At 75, Chandigarh’s Political Dilemma, Heritage, Hierarchy, and the Urgent Need for Change
At 75, Chandigarh represents a profound political dilemma: How is the city to be claimed as a landmark of Indian history when all its elements reflect Western aesthetics? It also stands as a paradox: admired for its order, yet plagued by institutional fatigue.
Conceived as India’s first planned modern city, Chandigarh is a symbol of Nehruvian optimism, rationality, and architectural excellence that masks deep social hierarchies. It is not a single city, but two unequal realities. It is celebrated as heritage, yet the living city is in decay.
The physical layout structurally privileges the elite while costs, energy, labour, and waste are pushed to the periphery. Even within the heritage core, the problems of physical deterioration, functional obsolescence of housing, an ageing population, and administrative concentration have set in. The city that was meant to be a model for modern India is struggling to adapt to the realities of urban life.
The Original Design and Its Hidden Costs
Administrative offices and elite residential sectors were placed close to the Capitol Complex. Service workers, lower-level staff, and informal labour commuted daily from peripheral areas outside the planned city. This quietly organised the city by class, a division deepened in the name of maintaining the original plan.
The living city, which includes vegetable markets, lower courts, and waste heaps, was pushed to the southern sectors. This was done to maintain the northern sectors as a museum of modernisation: clean and pollution-free, with low-density habitation. The planners created a city of order and beauty, but that order and beauty were available only to some.
This spatial division was not an accident; it was embedded in the design from the beginning. Le Corbusier and his team created a city of sectors, each intended to be self-sufficient. But the sectors were not equal. The northern sectors, with their large plots and proximity to the Capitol Complex, became the domain of the elite. The southern sectors, with smaller plots and fewer amenities, became the domain of workers and the lower middle class.
The city’s celebrated grid system and open spaces were real, but so were its hidden hierarchies. Seventy-five years later, those hierarchies have only deepened.
The Rock Garden: A People’s Rebellion
The rigidity of Chandigarh’s planning mindset is best illustrated by the Rock Garden. Created secretly over nearly two decades by Nek Chand, a government employee, it was built from industrial and domestic waste on forest land near Sukhna Lake. When the authorities discovered it in the mid-1970s, Nek Chand was harassed and the site was declared illegal.
It was only after widespread public protest that the administration reversed its decision to demolish it. The Rock Garden was officially inaugurated in 1976, Nek Chand was appointed its curator, and the “illegal” space was gradually absorbed into the city’s planning framework.
This episode is telling. One of Chandigarh’s most loved public spaces exists not because of the master plan, but because citizens forced the plan to accommodate creativity, informality, and cultural expression. The Rock Garden stands as a rare moment when people, rather than planners, reshaped the city.
It is also a reminder that cities are not just physical structures; they are living organisms shaped by the people who inhabit them. The master plan could not foresee Nek Chand’s vision, and the bureaucracy tried to destroy it. But the people recognised its value and fought to preserve it. The Rock Garden is Chandigarh’s most democratic space, built from waste by a single visionary and saved by collective action.
The Green City Myth
Chandigarh’s reputation as a “green city” also merits scrutiny. Spaces like the Rose Garden prioritise visual aesthetics over ecological function. Sukhna Lake, an artificial water body, serves recreational and symbolic purposes but requires constant intervention and delivers uneven environmental benefits.
Nature in Chandigarh was designed as a spectacle rather than as climate infrastructure. The trees were planted for beauty, not for shade or carbon sequestration. The gardens were created for pleasure, not for biodiversity. The lake was built for recreation, not for water storage or groundwater recharge.
With rising temperatures and water stress, the distinction is consequential. A city that treats nature as decoration rather than infrastructure will struggle to adapt to climate change. The heat island effect intensifies. Water scarcity worsens. The residents suffer, and the most vulnerable suffer most.
The green city reputation, earned decades ago, is now a liability if it prevents a more honest assessment of Chandigarh’s environmental challenges.
The Governance Anomaly
These structural planning flaws have been compounded by a serious governance anomaly. Chandigarh is administered through a dual system: an unelected UT administration controls planning, land use, and heritage regulation, while an elected Municipal Corporation manages limited civic services. Responsibilities overlap, accountability blurs, and decision-making slows.
The UT administration answers to the central government in Delhi, not to the residents of Chandigarh. It has the power to make decisions about the city’s future, but no direct accountability to those who live there. The Municipal Corporation is elected by residents but has limited powers and resources.
