally intriguing is the question of the merchants themselves. By the 1920s, Saddar Bazar was a bustling commercial hub with a history of migration. Were Yaqoob and Ayoob part of a newer generation of Delhi entrepreneurs whose roots lay outside the city? Plenty of questions—ones that invite deeper research into the intertwined histories of commerce, migration, and consumer culture in early 20th-century Delhi.

The view from Humayun's Tomb, circa 1860s.

 

Here is another photograph from amateur photographer Samuel Bourne’s set on Delhi, taken in the 1860s. This is taken from the top of Humayun’s tomb and gives us a sense of the scale of what is known today as the Humayun’s Tomb complex. In the foreground are the Afsarwala tomb and mosque, followed by Isa Khan’s tomb and its mosque in the background.

The photo contrasts slightly with the ruins of Tughlaqabad (I have posted on this earlier) but its composition is equally eerie. The lush landscape in the picture also conceals the village of Ghiyaspur containing Sheikh Nizamuddin’s dargah. 

As mentioned my previous posts, while the photograph captures a seemingly timeless landscape, it also reflects the colonial aesthetic of the picturesque, which was often entangled with political intentions. The desolation and decay represented in such images was set against the supposed progress and modernity of British colonial rule.

The Delhi Cotton Mills Company -1890s

I’ve previously explored Delhi’s mills through the lens of business postcards, and also written about the earliest ventures—most notably, the Ganesh Flour Mills. However, here is an actual certificate of shares from the Delhi Cotton Mills Company from the 1890s. The Company started off as the Delhi Cotton and General Mills (https://hiddendelhiblog.blogspot.com/2024/03/as-forms-of-photographic-circulation.html) and was renamed periodically. A prominent Delhiwalla, Lala Sri Ram—known today for his philanthropic legacy and for founding Delhi’s iconic Shri Ram College of Commerce—played a pivotal role in transforming the mills into the largest textile operation in North India. Today, its legacy continues under the name DCM Shriram.What's fascinating is the seal used by the mills in its early days. If you look closely, this is an imprint of the now vanished Clock Tower (Ghanta Ghar), once a landmark of colonial Chandni Chowk and a reminder of the new importance (and discipline) of clock-time. the I haven't come across a seal like this before and so, have cropped this image below: 

Delhi's Tughlaqabad in the 1860s

A photograph of the ruins of Tughlaqabad (on the outskirts of Delhi) from amateur photographer Samuel Bourne’s travels through India in the 1860s. Captured in the wake of the Rebellion of 1857, this image forms part of the broader colonial project to document the Indian landscape through a distinctly imperial lens (I have written about this previously in a post to do with Bourne and Shepherd's photographic studio). Delhi (Bourne took several photographs of the city of Delhi/Shahjahanabad and its environs) and Tughlaqabad are represented as desolate and decaying - contrasting directly with the modern and progressive force of British power. Therefore, the image of decay served both artistic and political purposes in the colonial archive. 

The view from Safdarjung's Tomb, 1906.

 

A wonderful little photograph from the top of Safdarjung’s tomb in Delhi, circa 1906. I have previously posted about the fact that Safdarjung’s tomb operated as a rest station for visitors, Indians and Europeans alike  on the way to the Qutub. It seems that it also served as an early site for photographic experimentation. And while we often see photographs taken from the opposite angle—centered on the 18th-century tomb itself—this rare perspective invites us to look outward and appreciate the broader, early 20^th century landscape. To the left lies the area now known as Lodi Gardens, where you can spot the domed silhouette of Muhammad Shah Sayyid’s tomb and other archaeological remnants if you look closely. On the right stretches the expanse of Bagh-i-Jud, now Jor Bagh (the tree-lined Lodi Road, which now bisects this landscape, was only carved through the area in the 1930s). In all, a fascinating glimpse of the necropolis of Delhi before the planner’s city came into being.

Kabaddi in Delhi, 1930s.

 

This photograph captures a game of Kabaddi (or kabadhī) being played in Delhi in the 1930s, offering a rare glimpse into the leisure and sporting practices of the time. The Gazetteer of Delhi from the 1880s highlights Kabaddi and hockey (referred to as gend khuli at the time) as the two most popular outdoor games in the Delhi District. In contrast, cricket—now widely considered an "Indian" sport—was less prominent in this period. The first mention of cricket in Delhi appears in connection with St. Stephen’s Mission High School for Boys, which opened near Chandni Chowk in the 1860s. Operated by the SPG Mission, the school featured a 'cricket and athletic department,' designed to promote European-style games and physical activities.

