Image of big city life in Warli style: Sion road, Dharavi

The presence of tribal communities in the Mumbai Metropolital region is not so well-known. Warlis, Kathkaris, Thakkars, Bhils are some of the many forest linked communities that are as integral to the peripheral landscape of the city as are industries and concrete developments. The fact that Mumbai encompasses both, the most densely populated neighbourhoods in the world, along with a natural tropical forest within its municipal limits, is also a counter-intuitive complement to this story.

While Warli art has become as gentrified as an art gallery in a heritage urban precinct, the reality it represents is hugely significant. Tribal communities in India represent a relatively independent section of a caste-based society. Their loss of control over forest lands, which traditionally provided them the economic basis of social independence had a huge impact on their lives. Today all statistics on poverty are actually framed by a community based angle and the scheduled tribes constitute one of the lowest indicators in terms of economic status. And yet, they are at the forefront of political resistance in different parts of the country. Within the larger narrative of tribal India, the potency of even gentrified, over-exposed art forms from the Warli community tell something about the complexity of social life in India.

Warli art has historically been showcased on the walls of their homes. The stylized images are powerful expressions, and their simplicity only enhances the meanings conveyed. Bodies that are slightly bent express motion, arms and legs may consist of only a few lines but communicate much more.   The paintings are a way of telling stories and depict scenes of everyday life, mythological stories, events expected in the coming year, or just entertainment. The Warli style of painting is said to date back many centuries and may have migrated all the way from Africa. Today, many people have moved to the city of Mumbai and scenes of everyday life in this dense city are very different from the old paintings.

Warli paintings representing daily life in the village.

Later this year, probably in September, we are planning a one week event in which young people can learn Warli art. Warli artists will come and teach children, teenagers, and students how to tell stories of their own life in attractive drawings and paintings, a bit like in cartoons. At the end of the week, the paintings will be brought together in an exhibition which will show everyday life in Dharavi as seen by today’s young generation.

The event is about connecting art and everyday life. Warli painting will be connected to the city, and youngsters will learn an art that once was part of the life of their own family. It is about making connections between the city and tribal, the present and tradition.

It goes without saying that the exhibition will be opened with a great celebration in which all participants can proudly present their achievements to their friends, families, and the community. Although the event is primarily educational, the artists will have a good time too as Dharavi is an extraordinary place to make paintings of.

Cybercafe and city-style furniture

The images in this post are made by artists of the Adivasi Sahaj Shikshan Pariwar Center in Masvan Palghar. Their art work is a source of income from which the center can finance its activities: education, healthcare support, social forestry and farming, and women empowerment.

The event will be organised in a close cooperation of local schools, Warli artists, URBZ, and the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology in Lausanne. Contact Sytse de Maat for more information.

Post by Sytse de Maat, PhD student in architecture at the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology in Lausanne, and Urbzman.

India has experienced unprecedented growth in the past one or two decades. However, “New India”, liberalized, globalized and “shining”, has yet to define its model and the values it embodies. Becoming a megapower, home to some of the wealthiest individuals and companies in the world, cannot be an end in itself. If the “new” in “New India” is to mean anything then we have to make the effort to imagine what it could be. As of now the “new” seems to merely be about copying and supersizing the same old economic wisdoms that have produced unsustainable, polarized and crisis prone regimes in the West.

The age structure of India, where nearly 50% of the population is under 24 years old makes it clear that the aspirations and decisions of the youth will shape the country’s future in dramatic ways. In these times of transition when India is redefining itself, and asserting its newfound position in the world, we must look at ourselves anew, drawing as much from our roots as our collective imagination.

Youth are leaving villages and moving to the city –sometimes coming back with new means and ambitions; in the city the same youth gets absorbed as workforce in the booming private sector, where they seek to climb the economic and social ladder. Youth wants it all, here and now, fast and furious. They want what they perceive as Western standards for themselves. They are aware of their country’s problems, and either feel contempt and a need to run away. Or they want to make a change for themselves from within the system.

What they often forget in the process is the tremendous potential that lies deep in the civilization they are part of. Indigenous systems in homegrown villages and neighbourhoods for instance, which have survived multiple layers of colonization, modernization and globalization, could be a source of inspiration for new development principles altogether.

The development we are thinking of is based on small, thoughtful, sustainable solutions, rather than huge, “time changing”, “mega” stream of thinking; on individuals and communities, rather than corporations, departments and agencies. It is the kind of development that could ensure a bountiful of resources for generations to come. It is the kind of development that takes as its measure individual happiness rather than the GDP of the country.

