In 2021, Anica Mann, who works at the Archaeological Survey of India, began a project in the form of an Instagram page called @delhihouses to capture the distinct personality of the city’s homes. The idea came to her when she shifted out of her house in a north Delhi village. “When a new family moved into my childhood home, they left no trace of my past. It revealed how fleetingly impermanent houses can really be,” she says.
Anica Mann | Photo Credit: SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT
This transience Anica refers to was exacerbated by the 2011 notification that made stilt parking mandatory for newer constructions. That one move, she says, slowly eroded the uniqueness of Delhi’s residential terrain, which was painstakingly built by the melting pot of communities that gathered in the city after Partition.
An aerial view of a barsati house in Kailash Parbat in Delhi | Photo Credit: SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT
“It was a watershed moment for me,” says Anica. “Builders started tearing down old plots to construct four-storey houses that look like similar concrete blocks. Bungalows began disappearing. Barsatis (single rooms on top floors) are few and far between. Single-storey houses are now unheard of,” she says, adding that while houses have a natural tendency to upgrade themselves, the quintessential character of Delhi’s homes has begun to fade away.
As Anica drives through the neighbourhoods of Lutyens’ Delhi, she points out the few-odd houses that have clung to their old identity. “The urgency of needing to document the last of these homes before they, too, are lost to the fast-growing city skyline is what keeps me going,” she says.
As she talks, Anica backs her car into the driveway of a massive, decaying property on Barakhamba Road framed by the colossal commercial structures surrounding it. “This is the last standing bungalow here,” she rues. Even in its dilapidated condition, with big chunks of its walls and ceilings missing, the house is an ode to a Delhi of a bygone era. The caretaker, who lives behind the house, remarks sadly, “They could never build anything like this ever again..
Order in chaos
Delhi is known as a notoriously unplanned city, but Anica feels it possesses a graceful sense of order. “Cities are intuitive,” she says. “The capital city has historically always made room for people from all over, right from the Mughal era to post-Independent India. The different communities shaped the city as we know it today.”
Amar Colony near Lajpat Nagar, for instance, is a hub for furniture. “Why? Because people from Multan [in Pakistan] who settled there brought with them their prowess in carpentry. Similarly, Jor Bagh market has the best selection of foreign meats and cheeses because of the large expat community that lived there,” she says, adding that it is fun to see how “urbanism builds itself”.
The sleek red brick house on Hanuman Road | Photo Credit: SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT
Anica’s training in archaeology and art history aids her to notice things most people miss. The post-Independent modern period, she says, was fairly short-lived, and saw many trends come and go. “Terrazzo flooring had its moment, followed by kota stone slabs. Concrete jalis, which let cool air into the house, were all a rage through the 1970s. There was a certain stylistic language employed by the houses of each decade,” she says. Pausing at a plot on Hanuman Road, she points at the thin, sleek red bricks making up the boundary wall and says, “This sort of masonry went completely out of fashion by the 1960s.” she says.
Tara Apartments | Photo Credit: SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT
Little marvels flourish in the city even today. “Tara Apartments in Alaknanda, for instance, was very much an experiment in community living at a time when Delhi was transitioning from bungalow to hybrid living. The red-brick flats, which coexist with untamed greenery, were built by Charles Correa in the mid-1970s, and carry his trademark style of blending modernist techniques with the local climate.
“Unlike newer apartments, each flat at Tara is built in a way that nobody’s windows look into anybody’s bedrooms. Yet, the sense of community is such that if you shout, your neighbours will always hear you,” says Noor Enayat, a publicist whose family was the second to shift into the complex in 1979.
Fuelled by community
The dilapidated house on Barakhamba Road in Delhi | Photo Credit: SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT
“I admit that Delhi can be a harsh city,” Anica says. “But I think @delhihouses allows an insight into its softer edges.”
Her page has amassed 21,000 followers in last three years. “I practice respect and restraint while documenting people’s homes,” says Anica. Privacy is her first priority and she limits herself to photographing houses on the main road which fall in the public eye, and always blurs out the addresses.
Her network is close-knit. “I either reach out to people through my own circle, or receive tips via the followers on my page,” she says. With a new project in the pipeline, she hopes to broaden her scope. She is designing postcards which she plans to drop into people’s mail boxes and request them to allow her to document their home, she says, adding that @delhihouses is very much a community-driven initiative. “I want to showcase as many stories as possible. And I want more people of the city to participate.”
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