Planning for Delhi in 1908

 

A print showing Delhi's environs (19th century). 

Can we imagine how Delhi’s topography would have looked if the British capital hadn’t been transferred from Calcutta in 1911? What might urban planning have looked like in the area we now know as the Delhi National Capital Region? Would the ‘colonial’ city still have triumphed over popular town planning ideas of the time, such as Patrick Geddes’ call for a deeper understanding of the relationship between humans and their environments? These were the questions posed to me recently, and this post is dedicated to exploring them.

By the early 1900s, there is evidence of a subtle shift in official discourse around urban planning in Delhi. For instance, a handwritten letter from a revenue settlement officer in 1908 suggests there were discussions about bringing Delhi’s outlying areas under a planning framework that extended beyond the narrow interests of the municipal government and local elites. Here is part of what the officer wrote:

“Would it not be possible to lay out a new suburb on the existing nazul land of Khandarat Kalan, Ferozabad Banger, and perhaps take in Narhaula and Raisena as well? I mean, a really respectable sanitary suburb where the ADC railway would open a station, with proper boulevards and wide-open spaces. Our present proposed improvements are unsympathetic, leaving no open spaces for resort and recreation, in spite of the lesson to be learned from the Queen’s gardens and its perpetual crowd.”

This suggests that some officials were envisioning a broader form of urban planning for Delhi. The officer continued:

“… What a treat it would be to have that miserable Khandarat land extending down to Nizam-din’s tomb land out in blocks, systematically arranged for future building sites, with provision for roads and hygienic recreation! Surely it is better to tackle the question now and ensure orderly expansion, rather than allow the city to expand according to the whims of individual landowners?”

While this does represent a broader form of planning, there are clear questions about its inclusivity. First off, the letter echoes the old colonial trope of orderly development of  the ‘miserable’ khandarat (‘ruins’) lands. Moreover, while the plan suggests addressing needs such as leisure, recreation, and sanitation, these would likely have been intended only for the city’s population, not necessarily for those living in the suburban areas. One might also argue that this wasn’t a prescriptive plan but simply one official’s opinion in 1908. It’s likely such ideas would have been contested, especially over issues of cost and effectiveness. Debates would have centered around whether European forms of ‘hygienic recreation’ were appropriate for Indian contexts. As I mention in my book, many of these tensions led to the collapse of early urban plans, and there’s no reason to believe this vision would have fared differently.

In sum, despite the potential in the official’s plans, the ‘colonial’ in colonial Delhi would have triumphed over inclusivity. Perhaps that tells us that planning is always contentious and never free from the cultural, political and social contexts that shapes it.

On that note, see you next Friday for more on Delhi.

Delhi and India's first Republic Day, 1950.

A newspaper clipping showing eager onlookers at Connaught Circus waiting for the first-ever presidential cavalcade in January 1950. This was the occasion when India became a republic and elected its first president, Dr. Rajendra Prasad. As the capital city, Delhi was at the heart of it all. As you can see, crowds scaled the buildings at Connaught Circus to get a view of the passing parade. It must have been a spectacular affair.

Unlike the carefully orchestrated spectacle that Republic Day has become today, the first parade in 1950 offered a relatively ‘up-close’ view of Dr. Rajendra Prasad’s carriage as it passed through several locations around the city. Irwin Amphitheatre (today known as Major Dhyan Chand National Stadium) was the site chosen for the presidential inauguration, with the ruins of the ‘Old Fort’ in the background (see below).

One commonality between the parades of today and those in 1950 is the military pageantry involved. The strength of the Republic was displayed through flyovers and military parades, which have become enduring features of the event. While, in theory, the declaration of a new republic constituted a rupture with the past, it’s worth remembering that the marching bands and displays of military strength were rooted in older British traditions. In Delhi, military marches and flyovers had become common in the preceding decades, reaching their zenith during the ‘Victory Day’ celebrations after World War II. Delhi and India’s first Republic Day therefore gave a new, postcolonial meaning to these traditions.

Delhi's 'Hyderabad House' on a cigarette card, circa. 1930s

 

This vintage cigarette card features Hyderabad House, a landmark in Delhi, produced by the Birmingham-based R & J Hill cigarette company. Known popularly as “Hills,” the company had a sub-brand called “Sunripe and Spinet Oval” which carried pictures of different imperial spaces. This card dates back to the 1930s, just after the inauguration of “New” Delhi as the capital of British India.

