Disruption,resilience,and vernacular heritage in an Indian city: Pune after the 1961 floods

Abstract

This paper offers insights into production of vernacular architectural heritage that result from disruption caused by disaster such as a flood in a city. To understand the complexities surrounding vernacular heritage, this paper proposes a conceptual approach derived from Lefebvre’s theory of production of space constituting the triad of spatial practice, representation of spaces and representational space. The strength of this approach in explaining resilience and vernacular architectural heritage is illustrated by examining rehabilitation settlements that evolved after the devastating floods of 1961 in Pune (a city with a population of 4.5 million). The paper focuses on the rehabilitation process that was undertaken in response to the floods and relies on secondary data and primary field observations in the rehabilitated settlements. It was found that these settlements had twofold characteristics; externally, they directed the trajectory of growth and expansion of the city owing to their strategic location in the periphery around the old core, and internally within, they contributed to reshaping of urban form and vernacular architecture as the affected people reconstructed their houses and everyday lives. A significant contribution to the making of these rehabilitation spaces was the state’s provision of land for rehabilitation and encouragement to the mechanism of Cooperative Housing as a representation of space incorporating contemporary planning ideologies. These settlements comprised the ‘architecture of the dispossessed’ where material culture and imagery informed different and hybrid forms of houses but these were a departure from the past as they needed to accommodate rebuilding and expansion while serving aspirations of those affected.

Keywords

disruption floods heritage India Pune resilience vernacular architecture

Introduction

On 12th July 1961, the Panshet dam, 31 kms, upstream of Pune city collapsed … [and] …‘the fate of the thousands and the face of the city were permanently changed’. (Brahme and Gole, 1967: 2)

The destruction after a disaster such as the one mentioned above and the following reconstruction resonates with the history of growth in several Asian cities (Shaw and IEDM Team, 2009; Tanner et al., 2009). In light of a recent spate of disasters in Asia, several studies have focused on examining vulnerability resulting from geographical locations and the rootedness of responses to disasters in socio-political contexts peculiar to Asia (Arnold and Guha, 1995; Grove et al., 1998; Pelling, 2003). Similarly, the idea of resilience has been explored through various perspectives including social capital approach, carrying capacity, and the ability of people to reconstruct and rebuild settlements and lives (Adger et al., 2005; Norris et al., 2008; Shaw and IEDM Team, 2009). Continuing with resilience, this paper offers an approach to understand how the process of rehabilitation and reconstruction adds a new layer of vernacular architectural heritage to the existing mosaics of heritages in a city.

In this paper, the conceptual approach for understanding resilience and vernacular heritage is derived from the theory of production of space built around the triad of spatial practice, representation of space and representational space (Lefebvre, 1991). To explain this approach empirically, I use the example of the historic floods of 1961 and the flood rehabilitation process in Pune city. The paper has three objectives: first, to create an historical narrative of urban growth in Pune with the 1961 floods as its centrepiece. This is necessary because most studies on Pune either refer to the city’s settlements from the 18th century and colonial era (Mate, 1959; Mullen, 2001) or the recent advent of townships and high-rise buildings as markers of urban growth (Balakrishnan, 2013; Maharashtra Social Housing and Action League (MASHAL), 2010) glossing over the intervening period of almost 50 years after the floods. Moreover, many sources mention the 1961 floods as a landmark event in the history of city, but fail to explain the significance of this event in rebuilding of the city and its urban growth. The second objective is to understand the contribution of rehabilitated settlements in creating vernacular heritage in Pune. The final objective is to conceptualise ‘disruption’ as a significant stage in the heritage building process which occurs as a result of disasters and ensuing rehabilitation.

Disaster, resilience, and vernacular heritage: Developing a conceptual approach

Numerous studies have individually and independently discussed several dimensions associated with the concepts of vernacular heritage (Chang and Teo, 2009; Prieto and Guerrero, 2008), disasters (Pelling, 2003; Perry, 2007), and resilience (Norris et al., 2008). It is of little merit to reproduce such discussion for this study and therefore I focus only on the basic understanding of these concepts insofar as it helps in formulating a conceptual approach for this study.