Because we seem to have left them behind as we rushed for the gold, it has becomes necessary to expose these persistent and widespread (yet undermined and threatened) systems all over again. This is why we are committed to a long enduring search for the buried organizational structures that still follow common-sensesical economy principles, and which are connected human needs and mother earth’s means. We do this by documenting the lifestyle and architecture of existing indigenous villages. We propose to go back to the village and explore its intense and simple livelihood principles. Based on our observation, we brainstorm on the best way to take some of these principles to scale in their own small ways.

The research program called “The Umbilical Connection” is a first step in this direction. For a month we will research and document the village of Murbad near Dahanu (a few hours from Mumbai), and speculate on the future the village and on the relationship between the village and urbanization. This program is intended as a discovery more than as a teaching experience. The conductors of the workshop (Design Jatra) are themselves not equipped with full knowledge of the village’s systems. We commit ourselves to this research along with the participants and villagers. We therefore do not have a preset agenda and objective. We hope to engage with the village, and hope to become ourselves actors in its development.

The workshop starts with a detailed documentation of sustainable local practices, which enrich the life of the village. The second step is a documentation of two structures in the village, which are built according to different construction principles. The third step is to use the knowledge gathered in the first and the second steps to co-produce with the villagers a twenty-year vision for the village. The fourth and the final step is set our vision in motion. It can be anything from a landscape element, to an architectural intervention, to planting a tree, or organizing a small exhibition.

The workshop is open to anyone who wishes to commit to the journey we expect to begin. This means developing a deep relationship with the village of Murbad, and thus it will enable the participant to become a part of the village now and in the future.

The workshop is be held from 1st of May to 5th of June. It is a come in and out workshop which means that participants can join the workshop at whichever stage they want. However, we would really prefer that participants join with the journey for as long as possible and as far as possible.

For more information about the workshop, contact Shardul Patil via this page.

Shardul Patil is a student at Academy of Architecture in Mumbai and a member of URBZ. Pratik Dhanmer, a practicing architect and fellow member of URBZ is a co-organizer of the workshop and co-author of this post.

Shop selling leather goods on Sion Road.

Vishal sits, his head hunched, over a sewing machine. Next to him are two other men; a half-metre across two more workers are sitting. Theirs is a typical clothing workshop in central Mumbai. On the first story of a residential area with many migrants, the room barely holds the five men, their sewing machines, bags hanging from the ceiling, and various piles on the floor. It is typical of small-scale manufacturing workshops throughout Mumbai. In Dharavi’s leather workshops, for example, workers sit amidst piles of raw material and finished goods. In the area’s plastic recycling units, value is derived from the act of sorting large barrels and grinding tiny pellets.

At first sight, Vishal’s workshop seems, like these other places, unnecessarily disorganized and cluttered. Why are there all these piles on the floor, some wrapped in cloth, some tied with string, and some contained within large blue plastic bags? The men, deeply engrossed in their work, moving rhythmically to the mechanical staccato of the needles, seem to be half-submerged in stuff. One pile merges with the next; each mound seems to have layers beneath it; and picking your way through the cramped space, each bundle threatens to topple over.

The workshop’s internal organization seems indicative of popular areas in Mumbai at large. It is no accident that small-scale industries proliferate in the city’s slums. Workshops and homegrown neighbourhoods are seen as polluting eyesores, as cloistered confusion. Bureaucratic planners, real-estate developers and liberal critics promise a different vision: order, neatness and efficiency.

This understanding of cities owes much to the modernist script of classification. Clutter, in this view, is not simply a product of makeshift circumstance or deficient governance. Rather, it is an insult against reason and order. Robert Moses, whose segmented vision informed New York’s post-war layout, was obsessed with demarcating form and function: ‘people here, traffic there; work here, homes there; rich here, poor there’ (Berman 1984: 168). The reigning idea of a desirable city is, in this sense, a precisely delineated panorama. When threats to this vista emerge – say, with hawkers in a residential zone – the whole city seems, despairingly, to fray.

Can we imagine another way of understanding the city’s form and organization? Mumbai’s competing visions generally depart from an external, God’s eye vantage point. When we peruse municipal Master Plans, or newspaper advertisements for gated enclaves, we are suspended above an already existing form. Yet seen from a different vantage point, the city is never already there; it is a perpetual work in progress. Rather than emerging out of a tangle of impoverishment or ignorance, the city is made through daily acts.

