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Village - EMMA - TARLO
Village - EMMA - TARLO
Village - EMMA - TARLO
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India International Centre Quarterly
Model Entombed
Ethnic Chic:
The Transformation of Hauz Khas Village
How to perceive the Indian village has long occupied an important place
in the discourse of colonial administrators, anthropologists, nationalist
leaders and contemporary politicians in India. These different groups
have constructed their own models of the ideal village and, in some
It was this identification of the village with the essence of India that
guided post-war anthropologists to select the village as their primary
unit of study. Yet far from simply confirming the notion of the self-suffi
cient Indian village with a stable unchanging social and economic
structure, they began to question the very basis of the idea. Bit by bit,
they set about unpicking the presuppositions that had led them to the
village in the first place. As early as the 1950's, Mckim Marriott was
disputing the idea that the village represented a self-sufficient world unto
itself.3 Others, like A.M. Shah, demonstrated the same point with
reference to the trade links which had always connected villages to other
villages and towns.4 Meanwhile the idea of the timeless and stable social
and economic structure was challenged by works demonstrating the
dynamic aspect of caste,5 and by a Marxist school which portrayed the
caste system as a form of exploitation.6
More recently Inden, in his influential book Imagining India has sum
marised the creation and demise of the idealised Indian village in
academic debate, thereby dragging this already damaged edifice well
to the ground. Yet Inden's book, while neatly deconstructing the
academic debate of which it is a part, has simultaneously fallen prey to
its limitations. For he targets his entire demolition act at the already
self-critical world of academia, dismissing in one sentence, the impor
The particular version of the village ideal developed under the banner
of nationalism, as part of the struggle for Indian independence, com
bined elements of the colonial perception of the village with a new form
of Indian socialism. It both perpetuated and challenged European values
simultaneously. This it did by transforming the village from being stuck
in some unthreatening past into the model for a new Indian future. So
whilst the British had kept the village largely outside of politics, certain
nationalist leaders, of whom Gandhi was the figure head, suggested
making the village the reality of Indian social and political life. Gandhi
eventually advocated a policy of total decentralisation, and the recrea
tion of a craft-based society composed of self-sufficient village
republics. This involved a rejection of the values of European civilization
whilst establishing a new basis for the regeneration of a much-damaged
Indian identity. He chose the spinning wheel and hand-woven cloth as
symbols of India's liberation and new future. People were to burn their
European clothes, and instead to dress in the garb of Indian peasants,
in cloth made from yarn that they had spun themselves. In short all
Indians, however educated and however influenced by the west, were
to re-lndianise themselves through becoming like villagers.
The idea that timeless India could be reproduced through the revival of
Indian handicrafts not only remained, it also gained considerable institu
tional support with local and national handicrafts boards.9 By emphasis
ing the village ideal in the realm of the arts and crafts, the government
could simultaneously de-emphasise it in the fields of politics, economics
and social change. According to Chris Bayly, many craft emporiums
supported by government run at a considerable financial loss— for
which it seems they compensate in ideological terms.10 In post- inde
pendence India, the Indian elite were no longer expected to fulfil the
Gandhian ideal of becoming like villagers and spinning their own
clothes. Rather they could visit their local craft emporium, and fulfil their
moral and national duty by buying the hand-made products of the village.
That this is to some extent a moral obligation is illustrated by the fact
that so many Indian politicians still dress in white khadi at election time.
This process of villigisation within the city generally begins with an act
of discovery, as someone apparently "finds" the dormant village. This is
followed shortly by the restoration, and in many cases the insertion, of
oldy worldy features, a rapid increase in property prices and a simul
taneous increase in the exclusivity of the area. This is part of the process
described by Michael Thompson in his discussion of the conversion of
Islington from a "rat infested slum" to "part of our glorious heritage"11
Where these processes are couched in village terms, they are part of
"village dressing" and the particular manifestation of this phenomenon
that is developing in urban India is analysed here.
The Indian version of "village dressing" is, then, very much part of the
international trend of villigising the city. But at the sametime, it builds on
previous constructions of a more specifically Indian village ideal. It
combines the colonial image of the village as timeless and unchanging,
with the nationalist idea of the village as a means of re-asserting Indian
identity. These ideas are in turn added to the concept of the natural
beauty of the village and its hand-made products. All of these elements
together, and combined with the tendency of a global elite to idealise
the village-within-the-city, have contributed to what Indian journalists call
"the ethnic revival": in food, fashion and decor. When food, clothes,
furniture and architecture are combined, as in the case of the Hauz Khas
Village, the result is the creation of a total "ethnic environment". But
before turning to Hauz Khas, simpler examples of the process of "village
dressing" at work are given.
knives and forks, now sit on the ground and eat the so-called typica
village food with their hands.