In simple terms disasters refers to ‘a potentially traumatic event that is collectively experienced’ and ‘may be attributed to natural, technological, or human causes’ (McFarlane and Norris, 2006, cited in Norris et al., 2008: 128). Resilience in the context of disasters refers to the capacity to absorb stress or destructive forces through resistance or adaptation and to recover or ‘bounce back’ after an event (Shaw and IEDM Team, 2009). The term ‘vernacular’ is often used in contrast to the monumental or iconic. It is characterised by ‘spontaneous manifestations and dynamism and extends to the lifestyle practices and everyday demands of communities’ (Chang and Teo, 2009: 362). The vernacular is also articulated in terms of the spirit of a place which ‘includes all compositional elements of architecture, urbanisms and nature as indissoluble parts’ (Prieto and Guerrero, 2008: 6). In case of architecture, vernacular refers to a housing form developed by people in a particular place using indigenous resources and knowledge to meet local needs, climate and topographies (Chang and Teo, 2009: 343). This means that people and their place are at the centre of any discussion on vernacular architecture and heritage.

The relationship between disaster and resilience and vernacular can be clearly identified in the built environment: the vernacular often suffers the maximum damage in a disaster, but the vernacular also offers the maximum resilience as the affected people absorb shocks through social capital and social networks and immediately engage in reconstruction and settling their everyday lives. A new set of vernacular may emerge after a disaster as the affected populations are either rehabilitated in ‘new places’ or return for rebuilding in the already torn socio-spatial fabric. In the latter case, resilience can lead to intactness of vernacular heritage although with some modifications. But where people are dislocated to an alien location, vernacular is totally disrupted. It takes generations to recreate the vernacular; but by definition this may be different from the earlier vernacular of the same people. Moreover, it takes time to recognise these places in a city as often ‘[E]mphasis is given to the visual qualities, the facades, and concrete forms which constitute place rather than the lifeworlds integral the making of place’ (Yeoh and Kong, 1997: 59).

It could be argued that the reconstruction of a place such as that of rehab settlements is a function of time and space, and the social actors involved in the process of rehab. The basic substance for rebuilding is the physical material (land, infrastructure, money, etc.) but the manifestations are of ideas that are borrowed from the past or are extensions of historical precedents. Consequently, emerge new layers of what can constitute heritage and ‘spirit of place’. Thus, rehabilitation creates unique spaces in settlements that experiences disasters, destruction and reconstruction the theory of production of space offers some theoretical help in explaining this.

In the theory of production of space, Lefebvre (1991) argues that space cannot be seen as a physical dimension within which societies operate, but as a social product and this process can be explained with the conceptual triad of spatial practice, representations of space and representational spaces.

Spatial practice refers to the everyday practices through which social actors participate in producing space. These are ‘observed, described and analysed on a wide range of levels: in architecture, in city planning or “urbanism” (a term borrowed from official pronouncements), in the actual design of routes and localities (“town and country planning”), in the organisation of everyday life, and naturally in urban reality’ (Lefebvre, 1991: 413–414). These practices are informed in part by the ideology and knowledge of social actors that is articulated through certain representation of space. Such representation is considered as ‘objective’ and ‘tied to the relations of production and to the “order” which those relations impose’ and thus constitute ‘the dominant space in any society (or mode of production)’. To complete the process of production, the users and inhabitants need to invest symbolic meanings and images in these spaces and thus representational spaces are formed. This is the lived space and is ‘redolent with imaginary and symbolic elements [which] have their source in history’ (Lefebvre, 1991: 41). These three contribute in different ways to the production of space ‘according to their qualities and attributes, according to the society or mode of production in question, and according to the historical period’ (Lefebvre, 1991: 46).

In extending this theory to the present study, it could be said that disasters have the ability to create spaces of destruction and reconstruction which form the basis for formation of vernacular architectural heritage. As a spatial practice, disaster leads to loss of both workplace and homes and thus breaking the relationship between the two but it is likely that the rehabilitation process may constitute new social relations of work, home and community. However, the articulation of disaster and response to it is conceived in a certain kind of vocabulary and discourses that are prevailing then. The layout and design, material and technology used for settlements and the allotment of housing to the affected people are defined by power relations between them and the state. The settlements themselves can be seen as representational spaces where affected people live their experiences rooted in images and reminders of past trauma and aspirations for reconstructing a future.

