POLE ECC re A opey eum AONTOUAWGA, S.VIGNI dO SHALLVUUVN SoTIOWIIIY SurpasuA) snynf 40-13. PAPER TRUTHS, Itistime to enter another space. Not New Delhi this time, nor Old Delhi but a space which seems to defy such classifications. You could call it the ‘margins’, if margins can be denser than the centre, the location of which is itself difficult to place. One of Delhi’ peculiarities is, in fact, its absence of a clearly defined central point, For this is not a city that developed organically, ike @ cell multiplying outwards, but ‘one which grew in ffl spurts of destruction and relocation. Crumbling, monuments of the past litter the urban landscape at considerable distances, as ito remind us that Delhi’ centre often changed in the past, and may still change again When the British decided to move the imperial capital from Calcutta to Delhi in 1911, they did little to improve the city’s dis- Jointed development. Having already established a settlement known 3s Civil Lines north of the existing city of Shahjahanabad (nowa~ days known as Old Delhi), they then set about establishing a new colonial settlement south of the city. Hence, ‘New Delhi’, with its gracious avenues and well-planned shopping centres grew up in contrast to ‘Old Delhi’ with its narrow lanes and congested mar ets, Although New Delhi has since expanded upwards and out- wards, the contrast between the two Delhis remains. So too does the controversy over where the centre lies. Ifthe people you meet tell you it is in Connaught Place (they are reluctant to call it ‘Rajiv Chowk’), then that is because the people you meet probably come from New Delhi where the Westernised middle classes are concen- trated. But Delhi has many stories which can be told from many perspectives. This one favours the vantage point of those who once inhabited the ‘inner city slums’ of both New and Old Delhi but ‘who were expelled eastwards and outwards to the ‘kalapani’ (black 6 Paper nuths 63 waters)! ofa ‘resettlement colony’, Itis the off-centre perspective of people thrown well beyond the margins of a city which has since ‘expanded to re-incorporate them within its dense and ever spread ing urban fringe. Many such people still look to Chandni Chowk in ‘Shahjahanabad as the centre of Delhi. ‘The colony to which we are heading is locally known by the somewhat unlikely name of Welcome. We have already encountered it, not only in the introduction to this work, but also in the post- Emergency narrative. This was one of the places where the Muslims threatened with demolition at Turkman Gete had asked ifthey could be resettled —the colony purportedly ‘saved’ ffom becoming ‘a second Pakistan’ by Jagmohan, then Vice-chairman of the DDA, who had been opposed to the idea of members ofa single community clustering together. We know it, then, as the place where the people of Turkman Gate were not resettled but where others were—a place which almost played a significant role in the post-Emergency narrative, but which, as it tarned out, occupies no more than a sentence in what is already a forgotten history. ‘Contrary to what might be imagined, "Welcorhe’ got its name, not from over-enthusiastic town planners trying to disguise the horrors of resettlement, but from the first wave of people who settled there in the early 1960s. They chose it, neither out of pleasure at their new surroundings, nor out of irony at the lack of facilites there, but rather out of sheer practicality. “The Welcome Hair Oil factory was the only building for miles around when we were first dumped here? an old man explains, ‘so when we used to give directions about how to reach the colony we would tell people: “Go along the main road until you get to Welcome and then turn left. So the name Welcome got stuck!” The old man’ version of the tale is as good as any. The Welcome Hair Oil Factory, which opened in 1954, was closed down. in 1970, leaving its large brick structure asa warehouse for chemical. ‘Those who joined the colony in the second major wave of resettlement daring the Emergency never knew the Welcome factory, but the name, Welcome, remained, "Kala pan isa reference to che Andaman Islands where Indian prisoners wed to bbebanished, a punishment dreaded because it violated the Hindu taboo of crosing the ocean Iisa phrase fequently ased by people who found themselves displaced fiom Delhi slums. Iu European equivalent would be ‘Siberia!os Paper truths Given that Welcome was developed in the 1960s and 70s one might imagine that it belongs to what is known as New Delhi. But this is not the case. ‘New Delhi’ isa space defined not merely by temporal criteria but also by social connotation and geographic location. Welcome fails to qualify on both counts. It belongs instead to another space, commonly defined 2s Jamuna par (Trans-Yamuna), meaning the area across the River Yamuna. The phrase is revealing; it assumes one is standing west of he river where both ‘Old’ and ‘New’ Delhi are located. Like rivers in cities all over the world, the Yamuna draws a boundary which is both social and geographic. When shum dwellers were first displaced ‘across the river’, they were left in the back of beyond, in forgotten spaces once reserved for hunting, So even ifitis not clear where the centre of Delhi is, we know for certain where itis not. It is not east of the river in the area known as Trans-Yamumna, Population pressures in Delhi are such that even the Trans-Yamuna’s profile is changing over time. It is no longer just the home of evicted. slum dwellers in over-crowded resettlement colonies. Today it also attracts middle-class Delhiites who, in the interest of obtaining more space at cheaper rates, are constructing luxury colonies ‘across the river’, These pristine colonies with their uniform architecture and standardised white concrete stand in stark contrast to the dense brick patchwork and turquoise-blue paint o characteristic of poorer housing settlements. But the latter predominate. East Delhi remains the city’ poorest constituency, where illiteracy ratesare highest and urban amenities ‘most scarce. So how does one get to this colony named Welcome? One has to ‘cross the river of course. These days there are various bridges, but there used to be only one which, even today, remains the most con gested. To reach this bridge you take the road which runs along the back of one of Delhi’s most famous monuments—the seventeenth century Red Fort, built by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan. Its sturdy pink walls mask the fact that its inner structure was blown up by the British for use as an army base. And so another centre rises and falls ‘Today it still functions asa base for che army and is also the location for Independence Day speeches, retaining some ofits earlier impor- tance. Just beyond the fort, avoiding the vendors who offer coconut segments which gleam an incongruous white in the suffocating traffic ‘you work your way round to the right and enter a congested medley of vehicles trying to edge onto the ‘Old Bridge’ (Purana Pul)—a vast Paper truths 65 iron structure, a tribute to colonial engineering, which carries trains at its upper level and road traffic at the lower. It used to be one of the major points of exit from the city, leading onto the Grand Trunk Road which stretches across the flat plains of Uttar Pradesh. [eis not difficult to imagine something of the sense of expulsion that must have been felt by the truckloads of displaced people who were taken across the bridge in the 1960s and 70s and left some miles over the other side in the name of resettlement. “Today, as then, the riverbank remains a liminal space, dotted with mixture of temples, cremation grounds, sacred ghats and shacks. As ‘one nudges across the bridge in a lethal combination of scooters, trucks, bicycles, cars, auto rickshaws, cycle rickshaws and fat Harley Davidsons with passenger room for eight—one can look down through the iron railings and observe the fringes of the riverbed—occupied mainly by slam dwellers and washermen stearing clothes. Known as a notorious spot for drug-taking, it represents one of the more sordid faces of Delhi—a hidden face overturned by the unusual perspective offered by the bridge. Some of the residents of Welcome had once cobbled homes together in this very spot, using a patchwork of mud, ‘wood, brick and straw. Those homes have long since been demolished and replaced by other slum clusters waiting for the next flood, fire or {government scheme to wipe them away. Like other stretches of vacant land which line riverbeds and railway tracks in the city, this is one of the spots where the slum population seems irreducible, despite the regular attempts at‘slum clearance’. Once over the bridge, you work ‘your way onto the Grand Trunk R oad until you reach the old Welcome factory building a few miles before the border with Utaar Pradesh, ‘The building no longer stands alone ast did in the 1960s. Today itis submerged within a vast urban jigsaw that stretches far beyond, butit still remains a landmark to those who know. From here, 2s the old rman says, you just turn left and you are in Welcome. Entering the colony from this southern entrance you see, to your left, people splitting coconuts and arranging the fresh white segments of flesh on steel plates—the same people perhaps who earlier in the day supplied the vendors who weave their way through the trafic ‘behind the Red Fort. And strolling through the colony you see many familiar Delhi sights: men mending the rickshaws they have hired for the day; women queuing for kerosene; fruit vendors arranging their feuits; paper pickers sorting out bundles of waste paper and plastic66 Paper truths for recycling: women washing steel utensils and clothes over the open. gutters oftheir narrow, densely packed brick homes; people lounging ‘on string beds and children playing, defecating or just roaming in the streets. As you proceed to the north side of the colony, the population shifts from predominantly Hindu to predominantly Muslim. On the whole the buildings ae taller, offen