At the Crafts Museum in Delhi, one can again visit mud huts, this time
built in different styles from all over India. One can also watch Indian
craftsmen and women demonstrating their age-old skills in a specially
designed courtyard. The aim is not so much to reconstruct an Indian
village as to evoke something of the flavour of village India through the
architecture and crafts. That such a flavour is highly marketable is
evident from the success of the festivals of India abroad (in
England,Japan, France, Sweden, the United States and the Soviet
Union) and of Apna Utsav,12 In the Festival of India in Britain, for
example, both crafts people and crafts were presented under the
all-consuming banner of "traditional India", conveniently located, as
Brian Durrans has pointed out, in the mythical structure of the timeless
Indian village.13
There are five principal stages in the complex history of Hauz Khas
village that are worth mentioning in brief: its origin which dates back to
the pre-Sultanate era; its conquering by the Turkish in the late 13th
century; its displacement by the British in 1913; its incorporation into the
modern city of Delhi in the 1960's; and finally its "discovery" and
transformation by the Delhi elite in the 1980's.
EMMA TARLO
Hauz Khas village takes its name from the great stone water reservoir,
built by Ala-Ud-din Khalji to supply water to the ancient city of Delhi, then
at Siri, at the end of the 13th century. In the 14th century, the Emperor
Firoz Shah Tughlaq repaired the damaged tank and built alongside it a
series of buildings commonly identified as a madrassa. These construc
tions led to the incorporation of a small ancient village of local farmers.
Many years after the fall of the sultanate, these farmers abandoned their
mud houses and set up home within the madrassa and surrounding
tombs. By the early 1900's there were approximately one hundred
families (one-third Hindu and two-thirds Muslim) living in these patched
up monuments, earning their livelihood by farming the now-dry reservoir
and surrounding land.14
Such was the situation when in 1913 the Archaeological Survey of India,
under British authority, declared the monuments worthy of protection
and removed the inhabitants who were considered damaging to the
stone. With gold guineas as compensation, the locals built themselves
a new village just beyond the ancient stone wall which marked the edge
of the protected zone. This means that, although the village seemed
pregnant with "timeless tradition", it is in fact a relatively modern con
struction which developed as a consequence of the British interest in
preserving ruins. The village's somewhat brutal history continued with
partition, when many of the wealthy Muslim families fled to Pakistan,
leaving most of the land and property in the hands of Jat farmers. By
the late 1950's and 1960's the Delhi administration was buying up vast
tracts of land in and around Delhi, in order to cater to the massive influx
of refugees.
160 houses, of which well over half were kucha orsemi-kucha. In the
wealthier section of the village, the Jat inhabitants kept cows for milk
and found various employment in the city; whilst in the poorer section,
mainly Harijan and Muslim, the residents held various menial jobs such
as cleaning, sweeping, factory work and so forth.
A few educated outsiders had also settled in or near the village, including
the eminent writer and activist, Mulk Raj Anand, who tried to establish
pottery workshops there as early as the 1950's. His attempts failed not
long after they were initiated, and were soon forgotten. In 1986 the only
non-residential commercial activities were restricted to a printing press,
a small manufacturing unit for washing machines, two export garment
units and a marble godown.16 As far as local commerce was concerned,
it was limited to tea stalls, two small grocery shops, pan sellers, a flour
mill and a washerman's stand. Whilst a few interested foreigners and
erudite Delhiites did from time to time venture down the lane which led
to Hauz Khas, it was usually to look at the ruins. The village itself
attracted very little attention.
and authentic in the Indian village. Not only that, it was situated both
I instantly fell in love with the place. There was the beautiful old monument,
the countryside and of course the wonderful people. I adore peasants,
villages, ethnic and rustic things. Peasants and tribals are really the best
people. In fact they are the only real authentic people of India.
The fact that Hauz Khas was a comparatively modern village was largely
overlooked by Bina, and in any case did nothing to destroy the village
ideal. The deserted ruins, meanwhile, actually lent age and romance to
the village even though their preservation was, in reality, the cause of
the village's abrupt and recent origins. Following the old 19th century
tradition, Bina was charmed by the idea that this village represented
some sort of authentic India. She was also charmed by the low rents
She immediately proposed to rent two rooms in the house of one of the
wealthier villagers. He was both delighted and surprised, turfing out hi
tenants and renting Bina the space at what for him was a profitable rate,
and for her a laughably low rent.