A return to Vishal’s workshop demonstrates this point. What seem, at first glance, to be random piles scattered on the floor are actually deliberately arranged. In the desk immediately surrounding Vishal, for example, is one pile of men’s shirts that he has begun to assemble; the man to his right will do the collars and cuffs, and then pass it on to another to do the buttons. Another mound contains shirts that require some unique stitching on their front pockets. Yet another stack is of nearly completed garments requiring one final touch; a recent fashion is for buttons to be attached between the elbow and shoulder, for a rolled-up sleeve. Some piles bound with string come from a supplier of material; other piles in blue plastic bags will go to a distributor. When Vishal and his co-workers work towards a particular deadline, or are visited by their contractor, they know exactly which pile contains what. They work on several contracts simultaneously, each pile an archive of an order’s movement from raw material to completed shirt. What seems, to the untrained eye, confusing or confounding, is, when inhabited from within, perfectly sensible.

One might argue that Vishal’s workshop is a by-product of necessity, not of choice. Surely, a more sophisticated, better-equipped work place, like a better-planned city, would offer more regimentation? Evidence suggests otherwise. As scholars of piling behaviour note, professional, white-collar workers are usually surrounded by anarchic-seeming agglomerations of paper (Sellen and Harper 2001). These piles are organic entities whose sifting and sorting make sense to workers.

In other words, a small-scale workshop and large corporate office are not separated by their degree of organization. The collecting, sifting and prioritizing of piles is remarkably similar. We can extrapolate from this point to the widespread distinction between popular areas and gentrified ones. Conventionally, violation of zoning strictures is thought to define homegrown neighbourhoods, such that workshops, residences, temples, and public spaces overlap helter-skelter. Yet it is obvious that upmarket neighbourhoods display a similar disregard for segmentation. Indeed, in Mumbai’s officially residential middle-class colonies, one finds plenty of consultants’ offices, Internet cafes, yoga studios, commercial bakeries, doctors’ clinics, and the like. As in popular areas, such overlap between form and function makes eminent sense.

To a remarkable degree, we still unnecessarily fetishize a disembodied ideal of urban order and form. I’ve suggested here that we would do well to acknowledge clutter – whether inside homes and workshops or across urban neighbourhoods – as a universal practice. What seems disorderly to the untrained eye is in fact often perfectly sensible.

Ajay Gandhi is a post-doc fellow at the Max Planck Institute for the Study of Religious and Ethnic Diversity in Göttingen. He is also a part of the homegrown neighbourhood workshop held by the Institute of Urbanology in January 2013.

Wasim Khan, a local contractor, in conversation with his site manager.

An architect can make a lot of friends in Shivaji Nagar -a  neighborhood in the M-ward of the Brihan Mumbai Municipal area that started off as a resettlement area for people displaced from development projects around the city in the 1980s and earlier. Nearly every other person one meets here is in the business of building. Local contractors, who are often representative of the ’self’ in self-built housing are an important part of the locality’s history of home growth. In their own words they are constantly “making legal out of the illegal”. Contrary to popular belief, houses here are constructed as any other  building in the city would be -beams, columns and foundation structured from reinforced concrete, brick cladding and high quality finishes based on personalized aesthetics.

A house on Road no.4, Shivaji Nagar

Structural details of a typical slab of a house in Shivaji Nagar (this is part of a effort of the Institute of Urbanology to document the construction of homes in Shivaji Nagar and other parts of Mumbai).

The real difference however is in the process of design and execution, not the end products.  In a way disorienting for those accustomed to a more mainstream (though not necessarily traditional) architectural methodology, the involvement of drawings and technical visual tools are often rendered unnecessary. There is a  transfer of knowledge that is communicated from the client to the contractor to the head masons to the labour and hired workers that goes beyond mediated data exchange.

The design is also affected considerably by unadapted Municipal policies, or the lack of revision in them. The dated BMC policies in place for the area (which are terribly difficult to access, having found out the hard way) have motivated the evolution of an oral code for construction among the contractors and BMC officials. These rules, adapted to local context, are followed as unwritten law in the construction business. For instance, the 2 ft cantilever on upper floors of each house, or the protrusion of window grills by 9 inches, no more. The plinth may only extend by 2ft onto the road and the height of any house should not exceed 3 floors.