containing three or four storeys, though many houses are shared by several families. Here goats and hens become more numerous and the number of craftactivities sharply rises. You can see rough hewn furniture being made from low quality ‘wood, metal pots being hammered with decorative designs, and above all denim jeans, of every size, shape and description being cut out, stitched up, dyed and dried in small workshops located mainly in the front room or ground floor of houses. Denim jeans for sale all over India—Welcome’s major product. Denim jeans and the Emergency! There is no obvious connection unless, perhaps, that the students ofanti-Emergency rallies wore denim Jeans with their khadi kurtas, Afer all, it was the 1970s when cheesecloth and denim were beginning to grab the collective imagination of urban youth all over the worid and middle-class Delhi kids were no exception, But Welcome did not start manufacturing jeans until the 1980s. The colony's relationship to the Emergency lies elsewhere. Like the other resettlement colonies developed or expanded during the mid-1970s, ‘Welcome contains people whose homes were demolished by the DDA. atthe instigation of Sanjay Gandhi. The interest in tracing memories ‘ofthe Emergency in such colonies lis in the fact that for those resettled, the Emergency was not so much a fleeting event asa time when their conditions of existence in the city were radically, ifnot permanently, altered. Welcome, like other resettlement colonies, offers the possibility of viewing the Emergency from a different perspective. We are no longer in the city centre observing the blanks and empty spaces left ‘behind, but on the periphery where new fiatures were built, reluctantly or otherwise, upon the rocky foundations of the Emergency. We begin our quest in the clapped out offices of what is known as the ‘Shum and J [hug Jiompri}? Department’ of the MCD, East Zone 2yhugs ong’ hompr: oll terms for squster shacks. I hosing pi alec te tty Epis ang gr fo igen are, ‘By contrast the er ‘sums often wed vo refer ta more permanent scr that hus fallen nto depaie However the terns ae wd incon by dierent authors and, following common wage | we the term sm to cover both yps of doling Paper tuths or B, The name is curiously evocative of the place it describes, conjuring ‘up an image of both slum conditions and bureaucratic verbiage. This is indeed a place where heavily-worded papers pile up and proliferate in sordid heaps under a mixture of accumlated dust and bird droppings. ‘The main headquarters of the Slum and JJ Department is located in a more salubrious complex which, as one might expect, is situated in New Delhi. [tis there that major planning decisions are sketched ‘out and important orders issued. The building we have entered is, however, only a local branch and bears the stamp of neglect appropriate to its unglamorous location in Welcome. This is nota place for planning resettlement colonies on crisp white paper, but a place where the remnants of past policies lie about in crumbling files and where current procedures are half-heartedly carried out by those officers who have the energy and willpower to bother. This two storey concrete block was built in the early 1980s but suffers from severe and premature ageing, The Slum Department ‘occupies three rooms on the first floor: one reserved for the assistant director whose appearance is limited to a few hours a week; another ‘occupied by the main staff ‘head clerk’, an ‘upper divisional clerk’ and three ‘Tower divisional clerks’, and a third which servesas a record room. Lower-grade staff such as the two peons, the cleaner and the sweeper generally hang out in the corridor unless required on duty. ‘The Slum and J} Department is an intensely hierarchical male- dominated space; its structure replicating that of bureaucracies all ‘over north India and probably many other parts of the world. The ‘only women employed are the sweeper and the cleaner whose social inferiority is marked net only by their occupations but aso by the fact that they generally squat orsit on the floor in the corridor, Hierarchy is physically embodied here, with relative status demarcated both through the allocation or non-allocation of space, and through the presence or lack of consumer durables. The importance of the largely absent assistant director is inscribed in the cooler and curtains which grace his offce, which is generally kept locked for most of the week. “These stand in sharp contrast to the basic fans and boarded-up windows ofthe main office and the dysfunctional fans and non-boarded empty ‘window frames of the records room (the domain of the peons when they are notin the corridor). Desk size also establishes relative status ‘whilst the peons’ superiority to both the cleaner and sweeper is marked by the former sitting on chairs. Afterall, they too are men of paper.68 Paper truths ‘There is nothing exceptional inthis sort of hierarchical arrangement. Ieis, on the contrary, typical of office structures ll over the world. The British Embassy in Delhi, [am told, classifies its stafFinto three grades, distributing not only office furniture but also household furniture according to status. But the sense of importance that is evoked by the presence of a desk and chair is particularly significant in a place like ‘Welcome, where many would never have sat behind a desk and where the use of chairs is reserved principally for special occasions. The Slum and JJ Department is by local standards an intimidating space for ‘men, and even more so for women. It isa space where vital papers (most of which cannot be understood by local inhabitants for reasons either of medium, language or wording) are passed around by important men behind desks—men who have the power to alter the path of ‘your destiny. Traces of such altered destinies lie in the records room which ‘contains personal files recording the allocation of plots and tenements inseven resettlement colonies. Although the building is comparatively recent, the records date back to the first wave of resetdement in the 1960s and go on to cover the period of the Emergency up to the present day. Why begin by looking through these dusty files and not by talking with the residents of the colony about their personal experiences? I begin here simply because this is where I did begin. [cis these files, on which I accidentally stumbled, that first provoked sy interest in the Emergency, for here the period is portrayed not as amoment of explosive drama, but as a humdrum fact of bureaucratic cexistence—a time when paperwork was prolific and when housing rights were redefined. ‘What the records of Welcome give us is an official memory of the Emergency within the context of housing policies which precede it and succeed it, the Emergency in historic and administrative perspective. Viewed from this angle, the distinguishing feature of the period is not so much the fact of slum clearance (although demolitions were hugely accelerated at that time), asthe fact that many people secured Contrary to whit often imagined, the slum clearance programme was not 2 product of the Emergency years. It was first initated back in 1958 with the ‘establishment ofthe JhgsJhompri Removal Scheme (JRS) designed to demolish ‘quater settlement, resettle the inhabitants and deter new migrans from squatting ‘on government lind. The scheme has undergone considersble modifications over ‘the years and responsibil forts implementation his been shunted back and forth Paper truths 69 their rights to housing through participation in family planning. Case by case and file by file the records pertaining to Welcome bear witness to the granting of housing rights on the basis of strilisation—a fact previously imputed by the journalist, David Selbourne, but hotly disputed by Jagmohan, However, the precise nature of the relationship between resettlement and sterilisation seems difficult to define, Far from simplifying the image of the Emergency, the yellowing papers of these files create confusion, posing at least as many questions as ‘they seem to answer and blurring clearcut distinctions between victims, ppersecutors, conspirators and resistors ‘To stumble across such record is surprising—not so much because of their subject matter which post-Emergency authors to some extent anticipate,* but rather because such records are not meant to exist. It is part of the mythology of the Emergency that controversial things like details of the Delhi administration's participation in family planning, ‘were not recorded in anything other than general terms. Once again the silence of the past works to reproduce the forgetting of the Emergency in the present—this time by denying the existence of ‘the ‘evidence’. When a middle-aged Indian journalist recently informed ‘me that the idea of the DDA having been involved with sterilisation ‘was justa baseless rumour spread by sensation-hungry foreigners (a category to which I was clearly assigned), it led me to reflect on the hold of this distorting silence both in the past and the present. This -wasa man who had been writing fora respectable national newspaper in Delhi during the Emergency, albeit under conditions of censorship. Stil the notion that censorship conceals seems somewhat feeble when applied to ajournalist who surely knows whatitishe is hiding, Equally, one is led to question why contemporary books which purport to give a history of the resettlement scheme in Delhi® fail to mention the explicit link between housing and sterilisation during the Emergency which was, ater all, the time when the greatest number of people were resettled. pea cs Gren she Dati Developme Ate ipa by eo Hpac ad the Dela ocd ini Corporate “See Dajl and Boxe, 1977, For Ressns; Selbourne, 1977, An Eye to India and Baka 1577, Opin Enc Bee Ga hae and etch Gupta, 1981, Restlonent Pls in Dl Deli Tnstiture of Public Administration and Ali Sabir, 1990, Slums within Shomr: A Study “of Resettlement Colonies in Dethi, Delhi: Har Anand.70 Paper truth: ‘The existence of the records therefore leads us to