This was the beginning of what was to develop into a full-scale encounter
between the inhabitants of Hauz Khas village and members of the Delhi
elite. It began in fairytale style not only for Bina, but also for many of the
inhabitants of the village. They were, on the whole, intrigued by this
exotic "foreigner" in their midst, impressed by her wealth, fascinated by
her appearance, interested in her car. She in turn was seduced by what
she saw as their rustic innocence. It was a marriage of ideologies. In an
interview with Society magazine, (Bombay) she recalled:
When I first walked in here (the village) in 1986,1 knew instantly that there
was going to be a wonderful romance between the villagers and me. The
people came running out to see me, touching and pulling my clothes as
if I was some creature from outer space. (Society, October 1989:90).
The early phase of Bina's stay in the village was then characterised by
novelty and excitement for many concerned. It was a fascination based
on mutual exoticism. Bina fulfilled for many of the villagers thei
stereotype of the glamorous city woman from abroad, with the on
difference that she was actually prepared to talk to uneducated villagers.
Bina, who was designing clothes in the "haute couture" category began
EMMA TARLO
"A village scene"—this resident of Hauz Khas got out her hookah especially
for the photograph
They went berserk about the place. They loved everything: the people,
the buffaloes, the winding streets, the countryside, the monument. They
found it all so picturesque.
I had never visited a village before, but I knew most of the people he
and they are all from very good families. I didn't want to set up
Many, though not all, of the boutique owners I interviewed in 1989 were
seeing the village through an ideological haze. They were not only
selling the village ideal in their shops, but they were also very much
consuming the village ideal. And in order to consume it, they had
simultaneously to create it. In other words they had to dress up the
village in such a way that it fulfilled their own expectations of what a real
village was like. This they did not only by selling peasant and tribal
artefacts and clothes, but also inserting old- worldy features into their
boutiques which were situated inside village houses. Antique carved
wooden doors from Gujarat began to replace simple wooden doors.
Rush matting became the popular floor covering. Walls of boutiques
were usually either whitewashed or plastered with mud, or decorated
with Bihari style folk paintings. This conformed precisely to the idea of
village India perpetuated by the Festival of India, where "art-and-crafts
from all-over-India" were combined together to represent some
cohesive image of "traditional India". In Hauz Khas each shop had, I
was told, "its own unique atmosphere of village life".
There was one small problem in all this euphoria that was overlooked.
And that was that the inhabitants of Hauz Khas did not share the
boutique owner's aesthetic. Neither did they share the same concept of
what constituted village life or village atmosphere. This was obvious
from the way that they dressed, the way that they decorated their
houses, and from the fact that many of them were employed in the city
rather than the village, and even from the way in which they had been
excited by the foreignness of Bina and the Hindi film stars. Their
aesthetic gave a positive value to concrete rather than mud, to syn
thetics rather than cotton, and to coloured TV rather than Bihari folk
paintings. If they were still living in rather quaint brick houses with mud
floors, that was more because they could not afford to change them,
than because they had some intrinsic fondness for an oldy worldy village
look.
When boutique owners realised this, they offered to buy them. This
puzzled and amused the villagers who had taken care to follow city
fashions, and now looked down on simple cotton. One old woman,
whose courtyard now contained boutiques rather than buffaloes, had
sold her old skirts and explained:
I had never before thought of trying to sell them. Who would want such
things? But now I cannot help but laugh and laugh that what we have cast
away, these smart people begin to wear. To us, these skirts are nothing
but waste. You know, before these fashion shops came, I was using such
cloth to wipe the floor or to put under a baby's bottom or for stuffing a quilt.
But I was happy enough to sell them and get some money.
The boutique owner who bought the skirts then went on to sell them to
her wealthy international clients.
Thus by ignoring and covering over aspects of the village that did not
seem authentic, while simultaneously buying up and selling those
aspects which did seem authentic, the boutique owners were fulfilling
their own aesthetic, while suppressing that of the villager. So if one were
to do some sort of subaltern analysis of the situation, one might conclude
that this is a simple case of the elite silencing the villagers and denying
them their agency in the development of the village. As the dominant
group, boutique owners were in the position to render the other invisible.
But such assessment does not correspond to what has happened in
Hauz Khas for this is not a simple case of the oppressors and the
oppressed.