Contractor’s team of workers move from project to project with him

Some of the existing archaic laws responsible for the informalization of the building process include using wooden members for mezzanine floors, and not allowing the labour force to work on Sundays. Up to date laws would acknowledge the fact that steel is strong, durable, cheaper and easily available. A house needs to be built as quickly as possible (the family relocates to a small, expensive rented place until then) and there is pressure from the labour force to work more days (they are paid on a per day basis). The uncomfortable height restriction of 14 ft counts for a little too much for one floor and a little too less for two (who wants a house with a floor and a half?). This lapse between the written word and the actual condition on field creates a breeding ground for negotiations. These negotiations with patrolling officers and politicians in charge of the area are mainly responsible in modifications in the law, which reflect in modifications in design. We can’t say that the construction process is informal – it is highly regulated and controlled. Each building is the product of a negotiation between officers and contractors. Informality is thus on the side of the municipality, not of the neighbourhood.

For instance, through mutual understanding, the contractor builds a dummy wall for the first floor so that it can be ‘demolished’ by BMC officials, fined and then continued as it is. When one politician in the locality decides to build their house up to 3 floors instead of the 2 that were allowed until now, rules get relaxed and this becomes the new height limit. The pay-off for the officials, councillors, journalists and social workers in the area adds up to a big percentage in the ‘construction cost’. The RTI (Right to Information) Act is used as a common tool by the people getting paid off to extract money from contractors who represent homeowners interested in investing in the improvement of their houses. Included in this  system of contract is a formal exchange of terms and conditions- work processes involved, time needed, cost, materials , bribes and the financial model to be followed on paper. As per challenges that come up during construction- from fluctuating site conditions, to stray BMC officials- the design is tweaked, and inventive ad-hoc solutions proposed. These processes culminate to define the existing mode of planning followed in Shivaji Nagar.

Drawing parallels, prior to the Town and Country’s Planning act,England had demonstrated a rich history of self built housing. The’Plotlands’(1870 – 1939), a series of self-build structures in the south-east of England, represents the last significant example of liberal regulation producing unique habitations. Post 1947, a full set of completed drawings was needed for every small, built gesture. This – tied with the difficulties in obtaining finance, mortgages and increasingly complex building regulations- has led to the shocking point where only 1 in 10 new homes in the UK are self-built.

The Plotlands (1870 – 1939).

Contrarily, in Shivaji Nagar, homes, shops and homes with shops are constantly being built, demolished and rebuilt. Aspirations grow quickly, as does the desire for personal home improvement. The state’s lack of involvement in improving of the area, in spite of regular election-to-election promises of doing so, adds to the family-centric initiative to build bigger and better. As a result is created a self managed and self-organised  community, deeply involved in it’s own improvement. Each time an existing home owner decides to build a house here, the family contacts one of the 300 or more local contractors operating within the area. Usually the one with the closest familial or friendly ties clinches the project. Better the reputation, greater the trust within the neighbourhood and its people and more flourishing is the business. Trust, is therefore the consistent key factor for maintenance of high quality construction practices in this case.

Interaction with the process of building construction in the area, and the actors involved, has led to the beginnings of an understanding of the challenges to the role of an architect in the above set of circumstances. ‘Gesamtkunstwerk’ is the idea of ‘master architect’ in solo control of the entire process of design. In an extreme example, Van de Velde designed a house for his family where he was in control of each minute detail. He even designed dresses for his wife that would complement the interiors of their house in Uccle. The traditional role of an architect through time, has often been defined as, and informed by singular figures who create as per their technical knowledge and spatial or aesthetic understanding, colonies for in habitation. There is often a pause that separates the actual users of the space from the architect, owing to them being the theoretical ‘experts’ in the situation. In a situation where a whole new dimension of challenges are involved with respect to location, time, space, movement and history, this equation begins to get adjusted. Here, the users need a set of expertise adept at navigating through (even manipulating) the local conditions, which are not restricted to visual and spatial qualities of the built form. Negotiating with authorities, generating creative financial models, addressing the frequently changing space and time restrictions on site,  on-the-spot design inputs, building trust networks in order to build professional networks-  these become necessary requirements from the figure in charge. In this case, the role is taken up by contractors local to the area, with no involvement from architects.

The complete disappearance of the figure of the architect from this construction process tells much about the overwhelming presence of the context. One of the challenges that URBZ/Urbanology is now trying to address through initiatives such as “Marc Hood” is the possible reappearance of the architect as a consultant to the contractor. In order to achieve this, we first need to understand local construction processes.