probe the nature of the silence that is said to have characterised the Emergency expe~ rience, haunting the daily lives of the intelligentsia who feltimmersed in am all-engulfing darkness. Were family planning abuses as hidden during the Emergency as many like to imply? Or was it partly in the interests of those who condemned the Emergency retrospectively to take refuge im the notion that they had not known how to distinguish, rumour from reality or exaggeration from fact at the time? Most post-Emergency authors attribute Indira Gandhi’ election defeat to the people's fear of sterilisation, but on what was that fear based? ‘Where were the educated classes whilst che sterilisation wave was sweeping through Delhi and across the northern states? Could it be that the sterilisation of ‘the masses’ (a favourite term in those days) ‘was oflitde concern to the average middle-class Indian except when it came to mustering their support against Indira Gandhi in the elec tion campaign? The ease with which many today dismiss past tales as ‘grosly exaggerated’ or based largely on rumour" seems to suggest that the silence characteristic of the Emergency was, and still is, far from, innocent. Hasn' silence always acted asan excuse for non-interven= tion? And hasnt it equally provided a refuge for those who were noras inactive as they might retrospectively have wished—the bureaucrats and many others who sought to escape the burden of sterilisation by imposing it on their social and economic inferiors perhaps? And isn’t such ambiguity of behaviour in times of criss often compensated for after the event through the elaboration of horror stories which serve to remove what happened ftom one’s own doorstep, bundling it into violent episodes or simplistic anecdotes which can later be recounted with amusement or dismissed as exaggerations? Whatever the reality, the presence of sterilisation records in the Slum and JJ Department provides some threads with which it is possible to begin weaving an alternative narrative of the Emergency. Lifting off the veil of secrecy, which in this case has proved more fictional than real, we are left with the records—previously unexplored and unacknowledged. A first glimpse atthe files ‘The records for Welcome are, like most reconds, incomplete. They consist of 3,733 personal files which represent 80 per cent of the allotments in the colony, It was the contents of these files that my A first glimpse at the files n assistant and I studied over a period of six weeks—aided by the periodic intervention of the clerks and peons who answered our queries, translating legal and administrative jargon into common language and explaining not only the rules of the system but also the techniques by which they are circumvented. In this sense, despite being officals, they gave insights into the unofficial history of the colony, explaining what the files concealed as wel as what they revealed. ‘A Slum Department personal file comes into being when a plot ofland or built-up tenement is allocated to a family whose home has ‘been demolished usually as result of sham clearance policy, occasionally asa result of flood or fire. Since files correspond to allotments rather than demolitions, it is impossible to judge from them how many of the displaced failed to obtain aplot or tenement. What we have here are files which begin with the successful attainment of a plot but which often contain information relating to several different families asthe plot changes hands either officially or unofficially over the years. By tracing the paperwork relating to the plot, we can simultaneously learn something of how housing policies changed over time and how both the inhabitants and officials dealt with these changes. Some files contain only minimum information about the original allocation of land: others give rich and varied insights into the various techniques through which plots have been obtained, lost or retained in the colony. Our first encounter with these files came about when a helpful lower divisional clerk decided to take us through one, explaining the system as he went along. ‘All plots have been allocated on a leasehold basis to people who could prove that their jhugeis were demolished by the MCD or DDA under the Jhngei Jhompri Removal Scheme. Only if you are the original allortee or a blood relation of the alloteee can ‘you pay the licence fee for the plot. You must have the proof? He points to two slim pieces of paper, one entitled a “demolition slip’ hich records the details of the person's dwelling prior to demolition, and the other entitled an ‘allotment order’ which gives the details of resettlement. ‘In onder to distinguish genuine alottees from impostors, the MCD also decided to issue photos of each allottee which we keep in the files? He points to two passport sized black and white photographs of man standing rigidly and staring blankly into the camera. In front of his chest the man holds a mini blackboard on which is chalked his name, his father’ name, the initial of his block and number of his plot. The photo is peculiarly evocative of the penal2 Paper rath system, a isthe language ofsome ofthe documents. A census ofsquatters® form, dated 1960, for example, demands the number of ‘inmates’ in the man’ previous jhuggi. ‘When people come to pay the licence fee, ‘we use these photos to check that they are the genuine allottee’, the clerk continues, apping the photographs authoritatively. ‘But in actual fact, many of the people in the colony are not the original allotcees, 50 we cannot accept lease payments from them. But if, asin this case here, the new occupant is in possession ofall the relevant documents of the original allottee, then we generally tell him that as long as he pays the licence fee inthe name ofthe allottee, then we won't make a fiss’ He smiles, sees my surprise, then clarifies: “The slum wing's main concern is to collect the licence fee. “But in some cases we do send out eviction orders—that is when it ‘comes to the official notice of the department that the person resid ing in a plot is not the original allottee’ He shuifles through a small pile of files on his desk until he finds one appropriate for demonstrat ing his point. "You see here’ he points co a document called ‘Show ‘Cause’ which seems to have been issued from the department's old headquarters in Seemapuri. He reads out paragraph 4 which turns ot he one log convened sentence in contorted elie Eng- Wheres itt eported tat you __ have occupied thes qureeplt ‘wthou the prior ppronl othe Competent Author and suck occupation Ba, you ae resuired to show cate within seven day fom cept of tisnoice why shoud you notbe removed fom the sad po quartes, ing which fate secession wil been apn you exe wet “This means that the man has seven days to state why he should be allowed to remain on the plot. Ifhe does not come forward, then The census of squatters wat carried out in 1960 to distinguish besween two categories of squatter: the ‘eligible’ consisting of hore who had been squatting in Dethi since before July 1960 and che inligible’ consisting of thore who had sled jn Delhi afer that date. The incention wast shift ‘eligible’ squatter fo reetlement colonies where they would be expected to pay lee payments and nominal ents either for built up tenements of, if they were unable to afondthe rent or plots of government land. Meanwhile the ineligible squaters were tobe chased out ofthe city altogether with the idea tha this would discourage new migrant from thinking they could squat in the capital. Dificulties in distinguishing the eligible from the ineligible led tothe iter abandonment ofthis distinction A first glimpse atthe files 2B faction goes ahead.’ But in this case here, the man has come forward dnd has produced these documents’ He flicks through a pile of papers ‘which inclade photographs along with photocopies of aration card, an application for regularisation of the plot and power of attorney documents, covered in signatures and rubber stamps, recording details ofthe sale and purchase of the plot. "You will see these documents in alot of files’ the clerk continues. “This man here has paid 12,000 rupees for the plot in 1981, bur the sale is totally unauthorised. One ofthe terms and conditions of the resettlement is that the plots cannot be transferred to anyone excepta close blood relative—tha is called a mutation case” for which you need a death certificate. But here the purchaser is not a relative. This means we cannot grant his request to transfer the leasehold into his name. So what we have done is ask for ‘damages. Damages are calculated at one rupee per square yard per ‘month. Most ofthe residential plots are 25 square yards, so that makes 25 rupees a month. es not much, but the licence fee is les—only ‘eight rupees a month. But since in this case, the man is what we call an authorised occupant”, we cannot accept the licence fee from hin ‘We ask what proportion of the plots have been sold in this fashion. He estimates that 2t least half of the original allottees have left the colony. He goes on to tell us how the first plots given by the MCD back in 1960 were 80 square yards each, but that the authorities found that far from solving the ‘jhuggi problem, they had actually increased it since almost ll the people resettled had sold their plots and renurned to jhuggis; sometimes even getting resetled a second time. So in onder to puta stop to this practice, the MCD had reduced the size of the allotment, first to 50 square yards, and then to 25 square yards, thereby reducing their value and making them less appealing to developers. All of that had happened in the first few years of the Jhuggi Jhompri Removal Scheme which had been initiated back in 1958 when the shum population of Delhi first began to be perceived as a serious *problem’ requiring drastic action. Welcome’s neighbouring colony, New Seelampur (technically known as Seelampur Phases I and II) Contained some of che earlier large plots, but Welcome (technically Seelampur Phases III and IV) was founded in 