With these basic tenets of the theory of production of space, I will now discuss the empirical example of floods in Pune and how the rehabilitation process coproduced a new space; which, on one hand, created vernacular heritage within and outside its confines, shaped the urban growth of the city. For doing so, I rely on secondary data and field observation as a part of a case study approach. Case study approach relies on a full variety of evidence – documents, artefacts, interviews and observations and therefore helps to triangulate all the data and provide a fuller understanding of the phenomena being studied (Yin, 2003). A review of secondary data involved examining the Development Plan report of 1987, the Slum Atlas prepared in 2010, report prepared by Gokhale Institute on the aftermath of floods, and other government reports from the Pune Municipal Corporation and the Town Planning Department. Fieldwork that was conducted in October 2014 comprised in-depth interviews with some of the bureaucrats and planners that worked on the rehabilitation process, scholars who prepared reports and photo-documentation of existing situation in the rehabilitated colonies. The collected data (both quantitative and qualitative) were processed thematically as pertaining to the disaster, rehab process, and post-rehab without use of any software but relying on quality of information that helped to create a narrative and strengthen the arguments. I now provide an overview of the urban form of the Pune city as it existed before the 1961 floods.

Pune: Before the floods

The history of Pune dates back to the 7th century ad but the most notable phase in its development is attributed to the 17th century when it began to exhibit many features of the classical Indian city including a temple and fort complex, and a settlement located on river banks (Berry and Spodek, 1971); in 1749 it was officially declared the capital of the Maratha Empire (Sawant, 1978: 3).¹ With the advent of colonial rule, the morphology of the city changed as it was designated as the seasonal capital of the Bombay Presidency, and cantonments and defence establishments were established. Post-independence, the city, with its education facilities and industrial growth, attracted heavy migration which has been even more dramatic with the establishment of IT and service industries since 1990s following the liberalisation of the Indian economy, something that I discuss later. Now, it is necessary to examine the spatial structure of Pune before the 1961 floods.

The city, its inhabitants, its morphology with social formation of neighbourhoods has been discussed widely (Mullen, 2001; Sawant, 1978; Sowani, 2011). A peculiar feature of the city’s growth was that it expanded incrementally around the kasba where land parcels were given as jagir by the rulers to the royalty for revenue farming, something like a ‘ward’ as Sawant calls it (contemporary interpretation as a well-defined unit).² During the Peshwa regime the numbers of these wards or neighbourhoods, colloquially known as peths, increased, giving the city its core area. Each of these peths had strong social-cultural, religious, occupational and economic groupings that came to inhabit them. Beyond the peths laid the planned cantonments.

Much of the older part of the city is a ‘result of a slow and haphazard growth’, as up until 1930s, there was no restrictive legislation for development but the Pune city municipality and Pune Suburban Municipality were administering different parts of the city (Sawant, 1978: 31). The post-independence period witnessed considerable changes: the political economy of the city was transforming, and the population began to grow at a significant rate owing to rapid industrialisation, and the two bodies were merged in 1950 to establish the Pune Municipal Corporation (PMC). Subsequently, the city was divided into 14 administrative wards.

Hitherto, growth of the city was guided by the provisions of the Bombay Town Planning Act 1915 which required the municipalities to undertake local Improvement Schemes and Town Planning Schemes. A typical Town Planning Scheme layout included collective pooling of land and its subsequent redistribution after provisions were made for ‘the road network, recreational places, parks, gardens, play grounds, civic amenities like schools, dispensaries, nursing homes etc’ (Pune Municipal Corporation, 1987: 6). A few were planned ‘to control the development of the area on the left bank of Mutha River and on the West and North sides … [and] … later on the South and East of the Old Core of the city’ (Sawant, 1978: 171). This approach created two distinct zones, which Sawant calls ‘the inner and the outer’ (Sawant, 1978: 27). In the inner zone or old core, ‘the buildings are two to three storied, without any open space on any side, without proper ventilation, with very poor natural light and supply of fresh air [and] entire areas as well as most of the buildings are multifunctional’ (1978: 30).

This was in contrast with the ‘Outer zone’ which distinctly exhibited better planning and living conditions as visible in the outlying area of Shivajinagar, Deccan Gymkhana and Erandawana:

[These areas] form the most up-to-date parts of Poona [Pune] – a complete departure from the old city in their appearance and to a certain extent in their mode of life. On the whole the left bank extension of the city has heterogeneous population in terms of castes and communities. The old concept of communal neighbourhood no longer operated while this area was developed. All communities which could afford a higher standard of living came to this area. The most significant factor in the planned development of this area – Shivajinagar, Erandavana was the introduction of the Town planning Schemes by Poona Municipal Corporation in the year 1930. (Sawant, 1978: 24)

Thus socio-spatial segregation was evident in the city:³ in the dense old core a large section of residents belonged to the low-income category while the newer planned outer zones were for the better-off residents who could ‘afford a higher standard of living’ (p. 24).