Barker and Hooper (Coachbuilders), Kashmiri Gate, Delhi, circa 1940s

 This is a poster featuring the coachbuilders Barker and Hooper, who had an office in Kashmiri Gate, Shahjahanabad (‘Old’ Delhi). Printed in the 1940s after the amalgamation of the two British coachbuilders, Hooper and Barker, the poster illustrates how Kashmiri Gate remained a hub for luxury goods and foreign manufactures even after the establishment of ‘New’ Delhi in the 1930s.

While the Second World War and the resulting ‘war traffic’ contributed to the rise of newer shopping districts like Connaught Place, the end of the war and the Partition of India raised concerns about whether Kashmiri Gate would be displaced as the primary location for European products and elite consumption. The transformation, however, was gradual and uneven. This poster serves as a reminder of Kashmiri Gate’s enduring role in Delhi’s shifting urban and commercial landscape.

A Mughal courtier in Delhi, circa 1820s.

 

This hand-coloured engraving depicts a Mughal courtier in Delhi during the reign of Akbar Shah II, likely from the 1820s. At first glance, it appears to be a straightforward representation—but the image carries with it a layered history of reproduction and imagination.

What we see is not an original but a copy—twice removed—from a scene never directly witnessed by its final engraver. The French artist Choubard created this version for a European audience enthralled by tales of the opulent court of the "Great Mogul." His work was based on an earlier engraving by J. Massard, who in turn copied a sketch by Bishop Reginald Heber, the Anglican Bishop of Calcutta. Heber had visited Delhi in the 1820s and recorded his impressions of Delhi and the waning Mughal court.

This engraving is a late example of such romanticised imagery, produced as the tone of British imperial culture was shifting. As racial attitudes hardened and the East India Company consolidated its dominance in North India, the fascination with the Mughal world gave way to a more dismissive gaze, only hardened by the events of the Rebellion of 1857.

The Qutub Minar on toilet soaps, 1899-1901.

 

On display today is a print of Delhi’s famed Qutub Minar on Gustav Boehm’s toilet soaps from the late 19th century. The Boehm family were Hessian manufacturers of toilet soaps, and from 1899–1901 their products came with images of historic places and monuments from around the world. Their series, Reise um die Welt (“Voyage around the World”), featured sites from across the British Empire, including the Qutub Minar.

While the Qutub Minar was already known to travellers and officials within the British Empire, Boehm’s soap represents an early form of advertising that helped disseminate its image more widely. We know that images of India and Delhi’s historic sites were beginning to circulate through photo postcards at the time. But placing the Qutub on an everyday product like soap brought it into domestic, even intimate spaces—helping to establish Delhi’s monuments as central visual emblems of the city. In this way, advertisements like Boehm’s did not merely reflect the Qutub’s importance—they actively helped produce and promote Delhi as a city of monuments.

Military encampment in Delhi’s Khanpur/Tughlaqabad, 1932

 

The above photographs come from an album documenting a military camp and exercises held on the outskirts of Delhi in 1932. Taken by a British officer, the images capture not only the military activity but also the entourage of Indian servants who accompanied the British Indian Army. These images offer valuable insight into the scale of such military manoeuvres, which became a routine aspect of life in Delhi after the Rebellion of 1857, and they underscore how caste-based employment was reinforced in the army.

In the photographs, we see Indian farriers tending to horses and ‘boot boys’ responsible for repairing and polishing military boots. These workers were either part of the army’s permanent staff or locally recruited. Given that the officer was stationed at the Delhi barracks in the Red Fort, it is likely that the Indian men pictured were also from Delhi.

Beyond military life, the photographs also capture glimpses of everyday rural life, including scenes of local agriculture (an example is below). The encampment at Khanpur and Tughlaqabad would have required steady supplies, likely sourced from nearby cultivators. A fascination with ‘cultural difference’ led to the inclusion of rural communities in such visual records, highlighting the intersection between military presence and local livelihoods.

Rocket Despatches at the Delhi Jamboree, 1937

1937 was an intriguing year for Delhi. The newly established capital hosted Baden Powell’s All India Scouts Jamboree, a festive event that brought scouts and guide groups from across India. The Delhi Jamboree was also a significant event for an Anglo-Indian man called Stephen Smith and his ‘Rocket Mail’ experiments. The stamp that you see above was one of several philatelic items put inside a rocket to demonstrate the power and future of ‘Rocket Mail’.