1963 just after the change of policy. This meant, as the lower divisional clerk explained, Phe wal action would be to prosecute the accused under the Public Premises Actof 1971m Paper truths that there were only three types of allotment in Welcome: the 25 square yard residential plot; the 12.5 square yard shop plot and the 40 square yard built up tenement. In the case of plots, which formed over 90 per cent of the colony’ official area, the resetled people had been allotted a rectangular strip of land on which they were expected to build their own home. In the case of the tenements, they were housed in one-room flats with a kitchen, bathroom and terrace, for which they were expected to pay not only the lease but also some rent. They were the wealthier people of the colony and represented less than 5 per cent of the population. Welcome also contained a large ‘number of unauthorised jhugeis clustered together at the back of the colony in an area known as the Janata Colony. This unofficial sub- colony had grown up immediately after the Emergency. Its unofficial rnature means that there are no files pertaining to it® ‘This first conversation with the clerk gave us an excellent introduction to the complex workings of the Slum Department where there was clearly no simplistic dichotomy between the ‘legal’ and the ‘legal’. Even the line separating the ‘official’ from the “unofficial” seemed dificult to dravy, since this was an official giving usan unofficial version, The status of the documents seemed equally ambiguous. The power of attorney papers, for example, seemed to function simultaneously as proof that an illegal purchase had taken place and as evidence of the purchaser’ right to become officially recognised as an ‘unauthorised ‘occupant’ Similarly, possession of the original allottee’s documents seemed to give unofficial entitlement to a purchaser to pay the licence fee in somebody else's name. Clearly this was a system with considerable room for manoeuvre, both on the part of residents and on the part of officials, The clerk’s introduction also provided important indications concerning how the records should be perceived. Evidently, what we ‘would face in the records room was not so much truths, nor even “official truths’ (since these were refuted by officials) as ‘paper truths’ ‘whose status as truths was intrinsically inked to their symbolic value as official papers. These were the tokens which, it seems, mediated between the official’ requirements and the occupant’ needs. Judging. For a more detailed account ofthe discbution of space in Welcome and i ‘elon turban polos Enna Talo, 2000, ‘Welcome to Hitory:A Resetlement ‘Colony in the Making’ in Dupont, Tari and Vil eds, Dt A fire glimpse a the files 5 by the clerk's explanations, both officials and occupants recognised the constructed nature of these ‘paper truths’ and at times, colluded in their making. Yet the files also suggested that such truths must have a very different meaning depending on one’s position in the system. ‘To officials, the documents were obviously familiar, bulging repetitively out of every file—the daily fodder ofthe system. But such familiarity and comprehensibility seemed unlikely forthe residents of the colony despite the fact that their personal security clearly depended on possession of the papers. Judging from the two files examined so far, this was a system which had no place for the paperless, and yet the ‘papers that residents were expected to produce came across as being peculiarly alien. The thumb-print ‘signatures’ of applicants seemed to indicate the lyers of distance thatseparated them from the bureaucracy: distance marked not only through the heavily coded offical language, bbut ako through the choice of language (English), the medium of writing and the very fact that the truths had taken on a paper form, For'paper truths’, despite their limsiness and elasticity, despite their potential to be forged or destroyed, none the less have authority, belonging as they do of the world of the modern state where the written word reigns supreme. ‘Unfortunately, since the record room was at some distance from. the main office, our contact with the helpful clerk was more limited ‘once we sat down to explore the records in detail. Instead, we had the company of one of the peons who watched us laconically—ocea sionally asking us why we bothered or demanding to know where ‘we lived and what we were paid. The ambiguity of our starus seemed to bother him far more than our curiosity. I had a card which re~ vealed f was a‘doctor" from the University of London—all of which suggested that I should not be getting my hands dirty rummaging through filthy files which the peons themselves were reluctant (0 touch. Furthermore, my assistant, Rajinder, seemed to work more diligently chan was reasonable, tolerating the grim conditions of the records room without complaint despite the fact that his English ‘was fluent, indicating a high level of education. Our other company ‘asin the form of wildlife: mainly birds which made their nests on the dysfianctioning fans and flew about the room throughout the dy, using the shelves of files as perches for sleep and other activities Ironically, the MCD head office had failed to respond to its own regional department’ frequent applications for money for repairs.76 Paper truths ‘Asa consequence each time the pre-monsoon winds rose, they brought in a new blanket of dust which sugared the files, and each time the clouds burst, the room became flooded. None the less, the presence of many pigeons ensured that, despite the unfavourable conditions, this was an archive with non-stop live singing! Since each file began with an allotment, some dated back to the carly 1960s when the colony was founded, whilst others dated back to the Emergency years when an additional 1,483 plots were created, making a grand total of 4,034 residential plots, 415 tenements and 198 shop plots. Some files were almost empty, containing only an allotment slip which gave the name, block and plot of the resettled person. But most files contained some form of demolition slip, an allotment order, a possession slip, alist of MCD or DDA terms and conditions (depending on which body was running the Slum Department at the time), two photographs, an affidavit signed or thumb printed by the original allottee and a few receipts for licence payments and sometimes the back payments of damages relating to a person's previous residence The precise wording of the documents varied from year to year, largely in accordance with changes in policy and administration. The headings at the top of the pages bore witness to the fact that the Slum Department has long been caught in an on- going tug of war between the MCD and the DDA with the result that most files contain a mixture of papers fom both administrative bodies. Also included in some files were death certificates, applications for mutation, documents of purchase, eviction orders, papers relating, to court cases and, from time to time, a survey form, dated 1989, which was aimed at establishing how many of the original allottees had left the colony. {A fair amount of general information can be gleaned from this ‘material despite the gap between paper truths and realities. From the names of allottees, one can usually guess their religion, thereby ‘establishing that the majority of people resettled in Welcome prior to the Emergency were Hindu whilst a large proportion resettled during the Emergency were Muslim. One can also lear, from the demolition slips, that whilst most pre-Emergency allottees came from jg clusters all over the city, many of those resettled in 1975-6 came from ancient 2A system by which squaters were expected to pay retrospective damages for cach yee they had been living legally on government ane was introduced in 1960 She ume of he censes of quater. A first glimpse atthe files 7 arcas of Old Delhi, suggesting that probably they were not recent ‘migrants but long-standing residents of the city. The documents of purchase, mutation cases and the 1989 forms bear witnes to transfers ‘of properties overtime although they cannot tellus of those purchasers who continue to pose as original allottees. Conversation with the ower divisional clerk has taught us to be wary of such information, ‘What, for example should we assume from the missing files or from those files which contained a paucity of documentation?—a family ‘which has left the colony; the arrival of a squatter; an allottee who never paid the licence fee; a purchase unrecorded; lethargy on the part of housing officials; the discreet acceptance of bribe; a file that went astray? The options are so numerous that it would be dangerous to assume too much. Perhaps of greater value than this general data, which lends itselfall too well to the production of potentially dubious statistics, are the glimpses ofalternative voices which from time to time creep into the files. These usually appear in the form of letters, sometimes handwritten in Hindi, but more often typed in English, presumably by professional letter writers. These letters usually consist of requests for changes of plot, either within the colony or from one colony to another. They demonstrate not only the space for negotiation, but also the language ‘within which negotiations take place. Take, for example, the following letter addressed to the executive officer of the Slum Department: ‘Respectflly, I beg to bring to your kind notice that my jhugg at Agiun [Nagar was recently demolished andjin eu ofthat | have been alloted plot in Madangit..n connection, {may state tha Iam a ‘Bali’ scheduled ‘ste and my reaives mostly ve in Shabdara, Due toy backwardnes [ar {pai is the seléchosen respecable mime adopted by 4 number of people wove conventional east occupation was and in many cae sili, sweeping, The Tame wan sleced in onder to deny the community wth Makar Valk, author Gove veson the case Hinds ep be Ramayana, Welcome conto srg con of Balik, most of whom ein thee ving working a: goverment ered reepen. tn