In terms of architectural heritage the city does not boast of any important monuments, temples, churches or mosques (Mate, 1959; Sawant, 1978) and most structures including houses were ‘native in design and purely functional’ (p. 34). Following chronological periodisation, Sawant distinguishes four types of residential buildings (Sawant, 1978: 35–38): ‘Wada-type’ houses (built before 1900 and mainly found in the old core); Multi-family buildings (built between 1900 and 1940); Buildings containing a number of self-contained blocks; and independent bungalows (1940–1970).⁴ Wadas are generally found in peth areas; these are 2–3 storeyed buildings and generally housed large joint families, tenants and subtenants. They have a poor internal organisation: a number of bedrooms with a common drawing room, store room, kitchen and a toilet block, all ventilated through very few and very small windows. Also found in peth areas are multi-family buildings that are occupied by a number of families each occupying a floor, or part of it with independent drawing room, bedroom and kitchen but with a common toilet block for the whole building or each floor. They have a small court (or open space) in the front or at the rear, and are constructed with wooden frames and brick infillings with tin sheet roofs and large windows providing relatively better ventilation. The buildings containing a number of self-contained blocks or apartments typically appear as one grand building, comprising of a number of three or more room blocks with separate toilet block attached to each block. Such well planned buildings with ‘a decent appearance’ are found in the new developing areas and ‘maintain a modern concept of housing’ (Sawant, 1978: 34). Similarly common in the new developing areas are private bungalows, with varied architectural designs and proper water, light and sanitary arrangements.⁵ These are generally found in outer zones and in areas covered under the Town Planning Schemes.

It is evident that the old core and outer zones possess two different kinds of vernacular architecture; the latter is almost a rebuttal of the former and has also resulted from adhering to government guidelines (largely influenced by colonial interactions of the early 20th century). Moreover, it was apparent that there was an inherent inequality in spatial quality of old core and outer zones, the former having a lesser degree of resilience owing to the location near the river and the dilapidated structures that were present in the old core. So two reference points for the future growth and expansion of the city were present. But which trajectory was to persist after the 1961 floods?

The 1961 floods

On 12 July 1961, the Panshet dam, 31 km upstream of Pune city, collapsed and water inundated the central part of the city, converting it into ‘a surging, turbulent lake’ (Brahme and Gole, 1967: 1). Although the death toll ‘as reported officially, was only 29’ the damage to property was substantial:

750 residential structures were completely destroyed and 1,650 structures were extensively damaged. About 10,000 families lost their homes and over 26,000 families suffered losses in terms of family belongings, valuables and other movable property. Approximately 3600 shops suffered extensive loss in terms of stocks of goods. (Brahme and Gole, 1967: 3)⁶

The magnitude of damage needs to be contextualised: almost one-quarter of the core city areas was affected and close to 20% of the city’s population were affected (population in 1961 was 597,562). Almost 70% of the affected population belonged to the lower-income groups. Of the total number of affected families, 60% of families were from the four wards abutting the river bank, viz. Shivajinagar, Kasba, Shaniwar and Narayan (see Figure 1). It is in these areas that ‘the old and kachha structures could not withstand the impact of the onrushing water’ (Brahme and Gole, 1967: 36) leading to the loss of the vernacular architectural heritage.⁷

Figure 1.

Area of the old core of the city affected by floods.

A massive relief operation (with 78 relief centres) and rehabilitation process followed but, following the focus of the paper, I now turn to the rehabilitation schemes and settlements. For estimating rehab requirements, the affected houses were grouped, according to the degree of destruction, into four categories, i.e. totally collapsed houses, partially collapsed houses, houses requiring major repairs and houses requiring minor repairs.⁸ In the final tally the total estimated number of dis-housed families came to 13,937 (Brahme and Gole, 1967: 92).⁹

Distinct features of different forms of rehabilitation accommodation (for about 5500 families) provided by the government are summarised in Table 1. Amongst these, Brahme and Gole (1967) argue, the plinth tenements were the most effective in terms of cost and benefits to a larger number of affected families whereas the Nissen huts were the most ineffective (Figure 2).

Table 1.

Summary of rehab schemes (developed from Brahme and Gole, 1967).

