demolition crews arrived, these narrow lanes were lined withold-fashioned havelis typical of this part of the city. Their architecture is distinct; they are usually tall, narrow structures built around a central courtyard. These grand, old buildings have now mostly disappeared but in the seventies there were many fine havelis hidden in old Delhi’s squalid, cluttered alleys. Their narrow doorways opened to courtyards and walled gardens and into high-ceilinged rooms beautifully furnished with antique Persian carpets and dusty chandeliers. By the seventies, municipal neglect had turned old Delhi into so unsanitary a place that those who owned the grander havelis had moved to newer and cleaner parts of the city, but this did not mean that old Delhi could be described as a slum. It was, and still is, the most picturesque and romantic part of the city despite decades of neglect and civic decay. There were slums and shanties in newer parts of the city but, for reasons that remain mysterious, it was old Delhi that was targeted for ‘slum removal’.
On 18 April 1976, it was one of those lazy afternoons in the reporters’ room when news came of riots in the old city. Whoever brought the news said people had been killed in police firing. I assumed that it was a clash between Hindus and Muslims because this, sadly, is what the old city had become notorious for after 1947. There was some debate in the reporters’ room whether it was even worth covering a riot since the story would be almost certainly censored but I decided to go anyway. After a series I had written on Delhi’s hospitals was censored, I was given the task of writing an anodyne column called ‘Passing By’. I had to find three people who were passing through Delhi every week and interview them. It was as tedious a task as I have ever had in my career. So I jumped at the idea of having a real story to cover, even if just for my own satisfaction.
The bulldozers had arrived before I got to Turkman Gate and were doing their work with remarkable speed. Clouds of dust and debris obscured the houses that were being demolished, so it took me a few moments to realize that the bulldozers were battering down old Mughal havelis, which may have looked rundown and shabby from the outside but were proper, furnished homes beyond the façade. The officials with the bulldozers did not care. They were interested only in carrying out their orders. Through the dust and debris I saw people standing amid their salvaged possessions, looking dazed and helpless. Women wailed and children wept as they stood among pots and pans tied up with string, clothes gathered in bundles made of old sheets, rolled up mattresses andsmall pieces of furniture that they had managed to save. They stared mesmerized at the bulldozers as they smashed down the walls of their homes. When the walls came down, there would be glimpses of beds and cupboards and carpets before the bulldozers smashed them to dust. At one moment it looked as if some men were on the verge of stopping the demolition by lying down in front of the bulldozers, but before this could happen a convoy of trucks arrived, into which they were herded.
While the officials supervising the demolitions were busy I managed to talk to some of the people whose homes were being demolished. They said they had been given no more than an hour’s notice to move out of their homes. There had been rumours of possible demolitions for about a week but nobody had paid much attention to them because they did not think it was possible that the government would destroy their homes. It was only that morning, before the bulldozers arrived, that people realized they were about to lose their homes. They tried resisting but their protests had ended quickly when the police escorting the demolition squad fired into the crowd. Nobody knows how many people died in police firing that day. Figures range from twelve to 1200.
The people who were forced to move from Turkman Gate
On 18 April 1976, it was one of those lazy afternoons in the reporters’ room when news came of riots in the old city. Whoever brought the news said people had been killed in police firing. I assumed that it was a clash between Hindus and Muslims because this, sadly, is what the old city had become notorious for after 1947. There was some debate in the reporters’ room whether it was even worth covering a riot since the story would be almost certainly censored but I decided to go anyway. After a series I had written on Delhi’s hospitals was censored, I was given the task of writing an anodyne column called ‘Passing By’. I had to find three people who were passing through Delhi every week and interview them. It was as tedious a task as I have ever had in my career. So I jumped at the idea of having a real story to cover, even if just for my own satisfaction.
The bulldozers had arrived before I got to Turkman Gate and were doing their work with remarkable speed. Clouds of dust and debris obscured the houses that were being demolished, so it took me a few moments to realize that the bulldozers were battering down old Mughal havelis, which may have looked rundown and shabby from the outside but were proper, furnished homes beyond the façade. The officials with the bulldozers did not care. They were interested only in carrying out their orders. Through the dust and debris I saw people standing amid their salvaged possessions, looking dazed and helpless. Women wailed and children wept as they stood among pots and pans tied up with string, clothes gathered in bundles made of old sheets, rolled up mattresses andsmall pieces of furniture that they had managed to save. They stared mesmerized at the bulldozers as they smashed down the walls of their homes. When the walls came down, there would be glimpses of beds and cupboards and carpets before the bulldozers smashed them to dust. At one moment it looked as if some men were on the verge of stopping the demolition by lying down in front of the bulldozers, but before this could happen a convoy of trucks arrived, into which they were herded.
While the officials supervising the demolitions were busy I managed to talk to some of the people whose homes were being demolished. They said they had been given no more than an hour’s notice to move out of their homes. There had been rumours of possible demolitions for about a week but nobody had paid much attention to them because they did not think it was possible that the government would destroy their homes. It was only that morning, before the bulldozers arrived, that people realized they were about to lose their homes. They tried resisting but their protests had ended quickly when the police escorting the demolition squad fired into the crowd. Nobody knows how many people died in police firing that day. Figures range from twelve to 1200.
The people who were forced to move from Turkman Gate
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