In his book, William J Glove establishes Lahore as a key site for “constructing and imagining a colonial city”
RE. Why did you decide to make Lahore the site for your PhD research on “constructing and imagining a colonial city”?
WG. In 1996, I came to Lahore in the summer. I was interested in testing the possibilities of a project set in the city. I lived in the Walled City near Shah Alami [gate] where a family had rented a barsaati to me. The interesting thing about the Walled City is that one assumes it has been the way it is forever but in reality it has grown incrementally, and continues to change. While I was living in Shah Alami, I watched two houses in the very street where I lived being torn down. That altered the entire street pattern. I came out of that summer experience thinking that Lahore was fascinating and overwhelming and that I had to come back. I remember thinking that if I can write a history of this city I will not be daunted by any task again.
RE. From “constructing and imagining a colonial city”, what brought you to the study of the rural?
WG. For one, a friend who had read Making Lahore Modern said to me, “You’ve written about this big city and never used the word ‘capital’ even once”. I wanted that economics and history should be part of the story in my next project.
Another stimulus was the recurring emphasis by historians on the need to study cities in relation to their hinterland — solid advice that is rarely ever followed. This led me to [develop] an interest in learning from agrarian history. In the agrarian history [of India], debt became a huge issue at the beginning of the 20th century. This led me to political economy; hence my interest in the relations between the city and the village.
Punjab was in trouble at the time. In 1900, a Land Alienation Act was passed that prohibited the transfer of land to non-agricultural groups in the province. Since land values were increasing rapidly by then, land was used as collateral for loans. The money-lending class at that time – such as the banyas – was considered to be fundamentally urban. There were, of course, many moneylenders who lived exclusively in the villages, and some of them were also agriculturists. But, essentially, the legislation was an effort to keep agrarian land from going by default into the hands of city people. For me, this made studying the relationship between the village and the city a fruitful project in the context of Punjab.
RE. Both your projects depend upon archival research. What are your experiences as far as the quality of institutions responsible for archiving is concerned, in both India and Pakistan?
WG. The historical record is fragmentary. Of the many events that constitute what happened in the past, only a tiny imprint remains in physical records and artefacts. When these are organised into an archive – whether official or unofficial – historians are able to access essential details about past events, people and processes and, equally importantly, understand some of the collecting and organising principles of the persons or institutions responsible for assembling the archive in the first place. The British were meticulous record-keepers, as were the Mughals before them. This tells us two things: things they recorded, and something about the nature of their enquiry, its limits, biases, barriers and so on.
The governmental records, on which much historical research depends, are patchy for the colonial period in Pakistan. The records of the post-colonial period are also difficult to access.
RE. Would you elaborate the notion of a category? Was this based purely on the colonisers’ preoccupation with the flow of capital?
WG. My new project emerged from different kinds of reading; from Lahore’s history, to agrarian history, to ethnographic village studies of the 1950s and 1960s in India and Pakistan, among other things. The project works on two levels. At one level, it is an intellectual history tracing the idea of a rural-urban continuum, something that came into formation in the early decades of the 20th century.
Throughout most of the 19th century, the village and the city were considered to be almost separate entities, with neither having much impact on the other but, by the 1920s and the 1930s, they began to be seen as connected and contiguous. By the late 1920s, for example, we can find the term ‘rurban’ emerging, a made-up word that reflects a larger intellectual change.
A second level of the project looks at the material environments this idea of rural-urban connectivity created. A number of projects were started by the British: village modernisation, the reformatting of fields, the migration of decentralised civic institutions more common to cities into the physical spaces of villages, radio listening practices and team sports. I wanted to bring back into discussion these projects that we had forgotten about.
RE. Was the British reformatting of the village determined largely by the structure of taxation or was it more about the creation of a certain civic consciousness?
WG. What is interesting is that by the early decades of the 20th century the categories being used to describe villages and small towns were in motion. What I noticed in the archives was that those descriptions did not really reflect material conditions on the ground. We always think of villages and cities as looking and feeling a certain way but the categories [given to these places by the British] were not descriptive categories. Instead, they had much more to do with how a place was governed and taxed.
My argument is that if you wanted to understand the experience of living in a “small town” in colonial Punjab, the tax code was as important as – or more important than, actually – the presence of street lights, traffic and modern forms of architecture. The reminder is to be careful when making assumptions that we already know what urban and rural meant. My goal is to help us think in a more precise way about what the recent past in colonial India and Pakistan was about, what the original state was from which we are now changing.
We have to accept that architecture is still very much an elite discipline. One doesn’t quite know where it’s headed. I think architecture has become timid at challenging the elite biases of its own formation — far more than many other professions that were formed around the same time.
RE. Are you also implying that the current rhetoric promoting urbanisation as the only way forward does not have a long history? Was the city not always seen as the ultimate place of opportunity, aspiration and progress?
WG. There was much more robust modernisation in the villages, including the application of scientific agricultural techniques and decentralised forms of local government such as the panchayat system. Farmers were, and always have been, open to new techniques and change. In the 1920s, agricultural colleges and research stations were developing new seed across Punjab, including at Lyallpur (present-day Faisalabad). These are things scholars often attribute only to urban populations.
It is a disservice if we think that the village is only stable, unchanging, and timeless. The urban dweller always imagines himself to be the locus of newness and change but the countryside was alive with change. So the timeless, unchanging village as a scholarly ‘artefact’ has to be retired at this point.
Nevertheless, the city has been the place where dreams were thought to be realisable — no doubt. It still is. The allure of the city is not a new phenomenon but it is an allure primarily for the elite. It is a safety valve for everyone else. For example, you drive past a katchi abadi and you think, why these people don’t go back to the village where there is clean air etc. The answer is that in the village things are worse. For a certain class, the city holds allure; for the rest, it is the only option.
RE. What kinds of changes are the cities of South Asia going through in terms of their historical trajectory?
WG. This is what I am trying to figure out. There are a number of changes that are underway. There are some that people are more aware of and responding to, and there are those that people are less aware of, such as shifting ecologies. There is no one model of understanding South Asian cities today. We are seeing an increasing polarisation between the rich and the poor. Despite this, or perhaps because of this, most urban agglomerations in South Asia are faced with catastrophes in terms of groundwater, air quality, social services, health and education. These are creating situations that will soon become unliveable if they are not addressed.
I think there are good examples in the world of urban practices that work. We do not necessarily need new inventions but we could give a lot more careful attention to what is working. There is also a role for presenting alternative models, for documenting ways of doing that are attainable. I feel that people in Pakistan are incredibly resilient. They seem to dust things off and go to work the next day but these things can also be exasperating and take a big toll over time. That is a situation where change needs to happen.
I do think that scholars and policymakers are showing more interest in South Asia, more than they have in years. So we are now learning what the [South Asian] cities are, how they operate, who lives in them. Most models, however, help us understand the cities from the middle-class point of view. We still don’t have an understanding of the city from the point of view of the day-wage labourer.