Type of accommodation	Location	No. of buildings	No of families accommodated	Plinth area per family (sq. ft)	Area used for building (acres)	Features/remarks
Dormitory	Parvati – 87, Erandawana – 20	125	1988	178	51	One dormitory (94.25 ft × 26.75 ft) for 16 families.
	Fergusson Hill – 18					Each family allotted single room (11 $1 / 2$ ft × 12 ft) with mori.
						Four latrines and two water taps for 16 families.
						Brick walls and asbestos-sheet roofing with tin sheet partition walls.
						Provision of underground drainage and electricity in the dwelling
Plinth tenements	Ambil Odha – 448	710	1420	243	71	Plinths (26 ft × 23 ft) for 2 families.
	Vetal hill – 148					Each family with a room (11ft × 12.5 ft) + covered verandah.
	Erandawana – 45					A detached unit of one latrine + two moris at the rear.
	Bhavani ward – 41					Brick walls and asbestos-sheet roofing.
	Parvati – 28					Underground drainage + street lighting but no electric lights in units.
Nissen hut	Sadashiv Peth	100	198	273	11	Each hut (14 ft × 36.25 ft) divided into two parts for 2 families.
						Detached unit of 2 bathrooms + 2 latrines shared between 4 families.
						2 water taps shared by 10 families.
						Curved iron sheets + Shahbad stone flooring + Tin sheet partitions.
						Underground drainage + street lighting + electric lights in dwelling.
Round hut^a	Temporary	97	388	108	NA	One hut (24 ft × 18 ft) divided into four parts for four families.
						Curved asbestos sheets.
						Trench-type latrines + common water taps.
Matting hut^a	Temporary	343	1372	144	42	One hut (24 ft × 18 ft) divided into four parts for four families.
						Bamboo matting.
						Trench-type latrines + common water taps.
Slum clearance tenement	Sadashiv Peth	183	1800	273	87.5	Two types of flats, ‘A’ type = 349 sq. ft and ‘B’ type = 287 sq. ft, each flat contains two rooms, a verandah and an attached bathroom and a latrine.
						Flats are available on hire-purchase basis (period = 30 years).

Notes: ^aIn addition there were other smaller schemes by various government agencies for rehabilitating their employees including those by the Poona Municipal Corporation and Central government departments.

Figure 2.

Two forms of accommodation provided for resettlement.

People were to be shifted from temporary accommodation to alternative arrangements. But even six years since the floods nearly 4500 families were without any accommodation (Brahme and Gole, 1967: 100).

For housing the remaining affected families, the government resorted to the model of Cooperative Housing Societies (hereafter CHS). Although CHS was introduced in 1920s,¹⁰ it emerged as the dominant mode of production of new housing only after the floods. The government encouraged the affected families to form Cooperative Housing Societies and undertook to provide them with government land or private land after due acquisition. It also provided for long-term loans to the registered members of CHS for construction of houses. The government assured to allot these societies the required land on a 99-year lease. The minimum plot area prescribed for each family was 2000 sq. ft. In a year, the number of registered societies had gone up to 122 with a total membership of around 3300 (Brahme and Gole, 1967: 103). The government earmarked some of its own land for CHS (276.50 acres) and this was to be distributed in different parts of the city as follows: 196.25 acres around Parvati hill (southwest side); 28 acres along Satara Road (south); 8.50 acres in Bhavani ward (southeast); 36.45 acres in Chaturshringi (northwest); and 7.30 acres in Erandawana (immediate west). In addition, the government also began acquiring private land for leasing out to the societies. However, litigation between the land owners and the government over the compensation for land affected the housing programme of 71 cooperative societies and they ‘were indefinitely postponed’. As a result, resettlement was possible only for those societies which received government-owned land. Moreover, four years after the disaster, only 360 families of the total 3300 families moved to the houses built under Cooperative Housing programmes (Brahme and Gole, 1967: 103).

In summary, much of the relief and rehab process was largely a matter of state intervention.¹¹ Yet, the state’s role was significant at various levels. The direct rehab schemes had followed state directives in all matters ranging from layout planning to design and construction of houses which referred to the new guidelines and regulations that were framed for the ‘outer zones’. Even the allocation to affected families was done by the state.¹² The CHS movement was basically encouraged by the state and provided the template for formation of housing societies and rehab settlements although the task of mobilising these remained with the affected people themselves.

The significance of CHS as a model for fulfilling the extraordinary demand for housing accommodation after the 1961 floods is clearly seen in the developments that took place in the vicinity of rehab settlements. Sawant notes that ‘there was unprecedented rise in building activity when about 1200 buildings were constructed every year. Of these about two-third buildings came up in the new developing wards of Shivajinagar, Erandavana and Parvati to rehabilitate the flood victims. Between 1962–68, 227 societies were registered through which 5786 tenements were constructed’ (Sawant, 1978: 51) (this is a significant feat in comparison with the previous decade of the 1950s when only 35 societies were registered and about 3000 tenements were constructed).