Stephen Smith, an Anglo-Indian man with an Indian mother and British father, was actually a trained dentist with a passion for rocketeering. Smith would go on to earn the title of the “father of Indian aerophilately”—the practice of sending mail via airborne methods. At the time, Rocket Mail was envisioned as a revolutionary technology—harnessing rockets to transport mail, and at times even small animals, across short distances(!) Though his experiments yielded mixed results until then, the Jamboree offered Smith a grand stage to ignite public imagination—particularly among children—with the possibilities of rocket science.

While Delhi’s tryst with rocket mail might seem straight out of a science fiction book, similar experiments were already underway in Germany and other parts of Europe from the 1920s. Smith and Delhi, then, were on the pulse of global scientific experimentation in the early 20th century—even as these experiments unfolded within imperial structures that often obscured who was permitted to innovate and who was left out of the narrative.

References: https://www.indianairmails.com/indian-rocket-mail.html

https://astrotalkuk.org/stephen-smith-and-leslie-johnson-development-of-rockets-during-the-1930s-and-letters-from-calcutta-to-liverpool/

Lady Hardinge Medical College and its potential as an 'All India Institute' in 1948

 

The above is a photo feature from the 1920s on Delhi’s Lady Hardinge Medical College. Established in 1916 as a women-only medical institution, the college was founded by Lady Hardinge, the wife of then Viceroy George Hardinge. For a brief period the college was also considered as a potential 'All India Institute' for medical training.

By 1948, following India's independence, the newly formed central government was faced with the daunting task of expanding healthcare access across the country. Healthcare infrastructure had been severely neglected under British rule, and the financial situation was dire. The massive influx of refugees after Partition added further strain, raising urgent questions about how both provincial and central authorities could manage public health.

Despite these challenges, the Ministry of Health made budgetary provisions to bring Lady Hardinge Medical College under central administration, envisioning it as a temporary 'All India Institute' for the training of health professionals. This was seen as an interim solution, as the Government of India aspired to establish a purpose-built All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS) in Delhi—but lacked the funds to launch the project immediately.

Ultimately, AIIMS was officially established in 1961, in line with the recommendations of the Bhore Committee report of 1943. Lady Hardinge College carried on its operations eventually coming under the remit of the Ministry of Health and Family Welfare in the 1970s.

Reference: A.S Mehta, 'India's Progress on the Health Front', Aug 15, 1949, Times of India, pg. 2

The Central Publicity Bureau in Delhi, 1930s

In the late 1930s, Delhi’s Shamnath Marg (known as Alipur Road at the time) was a hub of activity. It was home to the Central Publicity Bureau of British India, overseen by the Chief Publicity Officer. Among the Bureau’s responsibilities was the promotion of cities like Delhi, especially those accessible by rail.

Unlike pilgrimage or commercial traffic, the railways had begun to identify a growing segment of 'luxury tourism' heading toward the imperial capital during the 1930s and 1940s. While the Bureau’s larger focus was on promoting the operations of the Indian State Railways across the country, Delhi featured prominently on the tourist circuit. Publicity officers maintained short guides and promotional literature and liaised with certified tourist agents.

Here’s what one such Indian State Railways guide had to say about luxury travel:

“If you wish to travel in luxury, take a private coach and see India in comfort. Stop when and where you like, for as long as you like. You can have your own personal servants and their direct continuous service, your private parlour and bedrooms, the meals you wish for cooked in the way you like. Consult any Tourist Agency or any of the Officers detailed above.”

The guide also featured a detailed map showing how Delhi could be reached by various railway lines—from Meerut, Agra, Bombay, and more. You can see that map here:

 

Amita Malik on Delhi in 1957

 

A colour postcard of Delhi's Connaught Circus in the 1950s

The picture above is a postcard of Connaught Circus that I found online. It sets the stage well for Amita Malik's 1957 article on Delhi. Malik, a fiercely opinionated journalist and radio broadcaster, earned the moniker the “First Lady of Indian Media.” Interestingly, her piece Oh to be in Delhi in the Times of India evokes a new nostalgia—one shared by the urban middle classes and literati who made the city their home after 1947. This wasn’t a longing for the pre-1857 Delhi or the Shahr-i-Ashoob (“ruined city”) lamentation we associate with earlier nostalgic writings about the capital. The tone is also different from S.C. Kala's article in the same newspaper a year earlier where he was critical of how class and power had reshaped Delhi in the 1950s (see my earlier piece on the 11th of April).

