Delhi

Salman Khurshid reviews Mala's new book.

Even if it was difficult, the shifting of the capital of British India from Calcutta to Delhi was perhaps inevitable. The unexpected proclamation by King George V at the end of his grand coronation durbar was a decision that had a far-reaching effect. Many historical and fictional accounts of the period between 1911 and 1931 capture the atmosphere of the times but this meticulously researched photographic record of the transformation of Raisina Hill into the seat of the imperial government is rewarding for both Delhi-wallahs and others.

The choice of Mala Singh is appropriate, given her close relationship with the family that built New Delhi. But she is also in a sense the Victoria Ocampo of New Delhi, at whose dining table one can meet some of the best minds of our times. The anecdotes one hears there range from informative to downright hilarious. If someone knows Delhi, it is Mala—ably supported by her deeply insightful spouse, Tejbir Singh or Jugnu, great grandson of Sujan Singh.


With much of the pristine beauty of Lutyens’ Delhi tarnished, this book shows how easy it is to destroy our heritage.


The best observer of contemporary Delhi finds a worthy companion in historian Rudrangshu Mukherjee. He provides an excellent account of the actual decision to reunite Bengal and shift the capital to Delhi. Rudrangshu’s vast knowledge of Indian history from 1857 to Independence is apparent from the account of how and why the decision was taken: “There existed sound arguments for shifting the capital from Calcutta. But the choice of Delhi fell on the British after the experience of the revolt of 1857. It had demonstrated very vividly the emotional hold that Delhi had over large sections of the Indian populace.”

Kudos must also go to the tireless effort that Pramod Kapoor, the self-proclaimed ‘sepia junkie’, must have put into collecting the photographs, copies of telegrams, maps, plans, drawings, letters and even scraps of paper. But for him, we might never have had a virtual ringside view of the birth of Delhi’s eighth reincarnation. Just as it was two brilliant British architects who helped put up what was to be the seat of power in India’s democracy, it was the archival treasure of the British Library, the Institute of Asian Studies and the University of Cambridge that made the book possible.

The book is the story of India’s march from acquiescence to imperial power to the celebratory burst of Independence. The stones remained but the spirit it symbolised changed dramatically. Later, there were a few modifications, such as the removal of King George V’s statue from under the cupola next to India Gate. The book is also about the relationship of Edwin Lutyens and Herbert Baker and how the two quarrelled over the design of the Capital on the Hill. Whilst the latter succeeded in his intent to put the Government House (now Rashtrapati Bhavan) on a gradient so that only the dome was visible till one reached the top of Raisina Hill, Lutyens “studied Indian traditions earnestly, looked for motifs and symbols, created a directory of local materials, gathered elements of art and craft both secular and temporal, tweaked much of it and put it all together in an attempt to create a hybrid style”. The abiding passion for gardens found its willing subject in the Mughal style with water bodies, channels, the char-bagh squares, low-level fountains, pergolas, paved walkways, vegetation and flowers deftly woven.

The British might have built for themselves, but did leave behind a valuable seat of government for democratic India. But Malvika Singh also talks of what we will leave behind. Speaking of independent India’s efforts at building cities, she contrasts the work of Lutyens with that of Le Corbusier: “Chandigarh was implanted on the land without an energetic, indigenous, cultural influence. It rose from the ground like a sterile, inorganic reality”. This is a lesson and a warning for Delhi as well. With much of the pristine beauty of Lutyens’ Delhi having been ravaged before Lutyens’ Bungalow Zone regulations were introduced, this book is a timely reminder of how easy it is to destroy our heritage. Perhaps Pramod Kapoor might wish to return to the dusty shelves and discover the hidden past of the other Delhi, Shahjahanabad, over whose crushed dreams Raisina rose to dominate the horizon.


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(The reviewer is Union minister for minorities)