The trends that ensued in the following years in different parts of the city that were being developed beyond and in the vicinity of the rehab settlements also followed the institutional framework of a cooperative. A case in point is the suburban development of Kothrud in the western part of the city (abutting the affected Erandawane village). In mapping housing cooperatives registered in the city from 1961 to 1991, Dandekar and Sawant (1998) found that Kothrud area experienced the greatest pressure in terms of construction of new housing cooperatives (Dandekar and Sawant, 1998: 2920) and that the population residing in these societies was largely local who had previously resided in the core of old Pune city (Dandekar and Sawant, 1998: 2923).

Another notable example of CHS in the vicinity is that of Mahatma Housing society. Established in 1965, it covers an area of 72 acres and consists of G+1 or G+2 floor structures that have evolved into a bungalows society of high-income group residents. Its layout plan states that it has ‘very small reservation for the Open space in the central portion of the land parcel [and] land adjacent to hill is reserved as school ground and open space … [However] … on site the schools seem to be absent’ (MASHAL, 2010: 109). Citing this as a representative example, MASHAL (2010) report further claims that this is the scenario for almost all Cooperative Housing Societies in the city.

So, it is possible to conjecture that the 1961 floods did give rise to a representation of space where ‘layout’ and independent dwelling unit (say bungalow) became a widely accepted norm for housing development; and the CHS itself became a representational space – an argument which I will elaborate in the discussion section. While the social mobilisation for housing through CHS was a significant factor in the resettlement process, the spatial manifestation also had an equally important role in urbanisation of the city. In the direct rehab process, housing for affected families was distributed over a substantial area along the periphery of the old core and on the edges of Town Planning Schemes. Thus at the interface of the old core and the newly developing outer zone was the space of rehabilitated settlements which were sudden and created the ‘disruption’ in an otherwise natural progression of the city. The resettlements in themselves remained an affair for the ‘low-income groups’ but consumed large chunks of prime land by following norms which provided more open space and ground coverage (in comparison with what they possessed in the congested old core). As a result the ever-increasing population in subsequent years had to move beyond these settlements in a leapfrog manner to find housing. But within, how were the affected families in these settlements to begin a new life through the grief, loss and struggle? What happened to these settlements in the last 50 years?

The space of rehabilitation: New vernacular architecture and heritage

Fast forward 50 years!

‘The old look of the city of Pune is now fast disappearing in the wake of rebuilding it into a metropolitan city’ (MASHAL, 2010: 20). The saga expansion of the city in recent decades is primarily due to the growth of industries, the rise of educational and research institutions churning out a skilled workforce, and the service industry, all supported by a rapidly developed network of intra-urban transport (Basant and Chandra, 2007; Dandekar and Sawant, 1998).¹³ Comparing the situation of housing with pre-flood conditions, certain features of urban growth stand out. There has been a phenomenal growth of slums and presently close to 40% of the population lives in slums. But the rate of home ownership has also increased considerably and currently stands at 67% of the total residential real estate market (MASHAL, 2010: 28). According to a housing survey conducted by MASHAL in 2008, bungalows and Wadas are being replaced at a much faster pace and present-day Pune consist of slums and apartments as the predominant housing typology (37% each) having the maximum number of dwelling units (MASHAL, 2010: 63). The physical change evident in the urban growth is also reflected in material culture and evolving consumption patterns, as pointed out by Sahni and Shankar (2006: 650):

This growth is markedly visible in the transformation of its markets in recent years. Avenues of consumption are witnessing increasing participation, driven by a pro-consumerist transformation of the urban landscape. The city has been witness to a rising culture of malls, cyber cafes, multiplexes and food courts, which form novel additions to the existing public spaces. Restaurants have been supplemented with food courts, shops with malls and theatres with multiplexes.

The macro-changes of rapid urbanisation owing to liberalisation and globalisation have been discussed at great lengths in several studies. In retaining the focus on the significance of 1961 floods, I return to examining what space they occupy in the city and what kind of vernacular heritage emerged in rehab settlements given their contributed to a noticeable form of housing in the 1960s.