While Malik was jaded by the “welter of traffic” and the new bureaucratic culture (something shared by her and Kala) that had come to define the city, she also offers glimpses into people and places that had become cherished and longed for—many of which have since faded from memory. For example, she writes:
"One remembers the unspoilt charm of the Punjabi schoolgirl in her shalwar-kameez and pigtails, the little old Sikh on Irwin Road (now Baba Kharak Singh Marg) who never forgets to throw in that extra bunch of hara dhania with the week’s vegetables, the shop assistant who writes poetry in Connaught Circus."

These are fragments from a past that now feels distant, but in the 1950s, they resonated with a sense of belonging and familiarity.

A short post from me today. See you next week. 

Reference: Malik, Amita 'Of, To be in Delhi', Times of India, May 27, 1957.

A Khilji era well in Delhi, 1949.

 

*Edited post - As a result of a helpful comment on instagram, I have edited this post as this well/gumbad still exists but within the premises of a school!

A striking photograph from 1949, taken by a French visitor to Delhi, captures a well dating back to the Khilji period, located in what is today known as the ‘Siri Fort’ area. At the time, this well would have served the nearby village of Shahpur Jat, a long-standing historic settlement nestled within the remains of Alauddin Khilji’s 14th-century fortified ‘city’. 

Curiously, archaeological guides like those of Maulvi Zafar Hasan, whose pioneering work produced the most comprehensive catalogue of Delhi’s architectural heritage between 1916-22 (and whose list is still used by the Archaeological Survey of India), did not include the well in the Siri Fort area.

 

 

References:

Maulvi Zafar Hasan et al. ‘Monuments of Delhi: Lasting Splendour of the Great Mughals and Others’ (Mehrauli Zail Vol. 3 and Badarpur Zail-Shahdara Zail) pp.168-72

 

Photo: Unknown, ‘Well in the countryside’, Delhi, 1949.

The 'Ancient Guardian', circa 1920-1930s.

 

Here’s a grainy photograph titled “The Ancient Guardian of the Ancient Temple,” found online. It dates back to the early 20th century and was taken by visitors to the Qutub complex in Mehrauli. Despite the grand title, the ‘guardian’ pictured here was likely not a mutawalli (a custodian of Muslim charitable endowments), but rather a caretaker appointed by the Archaeological Survey of India.

Images like this are rare and are a window into Delhi’s layered social history. One can imagine that, along with his striking presence, the caretaker may have had many stories to share—tales of the local neighbourhood and the long, storied past of the Qutub itself. 

A short post from me this week. I’ll be back next Friday with more from Delhi.

The Times of India’s S.C. Kala on changes in Delhi, 1956.

 

Wikimedia Commons - ITO crossroads in Delhi, 1950s

In 1956, The Times of India featured an op-ed by S.C. Kala titled “Changing New Delhi.” Kala’s article offered a sardonic take on the social and political shifts Delhi had undergone since independence. He argued that change was everywhere in New Delhi—so pervasive, in fact, that its "citizens find it difficult to adjust themselves to the new climate."

While the piece provides historians with valuable insights into how the city was transforming, its caustic tone and sharp observations also make it an entertaining read. For instance, describing the new localities designed to socially stratify and accommodate the post-independence bureaucracy, Kala wrote:

“The names of the four new colonies built for government servants show which way the wind of change is blowing. The top officials of the Secretariat (Sachivalaya) live in Shan Nagar (city of pomp and splendour), middling officials in Man Nagar (city for the respectable), clerks in Vinaya Nagar (city of the humble) and chaprassis in Sewa Nagar (city for those who serve their masters). Who says class distinctions have hardened since 1947? Do not all Government servants, irrespective of their different pay scales and special allowances, live in the newly-constructed Nagars (cities)? What does it matter if some live in one-room tenements and others in luxury bungalows, with outhouses and servants’ quarters?”

Kala’s commentary serves as both a critique and a chronicle, revealing how class and power underpinned the postcolonial transformation of Delhi.

  

Note: Some of these areas were re-named as part of a 'politics of naming'. So, Shan and Man Nagar were eventually changed to Bharti Nagar and Ravindra Nagar. Vinaya Nagar was also subsequently re-christened as Sarojini Nagar.