This leads me to a crucial point, and one that gives Hauz Khas its
particular uniqueness. Those villagers who owned their own property
were not actually selling space to the Delhi elite. They were simply
renting it out. In other words, the elite, who in the usual order of things,
are in control of the situation were, in this case, only the tenants of village
landlords. Now this fact makes Hauz Khas very different from the other
cases of "village dressing" that I have discussed so far. In all of these
other cases members of the elite are in the control both economically
and aesthetically while the villagers are compliant with the elite's per
ception of village life. The waiters in the ethnic restaurant for example;
are prepared to dress up in traditional looking Rajasthani clothes, even
though they are in Gujarat; it is part of the job. Similarly the craftspeople
EMMA TARLO
at the Crafts Museum in Delhi were willing to sit in the craft complex and
produce traditional crafts as they were expected to, and as they were
paid for doing. In all of these examples, including of course the Festival
of India, the villagers were objects in the elite's creation and consump
tion of the village-ideal.
Hauz Khas, at first sight, appeared to be just another of these all too
common structures. One journalist in The Times of India described the
development under the heading, "Selling the Romance of Poverty". But
the villagers of Hauz Khas, owing to their positions as landlords, were
by no means simply the objects of the development. Many of them were
just as capable of asserting their subjecthood as members of the Delhi
elite.
to be doing. Though these village landlords may have lost their motiva
tion to work, they were not without their ambitions. Some decided that
they could enlarge revenue by increasing the size of their property and
dividing it up in such a way that they could squeeze as many as six
designer boutiques into a single house. Since they owned their own land
they were legally entitled to build. Some therefore began to build
upwards, raising the height of their buildings from one and a half floors
to four floors,20 thereby renting out the first three floors and settling
themselves on the fourth. Pleased with the opportunity to build themse
ves new luxury apartments, they chose to construct in concrete rather
than brick or mud. This upset the boutique owners who felt that it ruined
the "village atmosphere". An interesting case was that of Gita's boutique
when she realised how much the foreigners she encountered on her
travels loved Indian things. Unlike the first influx of boutique owners,
Gita was not from the very top notch of the international jet set, but was
from a moderately wealthy upper middle-class family. She opened a
boutique selling mainly cotton ethnic clothes from Rajasthan at com
paratively affordable prices, hoping to attract those clients who could
not afford designer labels. When I first met her in 1989, Gita's boutique
had been open for only two weeks, but she was in a state of considerable
tension. Firstly, there was the problem of the building. Gita described its
appearance when she had first visited the village some six months
earlier and agreed to rent a space:
What she was describing were two rooms, situated in a narrow but deep
two storey house which was owned by five brothers. The two rooms
were on the ground floor and she agreed to pay Rs.4,000 per month,
thereby having the only boutique in that particular alley. Her landlord
agreed and threw out his previous tenants from whom he received only
100 rupees per room per month. But he then decided that he could get
even more rent if he demolished the building altogether and built himself
a new four-storey structure. His brothers, who had previously been
opposed to the idea of letting out space to shops, agreed; and before
long the whole structure was razed to the ground and rebuilt in the form
of a uniform concrete block, four storeys high and without any windows
facing the reservoir. Gita suddenly found herself shelved in a concrete
precinct, surrounded by new shops selling similar things to her own, and
without any of the "village atmosphere" that had attracted her to the
situation in the first place.
Not only this, but her landlord decided to double her rent arguing that
she was now occupying high-quality accommodation. Faced with the
option of agreeing or leaving, Gita agreed to pay, for she knew that rents
were soaring thoughout the village and it would be impossible to find
another space. But she was disillusioned and disappointed. She told me
in 1989:
It was the appeal of the village that was the original attraction but it is no
longer like a village and the whole place is under construction and looks
terrible. The villagers won't even allow us windows and sign boards
because the people behind only agreed to the instruction if there were no
windows overlooking their properties and no advertisements....
In the same way that members of the Delhi elite were often surprised to
find villagers dressed in synthetics, and thereby contradicting their
stereotype, so too were villagers surprised to find urbanites wearing and
selling their old cast-offs. As the village Chaudhuri put it:
Just as many of the boutique owners were trying to build their village
haven in Hauz Khas, so those villagers who could afford it, were trying
to realise their urban dream; an environment of concrete, chrome and
electronic goods. Far from behaving unpredictably, both were in fact
living out the exotic aspect of the other that had attracted them in the
first place. On their first encounter, villagers had not been attracted to
Bina for her ethnic ideals but for her car, her money and glamour.