In flood rehab settlements, several quantitative and qualitative changes are observed but a quantitative assessment is challenging as these settlements have become politically very sensitive because of land tenure issues (they were on leased land), densification due to unauthorised constructions, and the possibilities of evacuation and further redevelopment into apartments and townships. So, I am going to conjecture this data from the Slum Atlas of Pune that has mapped the slums in and around rehab settlements.¹⁴ As noted earlier, much of the flood rehab took place in and around Gokhalenagar in the western side. From the Slum Atlas prepared by MASHAL for this location (Volume 3: Ghole Road Ward Office), it can be found that there are nine pockets of slums spread over 11.5 ha consisting of 4350 structures and a population of 21,790 at an average density of 1890 persons per hectare. Most of this growth is around the settlements that were originally laid out as plinth tenements (in 1961 the government rehab settlements were about 250 and about 36.5 acres land was given by the state for CHS of the flood-affected families who reside here). Thus here we see a multi-fold increase in the houses and population. A similar increase is also evident in other areas, such as that of Parvati hills in the south side which had the second largest concentration of resettlement structures.¹⁵

There is a tendency to term the expansion of structures within the settlements are unauthorised and illegal as the residents are on a 99-year lease. But this is a grey area: when the plinth structures were provided it was not made clear if and how much the affected families could build in future. As families resettled and became economically better-off they began to build more on the same area and followed an apartment style of design and construction and incorporated readily available features from apartments including balconies, grills for doors and windows, fenestration, colours, etc. (Figure 3). In the case of the Nissen huts, which were divided amongst four families in the original scheme, the redevelopment has been stark as these have been demolished wholly or partly and new tenements constructed. Thus, a vernacular that is a mosaic of old and new emerges.

Figure 3.

Transformations in the two forms of housing: Nissen huts and plinth tenements.

In summary, a new kind of vernacular architecture is being produced in rehab settlements which can be comprehensively explained using Lefebvre’s theory of production of space. It can be argued that as a spatial practice, the rehab settlements exhibited the following characteristics: externally, by virtue of their strategic locations in the city, they induced ‘disrupt’ in the erstwhile natural expansion of the city and forced it to follow a leapfrog pattern where the future growth had to move over these spaces. Within the settlements, the internal dynamics of planning and architectural development were influenced by state policies and prevailing ideas, particularly of independent houses, and the imagery that was available, leading to certain forms of housing and houses and their transformation over time. The representation of space was largely dominated by the state: although its role in direct provision of housing was limited to those enumerated, the state promoted CHS in idea and practice that indirectly aided others to fend for themselves. Moreover, ‘low-income’ tenants were almost dismissed from the discourse of urban growth. Some of these settlements were subsumed under the rubric of slums. The rehabilitated settlements themselves constitute the representational space where it carried over some of the cultural symbols of the past and adapted them to the forced layout kind of living experience and affected people negotiated their own places where temples and cultural facilities were built. In these spaces emerged what can be termed as ‘architecture of the dispossessed’ where in spite of the awareness of tenure issues inhabitants have invested in expansion of their houses and attributed meanings to what they produce. Thus, the ideology and proliferation of Cooperative Housing Society, which played an important role in rehabilitation process lead a new direction and provided a template for provision of housing in the city. And this in turn also contributed in shaping Pune’s unique spatial form and urban sprawl – something that has been missing in the discussions about Pune’s growth.

Conclusion

This paper focused on ‘spatial dimension’ of disaster, disruption and resilience in a city – a research area that has not been explored in greater depth in urban studies. It argues that flood and post-disaster responses create a space of rehabilitation that influences the growth of a city and contributes to production and evolution of vernacular architectural heritage. Using the study of Pune in the aftermath of floods it supports Stoval’s observation that ‘… the form of any vernacular architecture is the result of an ongoing series of evolutionary steps in response to changing conditions and circumstances in society’ (2007: 5).

Beyond the context of Pune, the paper makes three conceptual contributions to the literature about resilience, urban growth and vernacular heritage. First, it has illustrated how Lefebvre’s theory of production of space, particularly the triad of spatial practice, representation of space, and representational space, is able to offer a fresh perspective in understanding vernacular architectural heritage as something that is produced and reproduced. Yet, some limitations of this theory also need to be considered. Lefebvre’s theory of production of space emphasises social-spatial dialectic within the context of Marxian reasoning but is of ‘not very much help as a guide to spatial analysis’ (Gottdiener, 1985: 195). The inclusion of spatial design as a productive force is commendable but it falls short of any concrete ideas about the same; similarly the theory does not explain why investment is more profitable in the built environment, which is a first step in the rebuilding process of the everyday lives of the disaster-affected people and by extension production of their unique heritage. Another aspect pertaining to the current topic is the way Lefebvre has treated the state in the theory. According to Gottdiener, ‘the state is allied not only against the working class or even against the fractions of capital, it is the enemy of everyday life itself – because it produces the abstract space which negates the social space that supports everyday life and the reproduction of its social relations’ (1985: 146). Moreover, Lefebvre does not take into account class struggle. The case of rehabilitation in Pune draws attention to the contrary and highlights a significant role that the state played in rebuilding the lives of those affected – both in the physical and social sense; different classes of affected people also generated different forms of community support systems. Thus, it could be said that in case of disasters the theory may have to be revisited particularly for the agency that the state carries, and also how spatial practice occurs in rehabilitated spaces.