Hida birch of occupation, sesping& consdeed cot the mon polling tks andthe people who performed t were comsensonally feporded st inpuce. The Balms, along with other low-staus groups who Were Fpeviouly chiied as ‘untouchable’ ae today included within the government Ferufcadon oficheduled eat’ Poitvedscimination inten faces edeation Sor government jobs was intoduced in the 19505 to try to improve the status of hcied cate groups but the 4c tigma anociared with occupations like Jreping continues to exist. When the Banik author ofthe above lester sys he78 Paper truths tunable to lve alongside with other well-placed people in Madangit | therefore request that I may kindly be allowed a suitable plot in Silampur Area in lew ‘of my existing allotment. I shall be highly thankful to you, Yours ete The fact that chs letter is accompanied by an allotment slip which allocates a plot in Welcome indicates that the Balmiki’s request was successful. So too was that of ‘private sector worker’ who submitted the following letter in 1968: ‘With due respect and humble permission I beg to state Ihave been granted 2 plot in Rajori Gardens,..Sir, | inspected the site..and it is among the ‘sweepers and evil-mninded persons, | applied for getting a plot in Rajori Gardens asa good colony, but the plosare ying among quartelsome persons. {don't want to get an allotment in this absurd locality It is requested that I may be given a plot in Seelampur,.. Thank you, Yours etc Although these leters appear to reveal all too blatantly the orthodox social values of their senders, I would suggest that they may tell us as much about the expectations oftheir recipients as about the attitudes ofthe applicants, Both are framed within an idiom of social hierarchy which professional letter writers clearly consider appropriate for approaching the hallowed offices of a government department. The Balmiki’ request hangs on his self-confessed sense of inferiority whilst the private employee's hangs on his sense of superiority. From the fact that both were successful in attaining transfers to Welcome we can surmise that this isan idiom which officals of the Slum Department understand, So too is che language of deference within which almost all letters ate couched. This language combines archaic formula from nineteenth century British bureaucracy with apparently indigenous formulae of worship and adoration. Sometimes the executive officer is appealed to within the framework of legal rhetoric—as in the formulation ‘I earnestly request your honour concerning the aforesaid case’ or ‘I would most respectflly like to submit that I saw your honour in person in the afternoon..’ At other times, the rhetoric is ‘more religious—‘May the goddess of prosperity and success keep her ‘constant smile on you for this timely service... or alternatively ‘I pray +0 God for your longevity and prosperity’. At other times, an appeal ismade to the officer’ feudalistic sense of responsibility—as ina letter abe to liven with ocher well-placed people’. may well be that he is saiferng inimidation from his beter-paced neighbours -— ‘The language of family planning 0 where a man recounts two ancient parables about the king’ duty «0 his subjects before staring his request for a plot. In some cases, legal, religious and feudalistic formulae are all rolled together with expressions ofthe applicant’ utter worthlesmess: Tam a poor and poverty stricken ran having liability of 6 daughters and 2 sons...herefore again, 1 request your honour that kindly having mercy upon my pathetic position please consider my case in my favour..0 chat I may pass my remaining life under your kind shelter? ‘The correspondence in such files provides insight into the func- tioning of system in which the participant speak in clearly defined codes, The official documents are worded inthe pompous and archaic language of Slum Department bureaucracy—a language o! Scrnlors allen fdas and mio Toi theses respond with equally archaic but deferential letters, written usually by professional letter writers who mediate between the literate and the illiterate. In response to the humble appeals of the applicants, the officials communicate with each other in largely monosyllabic formu las, like ‘Put up, ‘granted’ ‘submitted for approval, or refused”. All of this means that despite the ‘human element’ introduced by the leters, the ensuing dialogue attains a high level of predictability. By 1976, however, signs of a new language have penetrated the bureaucratic discourse of the Slum Department. The language of family planning ; The new language finds its most direct expression in a small an Cnprcteniou locking document called che DDA Faily Planning Centre Allotment Order which is found in over 28 per cent of the files. [is reproduced below. DELHI DEVELOPMENT AUTHORITY FAMILY PLANNING CENTRI i ‘Name and Age Father’ name Plot No, of family members Date of voluntary steril Nature of assisance cl Onder Signature of applicant Date Offer in Charge80 Paper truths Here, the allotment order is just an empty form, devoid of detail, but since each form must have been empty before being filled, i is interesting to pause to contemplate it frst in its blank state. No doubt, the title alone gives official acknowledgement of the fact that the DDA was issuing plots on the basis of family planning. But what does it mean by ‘family planning’? For this we have to go to point 5 which demands bluntly ‘Date of voluntary sterilisation’. So ‘family planning’ is defined as ‘sterilisation’ and ‘sterilisation’ is defined as ‘voluntary’ even before the person has begun to fill in the form. What ‘we find in this small piece of paper is a fragment of the dominant Emergency narrative—a token of official fumily planning euphemisms in action at a local level On first encounter the presence of these allotment orders would appear to confirm Selbourne’s claim that those whose homes were demolished in the shumm clearance scheme could only get alternative plots through being forcibly sterilised at the hands of the DDA. But there are various facts which seem to suggest thatthe simple formula, demolition — sterilisation — plot, cannot filly explain the complexity of the situation. First, there isthe fact thar the FP allotment orders are not found in all the files pertaining to residential blocks created during the Emergency and are not restricted only to the files which date from 1975-6. On the contrary, well over half ofthe sterilisation «cases recorded refer to plots which date back to the 1960s. This not ‘only suggests that some of those who experienced demolition during the Emergency managed to obtain plots without getting sterilised, but it also implies that some of those who did get sterilised through the DDA had not just experienced the demolition of their homes, since itis unlikely that the DDA would have been destroying plots it hhad officially created only a decade earlier. Second, the details on the allotment orders seem to suggest that notall of hose who participated in the DDA family planning scheme were in fac sterilised themselves. ‘When one looks at the answers given in response to point 5 of the form, one finds not only a date and sterilisation number, but also one of two phrases: either ‘self-strilisation’, or ‘motivated case’ The term ‘self-sterilisation’ seems clear enough, suggesting that in return for sterilisation a person was able to obtain a plot. But the term ‘motivated case’ is by no means self-explanatory, and led my assistant and I to turn to the peon for an explanation. ‘Those were the people who gave a ease’ he explained, rather too briefly. He was using the The language of fomily planning 81 language of family planning, a language with which we were not yet fel What di iomean a 'give awe’? Farther prompting ld te the explanatory statement, “You could geta plot by motivating others for sterilisation. This cleared the picture to some extent, but it stil left a number of questions unanswered. Why did the ploc go to the motivator? Did the person who was sterilised get a plot too? The pon gave a tired smile at these ignorant questions. He was beginning to get impatient. ‘Of course the motivated person did not get a plot, T've already told you, the plot went to the motivator for motivating the other to get sterilised’ I was till confused. Why would anyone be willing to be ‘motivated’ when they could get a plot themselves if they went in for ‘sel-sterilsaion’? The peon raised his right hand and rubbed his fingers against his thumb in a gesture which spoke clearly enough: ‘Money’ . “People were told they could get a plot either by getting sterilised or givinga exse. This meant that they had to make some sor of private deal with the person concerned. If] want to motivate you [he points to Rajinder), then I'l offer you this much money to get sterilised. You right say you want more, so we strike a deal. I have to accompany you to the hospital as proof that I am the motivator, You get sterilised, and I get the plot. That’ the incentive’ Tnguce that we areal laighing. Laughing t what? Wasi that we ‘were enjoying a good story—another lite escapade into the unofi- Gal? Or wast rather that we felt uncomfortable talking about some- thing as physical and personal as sterilisation? Was it a mixture of both? Certainly, for my part, I felt thar we had entered complicated territory on which it was dangerous to teead. Should I be asking so many questions about what was turning out to be a government initiated market for infertile bodies? Might not the peon start getting, nervous about my curiosity? He had already aed us, naturally enough, why we were interested in the files. Did I even know why I was interested? When I ad intially asked to consult the records, I had not had any idea that they would contain information on sterilisation. I had simply been looking for general background information about the colony, But now that did know, I was curious. At the same time, [felt that my curiosity should not be too explicit—a hangover from the Emergency perhaps? There seemed to be something