Why a cigarette card, you might ask? In the 1930s, cigarette cards were all the rage in Britain. With smoking being incredibly popular at the time, companies like Hills used these cards to promote their brands, making them collectible and a powerful marketing tool. As part of their “Views of Interest” series, Hills issued cards featuring notable landmarks and people from across the British Empire. 

One such notable was the owner of Hyderabad House, the Nizam. Part of a small group of illustrious princes invited to construct palaces or ‘houses’ in Delhi after the inauguration of the ‘New’ city, the Nizam of Hyderabad was a considerable landholder and also the richest man in the world at the time. The picture on the obverse of the cigarette card (below) presents some background information on this and lionises the ‘new’ palaces in Delhi being built by the princes of India under the aegis of the British Empire.

That’s all for this week! See you next Friday for more insights into Delhi’s history.

New Anxieties in the 'walled city': Delhi's walls in 19th century

 

Above is a photo of ‘Delhi Gate’ from the late 19th century, a gate of Old Delhi (Shahjahanabad), with its retaining walls still intact.

 

Although called the ‘walled city’, the walls of Old Delhi started disappearing over a century and a half ago, after the Rebellion/Mutiny of 1857. To be fair, the walls weren’t dismantled in one go. Indeed, for a while the central government in Calcutta ordered the walls to remain standing as a security measure, much to the chagrin of the local government. 

 

The gradual removal of the walls, however, brought with it new anxieties for Delhi’s residents. Without the wall, the urbane Delhiwallas were increasingly in contact with people from Delhi’s surrounding areas and this interaction wasn’t always smooth. Consider the following report from a newspaper in 1871 on herdsmen from the Gujar community settling in Shahjahanabad: 

 

“Since the mutiny of 1857, herdsmen, who were before turned out from the city and made to live far from habitation have again taken their abode inside the wall, which has a bad effect on its sanitation. The filth of the cattle and the dunghills not only give birth to swarms of insects, which are extremely vexatious and tormenting, but corrupt the air and spread a most offensive smell in the city.”

 

While Shahjahanabad had long been a trade and cultural hub and saw migration from afar, this sort of interaction with neighbouring pastoral communities such as the Gujars marked a new phase in its social dynamics. The slow dismantling of Delhi’s walls sparked discussions on crime and policing in the city, while also revealing how migrants trying to find a new home were scapegoated.  

 

While the ‘walled city’ is often seen as a symbol of the grandeur of a bygone Delhi, it should be remembered that the city’s walls were intentionally built to exclude. 

 

See you next Friday.

The man in the frame: Qutub Minar, circa 1870s

 

Happy New Year to everyone! This Blog has also turned one! Yes, my first blogpost was published around this time last year, so this is a special post of sorts. 

 

Featured today is an iconic image, that of the Qutub Minar (loosely translated as ‘Victory Tower’) built in the 13^th century. The Qutub area is now an archaeological/heritage site (I have posted on the Qutub and Mehrauli previously). This photograph was taken in the 1870s. We don’t know who took the photo but this is an albumen print – a method of photographic printing using egg whites. This is also a very early picture of the Qutub. 

 

Interestingly, it’s during this time photography is becoming a tool to capture (and in a sense, ‘produce’) monuments across British India. Delhi, known as the ‘Rome of Asia’, was the perfect place to experiment with this technology and monumentalise the landscape. The process was unabashedly political. Photography was used to portray ruins and older archaeological sites as remnants of a civilisation in decay, which some scholars argue was used to justify British intervention. 

 

What complicates this slightly is the figure on the bottom right-hand corner of the image (also below). If you look closely, you’ll notice an Indian man posing in the photograph! In other words, the whole process of image capture- producing a decayed landscape and of course, depopulated space has been ruined by the fashionable figure in the corner of the frame. One might argue that this figure was coerced into the shot to serve the photographer. However, I disagree. The man is not easily categorised as a subject for ‘documentation’ nor does he fit the typical ‘street scene.’ He doesn’t contribute to the sense of desolation. In fact, his confident pose—his hand on his waist and one leg outstretched—actively disrupts the photographer’s gaze. This is a figure looking dapper and asserting his presence.

See you next Friday for another post on Delhi.