Similarly the boutique owners had not been attracted to the villagers
aspirations but rather to those aspects of the village environment that
most villagers seemed to want to eliminate. And just as boutique owners
were denying villagers their role in the future of the village by trying to
keep it in the eternal past, so too villagers were denying boutique owners
access to their past, by modernising the village. Neither group was
deliberately opposed to the other; yet each had aspirations which largely
cancelled out the other's expectations and desires. And finally, just as
the boutique owners were treating the village as a commercial
enterprise, so too many of the villagers were treating it in the same way.
The behaviour of the villagers was shocking to the elite, mainly because
villagers were usually in the subservient position and were not expected
to emerge as actors in their own right. As one, self-aware, boutique
owner explained:
Basically, we are all used to having servants and being able to boss them
about. But here we are the tenants. We cannot treat our landlords as
servants. Such an attitude creates hostility.
their buffaloes down the main shopping street whilst customers were
still in the village ( a request initiated after an irate and almost tearful
customer complained that a dirty buffalo had flicked its tail, smearing
dung over her best coat.)
In others words, what the boutique owners desired was some kind of
sterilised village which they could fill with the most aesthetically appeal
ing features of "tradition" without experiencing too many of its hardship
or discomforts. Just as the British preoccupation with "preserving" the
ruins of Hauz Khas had left little room for the inhabitants in 1913, so the
Indian elite's desire to "preserve" the village left little space for villagers
in the 1980's. But if the boutique owners' vision encompassed the
villagers, so too did the villagers' vision encompass the boutique
owners—as the villagers went ahead with concrete developments, and
refused to restrict new boutique owners from setting up shop. When
Bina tried to convince the village council that they must keep commercial
developments small, in keeping with the village, one man accused her
somewhat directly of "only wanting to fill her own stomach and not
thinking of anyone else".
Well, I thought that with all these changes in the village, at least I would
never have to plaster a wall or a floor again. I thought that was the end
of the custom. And then you turn to me and ask me to plaster your walls.
But if, in 1989, there were not winners or losers in the cycle of destruction
and recreation, this was no longer the case in 1994. Yet at first sight, it
was difficult to establish exactly who had won and who had lost. Village
landlords had certainly succeeded in either dwarfing or eliminating most
of the remaining quaint brick buildings, for almost the entire village,
including the previously undeveloped Harijan area, had burst into three
or four storey concrete. Yet the villagers, who in the past, had lounged
around on charpais and whose children used to play in the streets, were
now either stuck up on the fourth floor of their dwellings, or had left th
village. Some had purchased property elsewhere, coming only o
casionally to collect their rents. Others had sold up and left the neigh
bourhood altogether. Though content with the money they had gained,
the remaining villagers complained of traffic congestion, loud disco
music and the loss of peace, space and even morality in the village
Apart from criticising the indecent behaviour and dress of customers,
many women bemoaned the alcohol problems of their own husbands
and sons, and their total apathy concerning education and employment.
The death of the village Chaudhury, whose corpse had been found down
a well two years before, seemed to reflect the more sinister side of the
new developments. There was clearly a sense of loss amongst villager
despite the obvious financial gain.
The sense of loss of the boutique owners was equally apparent. Two
-thirds of the original 38 shops had closed down, and had been replaced
by over one hundred new shops which sold and exported anything from
fashion shoes to tourist nick-nacks as well as exclusive Indian and
replastered her concrete walls with mud, had packed up and left. Even
Bina Ramani, whose capacity for enthusiasm was greater than most,
was "appalled" by what the village had become, saying that it wasn't
even a village any more. In short, the city had reclaimed the village and
its inhabitants. Like the rest of the metropolis, Hauz Khas was now faced
with insufficient housing, mass corruption, poor power services, inade
quate drainage, traffic congestion and noise pollution.
But if neither the villagers nor the original boutique owners had won the
battle of ideologies, who had? The answer can be found in the sky line
with a large neon sign flashing across the monuments—which have
been newly paved and flood- lit. This is no ordinary restaurant for it is
run by a prominent politician. Allegedly illegal on at least five different
counts,21 you have, containing a large selection of luxury restaurants,
the latest great success. And even if the Delhiites don't come rushing
all the year round, the apparent "personal agreement" with Delhi
Tourism guarantees regular coach loads of up-market tourists who first
see a "cultural show" in the monuments and then eat in one of the
restaurants.