This dual system creates a governance vacuum. Neither body has both the authority and the accountability to address the city’s deep-seated problems. When things go wrong, each can blame the other. When reforms are needed, each can block the other.
Chandigarh’s decay is not only accidental or managerial; it is the structural outcome of this governance anomaly. A city that cannot govern itself effectively cannot adapt to changing circumstances.
The Larger Pattern
Chandigarh’s experience mirrors that of other planned capitals such as Brasília and Canberra—cities of administrative brilliance that struggled to adapt to everyday urban life. Brasília’s monumental architecture and functional zoning created a city that worked on paper but never quite came to life. Canberra’s garden city design produced a pleasant but soulless administrative centre.
Planned cities have a common problem: they are designed for a particular vision of the future, but the future rarely unfolds as planned. When it doesn’t, the rigidity of the design becomes a liability. Adaptation is difficult. Informality is suppressed. Creativity is discouraged.
Chandigarh has fared better than some, largely because of the vitality of its residents and their willingness to push back against the plan. The Rock Garden is the most visible example, but not the only one. Markets have grown where none were planned. Neighbourhoods have evolved in unexpected ways. The city has developed a life of its own.
But the structural constraints remain. And as the city ages, they become more apparent.
Conclusion: Heritage Without Reform Is Not Enough
As Chandigarh marks 75 years, preservation alone will not secure its future. Heritage without reform risks turning the city into a museum—orderly, admired, and disconnected from social realities.
The northern sectors may remain beautiful, but the southern sectors will continue to bear the costs. The elite may continue to enjoy their privileged spaces, but the workers who make the city function will struggle with longer commutes, poorer services, and declining quality of life.
The real question is no longer whether Chandigarh was well planned, but whether it can finally learn to change. Can the city adapt its rigid layout to accommodate new realities? Can it overcome its governance anomaly to make decisions effectively? Can it address the social hierarchies embedded in its design?
The answers to these questions will determine whether Chandigarh’s next 75 years are as celebrated as its first, or whether it becomes a cautionary tale about the limits of planning and the dangers of rigidity.
Q&A: Unpacking Chandigarh’s Challenges
Q1: How does Chandigarh’s original design embed social hierarchies?
Administrative offices and elite residential sectors were placed close to the Capitol Complex in the north, while service workers, lower-level staff, and informal labour were pushed to peripheral southern sectors. This spatial organisation, maintained in the name of preserving the original plan, quietly structured the city by class. The northern sectors became a museum of modernisation—clean, low-density, pollution-free—while the living city with its markets, lower courts, and waste heaps was pushed south.
Q2: What does the Rock Garden’s story reveal about Chandigarh’s planning rigidity?
The Rock Garden was created secretly over nearly two decades by government employee Nek Chand from industrial and domestic waste on forest land. When discovered, authorities harassed Nek Chand and declared the site illegal, planning to demolish it. Only after widespread public protest did the administration reverse its decision. The episode shows that one of Chandigarh’s most loved spaces exists not because of the master plan, but because citizens forced the plan to accommodate creativity, informality, and cultural expression.
Q3: Why is Chandigarh’s “green city” reputation misleading?
Spaces like the Rose Garden prioritise visual aesthetics over ecological function. Sukhna Lake, an artificial water body, serves recreational purposes but requires constant intervention and delivers uneven environmental benefits. Nature in Chandigarh was designed as spectacle rather than climate infrastructure. With rising temperatures and water stress, this distinction matters—trees planted for beauty provide less shade and carbon sequestration, gardens for pleasure support less biodiversity.
Q4: What is Chandigarh’s governance anomaly?
Chandigarh is administered through a dual system: an unelected UT administration controls planning, land use, and heritage regulation, while an elected Municipal Corporation manages limited civic services. Responsibilities overlap, accountability blurs, and decision-making slows. The UT administration answers to the central government, not to residents, while the elected body has limited powers. This structural anomaly compounds the city’s planning flaws and hinders adaptation.
Q5: What broader pattern does Chandigarh’s experience reflect?
Chandigarh’s experience mirrors that of other planned capitals like Brasília and Canberra—cities of administrative brilliance that struggled to adapt to everyday urban life. Planned cities designed for a particular vision of the future often find their rigidity becomes a liability when the future unfolds differently. Chandigarh has fared better than some due to its residents’ vitality, but structural constraints remain. The real question is whether the city can finally learn to change.