Brickwork being laid on top floor of the documented house, Plot 22

We have observed that high levels of professionalism are maintained and appreciated in exchanges between clients, contractors, workers and officials. Formal skill sets and design standards have been passed down orally from one contracting generation to another. When an architect enters a scene like this, their strength lies is readjusting their roles with respect to the role of the contractors and working with them, instead of aiming at directing the process. Documentation becomes an important start to get a very clear understanding of the minute processes that have evolved in these construction practices, as well as understanding the dynamics between the various actors. Only through comprehension can one successfully suggest insertions or adaptations in the existing construction and design timeline. There is also the need to understand and communicate with both the client and the contractor and translate the fantasies of one into the more result oriented (in terms of time, money, space) requirements of the other. In order to work effectively as part of this team, building relationships and trust networks are as important as the physical act of building itself.

Presentation of a mosque designed by Marc Hood in collaboration with the community at Baiganwadi

In an attempt to put this idea in action, we have been working on field as Marc Hood, a practice that puts together our work and research in Shivaji Nagar with the architectural expertise of Studio Marc in Italy. We are now working with contractors, getting involved in the process as it unfolds, and trying to develop a way in which co-creation can happen with contractor, clients, architects and urbanologists. Since the knowledge of construction is already being shared by contractors and workers within the area, we aim at producing a form of documentation that is immediate and can be communicated easily over a distance. We are now struggling to put together this layered process. Can design input be streamed into a process rather than given as a starting point to the construction process? Could crowdsourcing not just at a local level but at a global level be the next frontier for co-creation in construction?

We are now documenting the construction process of several houses in Shivaji Nagar. If you would like to get access to this documentation please contact us and we would be happy to send you a pdf with the current state of our research.

This post was authored by Masoom Moitra and Matthew Stewart with inputs from Matias Echanove and Rahul Srivastava.

Nestled on the hillocks in the eastern suburbs of Mumbai, Amrutnagar, Ghatkopar paints a figurative picture of the city; where affordable housing is scarce but people have tweaked the system and the land to achieve the best possible results in the given circumstances. The airborne traveler gasps at the sight welcoming the landing craft. The favelas of Rio come to mind, associated as they are with images of poverty and violence. They seem to say “welcome to Slumbai!”

The view from the plane doesn’t do justice to the pertinent housing typology devised by the locals. The housing in this hilly terrain embraces the topology. The rocks dug from the hill are used to build the foundation of the houses and the retaining wall that prevents landslides. The natural slope helps with drainage. Porches acting as public corridors are reminiscent of the quintessentially Bombay “chawl” typology. All houses are oriented in the east-west direction for maximum light and wind. Most of them are only ground floor structure, which allows everyone to enjoy one of the best views of the city. From the hilltop one can see planes landing into Mumbai airport. Catherine Boo may have reported what she saw “behind the beautiful forevers”. This is above.

The homes on the hill are said to be illegally constructed, yet occupancy rights in the city are often more a political question than a legal one. The area we visited was a relatively small 13.5 acres hill called Ramnagar, part of the larger settlement Amrutnagar. With a population of 12,000 locals, this Marathi speaking population is the vote bank of the rapidly rising political party ‘Maharastra Navnirman Sena’ (MNS) which promises to be the guardian angel of the Marathi Manoos. It was previously dominated by the Shiv Sena, the original sentinels of the Maharashtrian community. However, there are a good number of people from other communities as well and the residents are quick to point out that people of all denominations and ethnicity reside here. The locals who have no expectation from the governing bodies try their level best to be in the good books of the local political party workers, as they fear demolition on a daily basis. The cost of constructing a house is very high, due to the hilly terrain and residents usually spend their annual income on a basic house with four walls and a roof.

An estimated 4000 houses are built on and around this hillock and almost all of them are ‘pukka’ houses. 2000 are above the drainage line and the remaining 2000 below. Since the settlement emerged before 1995, it is liable for the SRA scheme and several redevelopment projects are an ongoing feature in the area. One graphical representation of the mandatory 269 sq feet redeveloped flat by the local builder shows a flat screen TV, contemporary furniture and modern art on the walls depicting a certain conception of what urban life should be about. The politician-builder nexus is well known. A SRA scheme can be force d upon anyone and residents are aware that the only way for them to get a legitimate house in the near future is their own hard work and destiny.

