POV: THE SELLING OF A CITY
Two thousand and three hundred trees to be cut in New Delhi’s Netaji Nagar, 11,000 in Sarojini Nagar, another 1,400 at Nauroji Nagar... The headlines are loud and clear. If in the case of redevelopment a few thousand 100-year-old trees are cut, so be it. Life goes on.
One of the great tragedies of the Indian city—besides the more obvious environmental one caused by cutting trees— is the failure of the government, concerned architects and planners to provide reasoned ideas suited to local forms of urban living. All three projects are being developed by the NBCC, a construction arm of the government. With Sarojini Nagar slated for development this year, it will follow the model set in East Kidwai Nagar where
8 to 10-storey tower blocks have replaced 2,400 houses with 4,600 apartments. A project costing Rs 5,000 crore, its urban design makes no ecological concession to the already crowded Ring Road it faces, adds no additional green to offset the doubled population and contributes no measurable public space to the mix. It is, as the Duke of Edinburgh once said of a shoddy electrical job, ‘as if an Indian has done it’.
More and more Delhi is becoming an unsightly blemish on the landscape. Always planning for a future Delhi makes the present Delhi a carcinogenic wasteland where construction is the perpetual cause of blight. A serious consideration and care of what exists and has thrived for a century needs to be understood as the sole value of a place. If the government is not allowed to place commercial value on historical land and ancient monuments, why then is it free to cut ancient trees?
It need hardly be said that daily life in most Indian cities is a battle of wits that only leads to helpless protest and outrage. Obviously, the demands of our rapidly growing metros can hardly be met by old solutions. Filthy cities, choked roads, grey skies, inadequate water supply and energy are reasons enough to seek new forms of urban living. Unfortunately, the Indian imagination is reined in by bureaucracy, antiquated bylaws and a lack of civic coherence. Delhi’s third-rate highrises, Mumbai’s Bandra Kurla complex and Indira Nagar in Bengaluru could have selected new conceptions visible to all in the centre of town, but instead chose the path to easy, time-tested commerce and the quick buck.
Cities around the world have chosen to err on the side of environmental reform. New York City converted a derelict elevated railway line into a park; Seoul is currently rebuilding an extensive disused flyover into a green belt that connects to the city centre. Could Delhi similarly take the Barapullah flyway and make an elevated forest and pedestrian pathway there?
Realistically, the city could chase one of two possible directions. Either take each of the new areas slated for development and establish a radical new thinking in its place— achieve a dense form of urban living that does away with motorised vehicles, creating a genuine mixed use network of home-work-recreation—an idea that has been discussed and debated for a decade; then create an altogether new ecosystem of green—perhaps a reservoir that collects rainwater and also becomes the setting for housing; examine alternative systems of energy and waste management. The eventual aim of the projects should be directed towards a neighbourhood culture that emerges from ideals realised, visible and lived. Such works—promoted through design competitions—can be a critical demonstration of new ideas on urban design, architecture, landscape, ecology, conservation and energy. It is imperative that the government not squander the opportunity.
Or, it could continue down its current destructive path: commercialise India Gate for auction to hotel groups, convert Lodhi Garden into a marriage venue and make profitable highrises on the prime land occupying the Delhi Golf Club. Or at least start the process by cutting trees in the Lutyens’ Zone?
Always planning for a future Delhi makes the present Delhi a carcinogenic wasteland where construction is a perpetual cause of blight