Second, this paper has forwarded a nuanced understanding of theory of disruption and resilience and has given due credit to the agency of the so-called victims of a disaster in producing their heritage in rehabilitation spaces that is uniquely vernacular and truly representational. That in creating this resilience the state can play a significant role is another highlight of this theory, as is demonstrated in the support it extended to rehabilitation spaces in terms of land resources and ideological apparatus (representations such as CHS). The concept of ‘disruption’ induced by the impacts of disaster and the process of rehabilitation that follows is a useful way to explain the shifts in the expansion of a city: disaster and disruption coproduced the urban space in Pune after 1961 as is evident in the urban form that emerged.

The case of Pune also provides a relevant example for the ongoing discussion that compares the effectiveness of outcomes of the response through the ‘Build Back Better (BBB)’ programmes which are primarily state-sponsored and the ‘Owner-Driven-Response’ (ODR) (Jayasuriya and McCawley, 2008; Leitmann, 2007; Lyons et al., 2010). In BBB the emphasis is often on large-scale housing projects involving state agencies, contractors, newer building materials and construction systems for speedy rehabilitation. Several studies from Sri Lanka, Thailand, Indonesia and rest of Asia draw attention to the negative impacts of the production through this approach as having negative impacts in most spheres of life of victims – breaking of social fabric, cultural ties, new environmental challenges, distancing from livelihood opportunities and so on, but most importantly a disruption of the existing culture of housing (Barenstein and Iyengar, 2010; Jayasuriya and McCawley, 2008). Citing examples of several projects in India, Barenstein and Iyengar (2010: 170) argue that top-down and externally driven reconstruction ‘based on resettling people in urban-like settlements … failed to take into account vernacular housing designs and spatial arrangements’. In this regard ODR is hailed as the most sustainable form of disaster response which represents ‘empowering and dignifying approach towards reconstruction [and] encourages people to do what they normally do – build their own homes’ (Barenstein and Iyengar, 2010: 164). Since owners are often aware of ‘local building culture and vocabulary and institutions’ (Barenstein and Iyengar, 2010: 185), they create a form of heritage that belongs to them and is vernacular. The Pune study testifies to such an outcome where, through their houses and spatial practices in the places of rehabilitation, a new layer of heritage is added to the city.

Third, the paper has illustrated that disasters and resilience can be examined as factors contributing to the process of production of rehabilitation spaces that occupy a milestone in defining a new layer of heritage – tangible (architecture) and intangible (community resilience to trauma, etc.). The idea of resilience is related to disruption but it should be expanded to include representation, ideologies and symbolism through which the affected communities not only recover from the disruption but also reconstruct new vocabulary of vernacular architectural heritage. The rehabilitation spaces provide bedrock for an assimilation of incremental and hybrid structures giving the space appearance of a ‘visual kitsch’ besides claiming its own place in a city.

While the paper offers insights about how responses to flood influence morphology of a city it also has a few limitations. The paper is based on secondary data and personal observations in rehab settlements but, for an in-depth and more meaningful understanding of their place in a city, one needs more qualified data on demographics and socio-cultural life of residents. A detailed study of residents, their struggle with trauma and aspirations, and achievements would help in explaining what they would refer to as heritage; the long-sighted and inherited but old washed-out place or the new vernacular architecture that they have produced over the last 50 years. These explanations can pave the way for a better articulation of resilience and heritage in general. Floods in the central part of a city have been the focus of the paper but their impacts can vary over space and it may be prudent to examine if disasters in peripheral areas of a city will have a similar transforming effect on rehabilitation spaces and growth of cities. Another area of research that emerges is the potential for gentrification of the rehab settlements as they get engulfed in the expanse of a city and evolve from austerity to spaces of consumption and prime areas for real estate development.

Footnotes

Funding

This research received no specific grant from any funding agency in the public, commercial, or not-for-profit sectors.

Notes

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