clandestine about uncovering details which had been so effectively effaced. An- other product of silence? I seemed to be laughing partly to make a82 Paper truths joke of my ignorance, and partly to keep the conversation light, as if to say, you can tell stupid ignorant me. I was also responding to the peon’ laughter which seemed to say, am speaking from outside my role as an official of the DDA—I am telling you things you should not really know but this is how it worked. There also seemed to be a strong element of irony in our laighter—appreciation’ perhaps of the ‘grotesque absurdity of a government policy which explicitly encour aged illicit deals in human infertility. Iwas thisencounter which had first led me to consult the forgotten ‘volumes of the post-Emengency narrative. I was looking for explanations. Although the idea of displaced slum dwellers buying each other's sterilisation fitted ill with the narrative’s general projection of the poor as either passive victims or active resisters, there were, none the less, many usefil insights to be gained. In particular Dayal and Bose gave an excellent description of the structure of the family planning policy in Delhis its centralised grip over all government institutions, including hospitals, schools, police stations, transport authorities, the MCD, the DDA and even over civic bodies.!! They demonstrated how those atthe top of institutions were set sterilisation targets which they were encouraged to fulfil by accumulating sterilisation cases from their staff. While the MCD demanded that all employees with three or more children should be sterilised, the DDA set the limit at ‘two. Such targets were sanctioned by a package of ‘incentives’ and ‘disincentives’ which generously rewarded those employees who accumulated large numbers of cases and which penalised those who refiased to participate by threatening to withhold their salaries. Once the DDA had exhausted its own staff, it turned to its clients as a potentially lucrative source of sterilisation cases. “of. Dayal and Bose, For a concise account of the variation in family planning policy from state to state, see Gwatkin, 1979, ‘Political Will and Family Planning: Inphesions ofits Emergency Experience’ Popation nd Deepest Ravan, 5. fapp 2-39 Scho ch, 30°VA, Pu Pmandtor RIN, Bho, dO Sora, 197 ary ling Und te Eee: Pie Inpaon of betis o Dicrie, New Dali Radiant Putco, Tha Deh fareoned the cnt of Eergrey Ss i eslcned by Deis Guecies Gncvede hte ‘chleverets of diferent sates varied in eatin to ther presiny to De wih the bight res fonda el ghbouing ates a lowe sin ster pal ‘Senile Tanna wan dea aes er keady ar detoe nthe outer exes where Ely lang seis hd been ‘concentrated prior to the Emergency. re ‘The language of family planning 83 Dayal and Bot 15 May 1976. Us reproduce an official government onder issued on ler the heading “Provisions for the General Public itreads:‘Allotmegt of houses, flats, tenements, shops and plots in all income groups...,fill be made only to “eligible persons” or eligible couples...An ineligible person can become eligible on production of the sterilisation certificate in respect of him/her or his wife or her husband from the prescribed authority’'? They interpret this as meaning that it was impossible to get DDA housing facilities without getting sterilised. Hipwever, our recent encounter with the records ofthe Slum Departmgnt raises the possibility of another interpretation When the statementjreads that a sterilisation certificate is required ‘in respect of" the husband or the wife, it does not categorically state that itis the husband of wife who must get sterilised. Rather it seems to suggest that one of them must submita sterilisation certificate in their name. But whose certificate? In this vague and ambiguous "wording there seems tobe space for the motivator, that evasive figure ‘we have briefly encountéfed inthe Sham Department files at Welcome. This is not to argue thatthe existence of the motivator has hitherto gone unacknowledged. On the contrary, the motivator isa familiar figure in writings on family planning in India before, during and after the Emergency. But the identity and scope of the motivator has, until now, remained unexplored, Usually itis government employees like ‘nises, doctors, teachers, and family planning officers who are described as ‘motivators’. These professionals have been set sterilisation targets and are paid small bones for their motivation work. They are not expected to buy sterilisation cases but to persuade people of the benefits of contraception. Sometimes they are seen to employ touts who are paid perty sums for rounding up people forsterilisation, But there is not, to my knowledge, any tecognition of the fact that anybody, ‘whatever their identity and whatever their status or lack of it, could ‘become a motivator during the Emergency. Neither is it recognised that by motivating a single pemon 2 man or woman could get the same benefits as someone who éame forward for self-sterlisation or that, in effect, motivators went|about purchasing sterilisation cases so that paying someone to get sterilised became a means of buying plot ‘This brief detour into the post-Bmergency narrative has familiarised "Dayal 1d Bose, 1977, For Rewon, pendix, p23.84 Paper truths ‘us with the language of sterilisation with its vocabuldty of incentives’, ‘disincentives’, “motivators, ‘eligible’ and “ineligible” people. It has also provided insight into the structure of the famify planning policy. Returning to the files of Welcome, itis now posse to try to unravel how the DDA perpetuated and interpreted thisfpolicy at the local level. The first thing to establish is which filef contain DDA FP allotment orders and to what use were these olers put ‘We begin with a fat pile of files pertaining «® a residential block cteated in 1969. It is one of a number of blockshwith the prefix JB" ‘Why JB?" we ask the peon. ‘Because the people in these blocks used to live in Jamuna Bazaar. That was a famous siugh on the banks of the Jamuna’ His response bore witness to the short-4ightedness ofhousing policies in which ‘slums’ were demolished onl for their residents to be resettled in new areas which are given the Same name and hence connotation as the original slum. The fact that the official body that administers ‘resettlement colonies’ called the ‘Slum andj Department’ is equally indicative. As far as the administration is concerned, resettlement colonies are just another kind of slum’ even ifthey were developed in the interests of ‘slum clearange’. When DDA officials and policy makers proclaim that over one-third of the population of Delhi living in sums, they include these colonies in their calculations Keeping slum statistics high is important. Itacts both as a magnet to international development fiands as well as providing an excuse for ‘why the ‘slum problem’ can never be resolved. JB15"* isthe only residential block im Welcome for which every file is available and where the level of information in each file is ‘unusually high. The slum wing had been transferred from the MCD to the DDA by 1969, and the latter lad introduced a form which demanded a number of details ofthe resectled. Asa result information is given concerning, not only the names and ages of applicants, but also their family members, their occupations, their incomes and their ‘previous residence. From these forms we learn that some of the resettled ‘were engaged in low level governmept employment such as sweeping ‘or gardening, whilst the vast majority worked in the informal sector as tonga drivers, rickshaw pullers, fruit vendors, cobblers, labourers and so forth. Demolition slips suggest that all of them had their homes demolished in March 1968 wherenpon they were left in a ‘camping tn the interests of preserving anonjmiry, {have inserted 2 false number her. Ce ee eT. or rene The language of family planning 85 c’ in Seemapuri, a colony a few miles further towards the Uttar Pradesh border. From there, they succeeded in being transferred to Welcome after an intermediary period of one year. In order to qualify for the transfer they had to prove that they had been squatting in Delhi since before 1960. This made them ‘eligible squatters? Some alko provided clearance certificates to show that they had paid damages fon their previous jhuggs, although this does not appear to have been 4 pre-requisite to transfer since some had not yet been assessed for damages. What is clear is that the people of JB15 represent only a selection of those whose jhugois were destroyed in Jamuna Bazaar in 1968. These are just the “eligible” squatters at atime when ‘eligibility’ ‘was defined, not in terms of sterilisation, but in terms of the length of one’s stay in Delhi ‘There are 254 files for the block. Of these, 28 contain DDA FP allotment orders, all of which are marked with dates between August and October 1976. We begin witha file which contains the demolition slip of fruit seller. Judging from his name, he isa Hindu. Like others in the block, his jhuge in Jamuana Bazaar was demolished in 1968 but hhe was not allocated a plot in Welcome until 1969. The file contains the usual documents: a demolition slip, a few receipts for license payments, a census of squatters form, a clearance certificate to say that he has paid damages on his previous residence, a photograph, an application for allotment, alist of terms and conditions and an affidavit swearing, amongst other things, that he does not posses any other property in Delhi. However, it also contains a FP allotment order which isin the name, not ofthe fruit seller, but of Hindu woman who appears to be unrelated, From the order, we learn that she is aged 35 and has four children. She has applied for ‘self-sterilisation’ and the number and date of her operation is recorded in response to point 5 on the form. The ‘nature of assistance claimed’ under point 6 is filled in with the formula ‘regularisation of residential plot”. Under point 7 ‘order’, the DDA officer has written the words ‘allowed provisionally’. Like