An interesting feature of this settlement is its road hierarchy. With no vehicles able to go up the steps of the hill, the only mode of transport is human and animal. The hilltop crest has several donkeys grazing, ready for whatever work may come up. Every house has a patio facing the city which acts as internal street whereas the steps winding down the hill act as the main road. Constructing a house uphill demands huge labour charges. A minimum 60 bags of cement, 30 bags of sand and 5000 bricks needs to be carried on foot. The labourer charges Rs 100-150 per bag as transport fee which doubles the cost, and a basic house costs around Rs 1.5 lacs. The cost of construction is higher because of use of relatively expensive materials and one extra floor as loft. The loft is usually rented to outsiders for Rs 2000/- a month. The cost of buying a 10 x15 sq ft house is around Rs 15-20 lacs. The local labourers called mistris who are experienced artisans in this field and usually inhabitants of the neighbourhood, are directly hired on daily wage basis for construction which usually last 15-20 days. The houses downhill are higher, have a larger footprint and are more ornate.

The settlement has several temples, public squares and courts, social mandals and groups on its way up and a bustling commercial street at the foothill. Commercial enterprises thrive mostly downhill, as goods transport is tedious and expensive uphill. However economic activities take place in homes as well. The dominant community which has largely migrated from the Malvan regions around Goa, work outside in the city. Most men do office jobs like data entry, peon, clerk or work in private security agencies. Women are mostly housewives and some of them work as part time maids in the neighbourhood buildings. They mostly wash utensils in various houses. A few homes do economic work like assembling parts for some manufacturing activity or the other or simply providing service at the village level. The average male income is Rs 7000-10000 whereas women earn Rs 2000 per month as maids. The area doesn’t function as intensively as the tool house clusters of some other settlements in Mumbai. They pay a monthly rental of Rs 170-220/- to an NGO for 25 minutes of daily water supply, spend around Rs 200/month on mobile phones, Rs 350/month on cable TV connection and some even spend Rs 200 on monthly internet services.

An interesting learning from Amrutnagar is the way people have organized themselves, developed construction technology and housing typologies without help from outside and how they go out on their own and innovate systems to make their life easier. There is a real sense of vernacular urbanism here. Construction techniques in Amrutnagar are unlike any parts of the city that we have visited. They are suited to meet local needs and means. Even without security of tenure and with very limited servicing by civic authorities, citizens have managed to look after themselves and their sheltering needs fairly well.

Sketches by Shardul Patil @urbz

As we climbed to the summit of the hillock, beyond the settlement, we found the landscape and atmosphere becoming gradually more relaxing. People sitting outside their homes, enjoying the view and the breeze, firmly committed to the quality of life they were living. They claimed there were no mosquitoes, since water slides away leaving no stagnant pools around. They would not want to go anywhere else.

A temple built in 1957 dedicated to Khandoba looms over the hill. The sleepy priest-guru-founder lounges around a charpai. He used to be a mechanical superintendent at the Bhabha Atomic Research Center, turned to spirituality at a young age and built the temple with his hands. A labyrinthine structure with a maze leading to smaller shrines, leads you to the other end of the complex and into a landscape that is anachronistic to everything else we had seen. Lush green grass, pigs and donkeys loitering around. A pathway that seemed to lead to dense foliage, with the promise of a forest adventure.

We land up at the other end, past a hidden cricket field known only to the local kids, the view of a shooting range and a stone quarry, walk through the foliage politely turning away from stray people going to the open-air toilet (no smell – thanks to the pigs) and come to a tarred road and a helipad! Beyond the trees lies a gate and behind that the ‘illegal’ neighbourhood of Hirandanai Gardens can be seen. A city built on subsidized land meant for the poor, with no threat of any demolishing of any kind facing its destiny.

From the point of view of Dinesh, the boy taking a stroll with us, the view from the hill helps him gain perspective on life. Somehow the view, the peace, the trees remind him that a city can potentially provide you with all kinds of habitats. He knows it is a luxury to be able to walk up to a place like this. Right now it instigates him to return to his native village in Benares, so reminiscent is it of a memory he has from there. In minutes though, as he trundles down, he is absorbed into the bustle of the neighbourhood. He points to his father’s tailoring shop and the direction of his college. Back in another world. He is living in a transit camp now. An SRA tower is coming up to relocate his family. Will he stay on? Will he go back? As long as choices remain, all possibilities exist. Somehow one gets the feeling, as the neighbourhood transforms into tall vertical buildings, that the choices which enrich his simple life are diminishing, and diminishing too fast.

Dinesh

More photos and sketches here.

This article was written by Megha Gupta with contributions by Shardul Patil, Rahul Srivastava and Matias Echanove