But what has become of the village ideal? The brochure offers you a
clue. It advertises "Theme Parties", boasting:
Our trained staff give even the most exotic themes a realistic touch. Some
of the themes you can choose from are: Village Theme—Rajasthani
Landscape Theme—Arabian Nights Theme—Ala-ud-Din-Khilji's Tent
Theme... and many more to choose and explore.
reality, they no longer even speak of their lost ideal. Like disillusioned
anthropologists, it seems that they would rather forget about the village
for a while.
This relates to the original analogy between "village dressing" and "salad
dressing" and their relation to consumption. The point about salad
dressing is not so much the taste of the dressing itself, as the fact that
it encourages us to consume the salad. That village dressing and salad
dressing have at least established their compatibility would seem to say
something of the perspicacity of the politician!
Notes
I.1 am grateful to the British Academy and the Research Committee of the School
of Oriental and African Studies for funding this research.
2. For a summary and analysis of nineteenth century perceptions of the Indian
village, see Inden R.,Imagining India, Oxford, Basil Blackwell, 1990.
3. cf. MarriotM., "Little Communities in an indigenous Civilisation", in MarriotM.(ed.),
Village India, Studies in the Little Community, Chicago, Chicago University Press,
1955.
4. cf. Shah A.M., "The Rural-Urban Networks in India",South Asia, Vol 11,no.2,
pp. 1-27, 1988.
5. For one of the earlier demonstrations of a caste upgrading its social position, see
Cohn B., 1955, The Changing Status of a Depressed Caste, in Marriot M.(ed.). op
cit. For a description of the dynamics of marriage alliance in relation to caste, see
Pocock D,,Kanbiand Patidar, Oxford, Clarendon, 1972.
6. cf. Breman, 1974,Patronage and Exploitation: Changing Agrarian relations in
South Gujarat, Berkeley, University of California Press.
7. See his comment "Swadeshi must be more than a political weapon. It must be a
religious-aesthetic ideal" (Art and Swadeshi, Madras, Ganesh Publishers, 1911, p.8)
and his comment "True Swadeshi would have attempted to preserve the status of
our skilled artisans and village craftsmen..." (ibid.p.24).
8. The British interest in Indian arts was not, of course, devoid of economic
motivations but neither should it be reduced entirely to these as any perusal of the
numerous articles in theJournal of Indian Arts (founded in 1886) demonstrates.
George Birdwood and E.B. Havell showed particular concern about the loss or
decline of an Indian aesthetic in India, and Coomaraswamy often quoted from their
writings cf. Birdwood G., ~\ 880,The Industrial Arts of India, (reprinted by Rupa and
Co, Calcutta, 1988) and Havell E.B., 1912, The Basis for Artistic and Industrial
Revival in India, Madras, The Theosophist Office.
9. The All India Handicrafts Board was established in 1952.
15. There were 111 "urban villages" recognised in the Master Plan of Delhi in 1962.
The land surrounding these villages was purchased by the Government between
the years 1958-1976 at the rate of 50 paise per square yard. Villagers were given
the opportunity to purchase land elsewhere at a special rate but many did not take
up the option since they were attached to their villages and did not want land in
another area.
16. These statistical details concerning the village are taken from Narendra R.,Hauz
Khas Village, Delhi, an approach towards redevelopment, Unpublished thesis,
School of Planning and Architecture, Delhi, 1989.1 am grateful to Rachna Narendra
not only for making her thesis available but also for returning to Hauz Khas with me
six months after her study was completed, enabling us to compare notes about the
development of the village over the past twelve months.
17. Since her "discovery" of Hauz Khas, Bina Ramani has become a well known
Delhi socialite. Rarely a week passes without some mention of her in one or other
of the Indian Sunday papers. More recently (in 1994) she has become the agony
aunt of the new international newspaper, The Asian Age.
18. Narendra op. cit.
19. Thompson M.op. cit.
20.1 am using the term "floor" to apply literally to the number of floors. In other words
I am counting the ground floor as one floor.
21. The village Bistro complex is allegedly illegal on the following grounds: it is built
outside the official boundary of the village as defined by the DDA (Delhi Development
Authority); it is too high a structure to comply with regulations concerning the height
of buildings in urban villages; it is too close to the monument walls for complying
with the Archaeological Survey's regulations concerning the proximity of buildings
to archaeological sites; it serves alcohol apparently without a license, and, like most
other buildings in Hauz Khas, it is said to have illegal electricity connections.
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