all other DDA FP allotment orders found in the files of Welcome, the order i signed and dated by K.K. Nayyar, then executive officer of the DD for this region. Itis also signed by the applicant. A survey form, dated 1989, clarifies the situation, Iestates that the woman had purchased the plorsome time before 1976 and that she had transferred the leasehold to her name through getting sterilised. Using the vocabulary of the family planning policy, we86 Paper iruths can say that she has become ‘eligible’ The 1989 form reminds us however that such eligibility may not be permanent. It recalls that the regularisation was ‘provisional only’ ‘All of the DDA EP allotment orders found in this block turn out to be ‘regularisation’ cases. Some record ‘slf-sterilsation’; others record “motivated case’ All except one refer to residential plots, In each case, the name on the FP allotment order is different from that of the original allottee, suggesting that the properties had changed hands prior to or during the Emergency and that the new purchasers nade themselves ‘eligible’ through participation in the “family planning’ programme. The only exception is that of an original allottee who {got sterilised in order to “regularise’ a temple she had constructed on plot adjoining her own. There isa brief note on the FP allotment order stating that the woman in question had already constructed the unauthorised temple on the plot. ‘The ‘nature of assistance claimed’ reads ‘allocation of religious plot’. The order reads ‘approved provisionally’, and is further stamped with the words ‘attested’. What is apparent from these cases is tat sterilisation had become a medium through which ‘irregularities’ could be ironed out. A DDA FP allorment ‘order had the capacity to transform illegal purchasers into ‘eligible’ license holders. All of the 25 pre-Emergency blocks have files containing similar orders. In one block as many as 60 per cent of the files contain the orders; in another block, as few as 2 per cent. However, my aim is not to enumerate the ‘facts’ of each block, but rather to demonstrate the different types of cases that emerge and the different situations in which they seem to occur. The most significant finding at this stage is that DDA FP allotment orders are contained most frequently in those files where the paperwork suggests thatthe original allottees were no longer residing in their plot at the time of the Emergency. Letus turn, now, to the files of the three blocks which were created in 1975 during the Emergency months. Taken together, these blocks contain 1,084 plots, for which 889 files are available. The people resettled during this period seem to have come from a variety of different locations all over Delhi. A large number are from a place called Gandhi Camp, near the British School in New Delhi. Others are from central locations of Old Delhi, such as Chandni Mahal, Kalan Mahal, Jama Masjid and the infamous Dujana House, Yet others have curious incomprehensible addresses such as ‘Bombay type latrine’ The language of family planning 87 In the 889 files available, we find only 110 DDA FP allotment orders, suggesting that in 1975, sterilisation was not yet a requirement for resettlement. Again those FP orders that do surface are dated 1976 and do not, in most cases, correspond to the formula: demolition > sterilisation — allotment. Here again we find a number of regularisation cases of whch just under halfare classified as motivated’. One FP allotment order reveals that the applicant is a 23-year-old Muslim man without children. He had purchased a plot in January 1976 and regularised it in September 1976 by ‘giving a case’, thereby avoiding being sterilised himself at such a young age. Apart from ‘regularisation cases, we also find ‘transfer cases’. These are often accompanied by a small note, asin the case ofa sweeper who states that he wants to transfer to Welcome because he thas relatives there and because he works in Wellington Hospital. He achieves his request through getting sterilised. In another transfer case, there isaleter from the applicant inthe fle. This ile is interesting since it bears witness to the moment of transition when sterilisation papers became incorporated into DDA policies. The applicant’ letter reads as follows: Most respectfully I beg to state that I am the resident of __, JJ. Colony Seelampur IV, My hut was demolished by the DDA ffom Humayun Road ‘on 31.10.1975, but the demolition sip was not issued on that day. The officers told us that the demolition slip will be sued later, when al the camp ‘will be demolished. Only a few huts were demolished on that day. Some ‘were given demolition slip and some were not. The demolition was stopped ‘on that day due to Diwali Festival. Due to correspondence with the Vice Chairman, DDA, Lid Governor of the Implementation Committee and Shri Arjun Das, MMC, we got ‘provisionally allotment in Seelampur by the Executive Officer in December 1975, When the fall camp was demolished, all he people from Humayun Road were allotted plots in Trilokpuri. On my demolition slip was alo written Trilokpari wrongly instead of Seelampur. I brought this mistake to the notice of the officers but they said that cis will be done later in their oie. Sir, it is requested that my case may please be seen sympathetically and thae my plot in Seckmpur be regularised instead of Trilokpuri as I have already constructed i by spending some money in these hard days. I shall be highly chankful to you, Yours etc The executive officer of the DDA responded to the letter by scrawling ‘note to his subordinates: ‘Please furnish a report, 7.6.1976! To this88 Paper truths the concerned officer replied oni the same day: ‘All families were resettled in Trilokpuri. We are not allowing changes in such cases, 7.6.1976: This appears to be a definitive answer, butat the very bottom, of the same page. another officer has added: “Vasectomy case, Change to Scelampur allowed’ This additional note is dated 21.8.1976. By ‘August 1976, sterilisation had clearly become a medium through which people could negotiate their housing rights with officials ofthe DA. Another form of negotiation is apparent in those cases where husbands are recorded as having motivated their wives, or wives their husbands, There is also a case of a young man motivating his brother and two cases of children motivating their parents. When we asked the peon about the logic of this, he gave a practical explanation, ‘Sup- pose you have one plot already, then you cannot get sterilised for a second plot since it is against the regulations to have two plots regis- tered in your name. Butif your son motivates you then the plot would not be in your name but in the name of your son. That way. you can xget the extra plot’ In such cases, the FP allotment order seemed to provide the possibility of expanding personal property in the colony. ‘but such inter-familial motivations were rare, amounting to no more than 11 of the 486 motivated cases recorded. The vast majority of motivated cases were between people who do not appear to have been related. In one relatively small block, created in 1972, 18 out of the 20 FP allotment orders found record motivated cases, none of which seem to have involved family members of the people con- ‘cerned. These are mostly regularisation cases, including regularisations ‘of commercial as well as residential property. In some cases, the appli- cants seem to have ‘given two cases’ per plot, in others they have given only one. When we tried to question the peon on this, he simply stated “That block is full of Muslims, Muslims were against sterlisa- tion and ‘o they usually preferred to “give a case”’ This did not, how- ‘ever, explain why some had given one case and others two. Neither did it explain why motivated cases also occurred amongst Hindus. Finally, there are four blocks in the colony which were officially created during the monsoon months of 1976. This, according to the eon was when the DDA had set up a family planning camp in the colony itself. The files relating to these blocks contain a particularly large proportion of FP allotment orders amounting to approximately {80 per cent. Some of the residents in these blocks seem to have been living in other resettlement colonies or in inner city slum areas prior ‘The language of family planning 89 to 1976, but the vast majority appear to have come from Welcome itself where they were either living as tenants in other blocks or else residing in their own ‘unauthorised jhuges. Theit FP orders generally read ‘allocation of residential plot’ rather than ‘regularisation’ or ‘ransfe" Their files also contain affidavits signed or thumb printed by the applicants concerned, Point 4 of the affidavit is worth reproducing. It isa declaration ‘That I was residing in a huge! near block ___in for the last____ years and that I have voluntarily demolished ‘own jhuggi and vacated the Government land? “There is something very dubious about this declaration. Were people really going around demolishing their own houses, or was ‘voluntary demolition’ like ‘voluntary sterilisation’—a fait accompli? There is always something ominous in the use of that word ‘voluntary’ in official documents, particularly when they are printed in a language ‘which most ofthe ‘applicants’ cannot understand. Again, those thumb ‘prints and shakily written Hindi signatures seem to jar painfully with the formality of the administrative paper. One cannot help but wonder ‘whether anyone had actualy bothered to inform the applicants what they were declaring? And even if they had, were homeless jhugei dwellers in a position to refuse to sign? The problem of how to interpret the phrase, ‘voluntary demolition’ is, of course, justa fragment of the larger problem of how to interpret the paper truths contained within the files more generally. Going. through almost a thousand FP allotment orders spread through every block in the colony undoubtedly provided a clearer sense of the different administrative uses to which this particular document could ‘be put, but italso raised a number of questions. Were people willingly coming forward for sterilisation in order to make the best of the benefits it would bring thems? Or was there a structure of intimidation which pushed them into participation? Furthermore, given that the DDA offered two alternative methods for obtaining plots through “family planning’, who were the ones who chose to become ‘motivators? ‘And who were the ‘motivated’—the people who got sterilised without getting plots? Added to these questions was the further issue of whether sterlisations recorded actually corresponded to striations performed. “Fwo conversations with the officials of the Slum Department served, ‘not so much to clarify the answersas to clarify the questions. The first conversation took place in the corridors of the Slum Department, {just as the office was closing and after the senior staf had already gone90 Paper truths home. The clerks (both lower and higher divisional) approached Rajinder and me with a view to telling us we could spend as much time as we liked going through the files. They did not want us to be put off by the head clerk’ less than enthusiastic attitude and seemed to want us to understand how the system worked. When I casually asked about the family planning policy during the Emergency, the "upper divisional clerk was immediately forthcoming. ‘At first the policy was just to encourage people to get sterilised voluntarily, but since people weren't coming forward voluntarily, Sanjay Gandhi introduced more forceful measures. Looking through the files, you will get the impression that people were voluntarily getting sterilised, but actually that is not the case. Itwas done by force’ Again officials of the DDA. were acknowledging the fragile nature of ‘paper truths’. The upper divisional clerk was smudging the boundary between the official and unofficial, this time in the liminal space of the corridor at the iminal time of closing hour. Again, we were in dangerous territory, but I none the less asked, ‘forced by whom?" “By government employees. By people from the Shum Department! ‘The reply is rather general—an indication that this isa conversation in which names and personal details will not be given: “They would go around door to door and ask to se peoples papers. They were under lot of pressure. They had been told that they would lose their jobs ifthey did not fil targets for sterilisation. They were under force. Ifthe residents couldn't provide all the relevant documents, they were threatened with eviction unless they got sterilised or gave a case” So that was what was meant by the phrase ‘regularisation of resi- dential plor. “Take, for example the iron market. It used to be on G.T. Read. It was demolished. At the time of demolition the traders were told that they could not get new plots unless they were sterilised A case of ‘voluntary demolition’. But what exactly did the clerk mean when he used the phrase ‘By force’? Physical coercion or economic pressure? “By fear, that's what | mean; he clarifies, whereupon the lower divisional clerk adds: "There were some cases of physical force too. ‘There were people bundled into jeeps and taken off for sterilisation at that time too, no?” That uneasy laughter seems to have returned, ‘The upper divisional clerk sticks to his original explanation—fear’ ‘The language of family planing 1 He is senior to the lower divisional clerk and was already employed bby the DDA at the time of the Emergency. His words sound les like an extract from an oft-repeated narrative and more like a memory which is at once both personal and depersonalised. But unfortunately the conversation has reached its limit. Sensing his defensiveness, | feel unable to ask him directly about his own role. Instead, [ask him what he thinks, in retrospect, about the family planning policy of those days “The policy was in the national interest? He has switched back to an offical voice. ‘But the government would not have changed were it not for the forcible sterilisation and the demolitions. Those were the two principal things. The fact that the government did change shows the extent to which people were being forced’ An apparently neutral assessment, ‘This conversation provides us with the missing keys for decoding, the language of ‘family planning’ in which ‘family planning’ means sterilisation which is defined as ‘voluntary’. Government statistics suggest that the word ‘family planning’ did not always translate thus, ‘but they also show thatthe slippage in meaning was a gradual process ‘which began back in the 1960s when vasectomy was increasingly advocated over other family planning methods, Literature also suggests that the ‘voluntary’ nature of the mass vasectomy camps introduced at that tiie is highly debatable." During the Emergency, the precise nature of the meaning of the term ‘voluntary’ was clarified. By the time we read of people voluntarily demolishing their own jhuegis, ‘we know that we are dealing with the euphemisms of the Emergency when the takeover of meaning has become complete. ‘We now know that a ‘regularisation’ takes place under the threat ofeviction. In family planning parlance, this isthe ‘disincentive’. The ‘incentive’ isthe right to remain living in the house one has purchased or built or the right to have an alternative plot after one’s home has been ‘voluntarily’ demolished. An ‘eligible’ person is a person who ‘Mtn a convincing and thorough analysis of family planaing policy in India before the Emergency, Marika Vicriny challenges the myth that Inia ever had a woluntars family planning programme, She highlight the implicit coercion built toa ystem which had alas been target-oriented and slanted against the poorer sections of society. See Marika Vici, 1982-3, ‘Coeeionin a Sof Sate: The Family ‘Planning Program of di, pe 1: The Myth of Voluntain” and pe2, “The Sources, of Coercion’, Paajc fin, 55, 3,pp.373-401 and 4, pp. 557-93.2 Paper truths either is sterilised or has “given a case’ “Giving a case’ means paying someone else to get sterilised. The person who pays for asterilisation isa ‘motivator’ while the person who accepts the deal is ‘motivated. An ‘ineligible’ person is a person who neither gets sterilised nor Purchases the sterilisation of another. Reassessed, in the light ofthese clarifications, the files of Welcome record the process by which the DDA, caught within a wider structure of sterilisation targets, cast its bureaucratic net over the colony, in search of victims for sterilisation. [found its victims in that ambiguous space which had always existed—and which continues to exist-— between what is known and what is officially recorded. Justas today the colony contains ‘jhugei dwellers’ ‘unauthorised occupants’ and illegal purchasers who pay the license fee in the name of the ‘original allowee’, so in the mid-1970s it was home to a number of people who were living in the loophole between official policiesand officially recognised irregularities, During the Emergency, that loophole tightened. Instead of being a space for negotiation, it became a noose ‘which squeezed its victims into participation in family planning — offering them the grim choice either of getting sterilised or of paying someone else to take their place. The rules and regulations of the colony had suddenly lose their flexibility. They now functioned a8 ‘offical levers with which to scoop up sterilisation cases from residents trapped by the finer details ofthe law. But does this vertical and totalitarian model of power really correspond to the picture that emerges from the files? Had the system really lost its flexibility, or was it simply that the terms and conditions of negotiation had been redefined? After all, transfers from other colonies and applications for alternative plots could still be negotiated with the officers of the DDA as long as ‘evidence’ of sterilisation was Provided. In such cases, can we be certain that the DDA was forcing? sterilsations, or was it rather that some people in the colony were actively exploiting the various possibilities that sterilisation offered? ‘When I questioned the DDA staff of Welcome on this issue, one of the lower divisional clerks responded: ‘Some were sterilised by force Uaberdasti se) but actually, once it was known that you could get major benefits through sterilisation, then many people chose to get sterilised out of greed {lal se? Greed? oe Th ue iy ig 0% pe eancas ete bn igh Fox cn 00 te empl “nl esl org mie eran thug ee ee pot teen Pret ot tei Yule dont romishow replete Fe oly tos re te eng Sot ei jected: “You have to [At this point the upper divisional clerk interject Took athe rewards, Apt ofland is worth alot of money. Nowadays ose plots sell for lakhs of See So what are the incentives today? “Today they don’ offer anything much, Just a clock ora fan, some small thing. Thats why today nobody is interested aie he second conversation, our brief vision of clarity has begun to blur. Force has somehow transmuted into choice: need has transposed into ‘greed’. Our earlier image of innocent victims helplessly trapped ina burcaocratc web gives way fo the powsbilty of pragmatic ‘opportunists, reaching out for benefits and ‘rewards’. And yet itis fiom che fusion of these two pictures thata new perspective emerges from which we can try to capture the diversity of people's experiences of that elusive moment we call ‘the Emergency’. One lakh * 100,000.revetment colon December 1976. (PD-PEB New Delhi) Right ‘Adveriement in the Hindustan Tne, May 976. AMILY PLANNING INCENTIV INCREASED i MEN _FOR VASECTOMY =| WILL GET RS, 75.00 WOMEN Ft WILL GE MOTIVATOR WILL GET RS. 10.00 GET STERILISRD- MOTIVATE OTITERS HELP US CHECK DELHVS POPULATION GROWTH ISSUED BY THE'DIRECTORATE OF ORMATION AND PUBLICITY DELHI ADMINISTRATION : DELHI Above Men register their names fo Clinic in Old Deli, 6 September tomy at Dujana House Family Planning (@D-PIB, New Delhi) Below Sterined men ar given ghee and clocks as rewards for undergoing vasectomy Dijana House, 6 September 1976, (PD-PIB, New Delhi)