The fires and collapses in recent weeks are rooted in Delhi’s decades of unplanned expansion that pushed millions into neighbourhoods never designed for safety.
It’s been a year, but Tahir Khan, 35 still recalls the day he was handed his waiter’s uniform. The job only offered ₹12,000 a month – barely enough to scrape a living for him, his wife and two kids – but, he had no other option. “A year ago, I was let go from my previous job as a waiter at a restaurant. It paid ₹16,000 a month. With four mouths to feed, I couldn’t go without an income, so I took up whatever job I found,” he said.
As he was handed his uniform – a crisp white shirt with a tiny embroidered monogram, to be paired with black trousers – he was given a quick reckoner on how to greet guests: say “Good morning” to everyone he met at the start of the day; say “Enjoy your food” as he served food at the restaurant or in the 30 rooms in the four-storey structure that touted itself as a hotel.
Then, on June 5, his workplace – Lemon Green B&B in Hauz Rani – was sealed as part of a wider crackdown on illegal hotels running on permissions given for six-room B&B units. The sealing was a response to a fire at another B&B in the area that left 23 dead.
“How would I know the hotel was illegal? It seemed like a professional set-up to me. I needed the money. Why would I even care if it was illegal? I don’t have the luxury to care about such things when I have a family of four to provide for,” says Khan.
After the sealing, Khan returned to his house – barely three lanes away in Hauz Rani. He navigated past a patch of garbage strewn across the floor onto a narrow flight of exposed, red-brick steps that led to his house in a neighbourhood where the concept of a “studio apartment” takes on new meaning. The “flat” – as he calls it – is a single, dimly lit room with a bed on the right and a kitchen slab (it’s inadequacy doesn’t warrant the use of the term counter) on the left. He has squeezed in an almirah beside the bed along with a sewing machine, where his wife is stitching clothes. The rent is ₹5,000 a month.
He doesn’t know for sure if this matchbox room is in an illegal structure. “It probably is.”
The story of Khan, his wife and his kids finds echoes in millions of others in Delhi’s nearly 1,800 unauthorised colonies –in Hauz Rani, Saidulajab, Burari, Shakur Basti, Kirari, or countless others spread across the city. These areas are populated mostly by migrant workers who have come to the Capital chasing dreams. Almost all colonies are on private or agricultural land or so-called urban villages, usually without formal planning or approvals for structural or fire safety.
Hauz Rani’s genesis, like the people who live there, was humble. It cropped up more out of need than want: a small agricultural village around a Mughal-era bath, sitting in the uncomfortable zone where the working-class’ demand for land comes from proximity to upscale neighbourhoods such as Saket. In the early 2010s, the area also started catering to a specific but desperate clientele; its proximity to a large private hospital created lucrative demand for short-term accommodation for people – often foreigners, but also Indians – who needed a place to stay while their relatives received treatment.
On the morning of June 3, a fire broke out at Flourish Stay B&B. The establishment had permission for only six rooms but was operating at least 26 across four storeys, a basement, and the roof, along with a restaurant on the ground floor. There was no fire exit. The front façade was covered with toughened glass. In total, 23 people died in the blaze. Almost all victims were there either for treatment, or were visiting a loved one who was getting treated, like the Agrawal family from Gurugram, eight of whose members perished in the fire, while the patriarch was being treated in the hospital. He too died on June 8.
“Over the years, many property owners converted houses into B&Bs and guest houses, several of which gradually began functioning like full-fledged hotels,” said Mohammed Wasim, a resident. The Delhi government’s B&B policy was the easiest way to establish a hotel here, with one deviation: build 20-plus rooms instead of the six approved, run a full-fledged restaurant without permission, and keep adding floors to an already illegal building. That’s the model Flourish’s owner adopted, and it is likely he knew how to get around regulations, or at least knew people who knew how. No government or Municipal Corporation of Delhi (MCD) employee has been arrested for the fire; a 65-year-old cook has.
An MCD spokesperson refused to comment. However a senior MCD official said that the health inspector of the area has been sacked and show cause notices have been issued to five officials.
The Saidulajab story
Just a 15-minute drive from Hauz Rani is Saidulajab, where, on May 30 a dozen people gathered in a small canteen next to a five-storey building where two illegal floors were under construction. The largely illegal structure suddenly collapsed, killing six people – two doctors, three engineers, and the woman who ran the canteen.
It was a stark reminder of the decline of what was, only a decade ago, the next big thing among Delhi’s urban villages. By 2017, Hauz Khas Village’s glory days had ended, and Saidulajab’s Champa Gali had emerged as the new hip address, on the cusp of taking over the throne, with its “Parisian passageways,” vintage clothing boutiques, indie bookstores, block parties under a canopy of fairy lights, and cafes that romanticised chai while offering pho on their menus.
Just 100 metres away was Westend Marg, slowly emerging as a hub for co-working spaces and cheaper home rentals. It grew so haphazardly that it became a story of how unregulated urban expansion can breed tragedies like the one seen on May 30, barely a few hundred metres away on a much wider road.
Jai Bhagwan, a 70-year-old resident known as “Tau,” remembers Saidulajab in the 1960s as entirely agricultural land. His grandfather cultivated wheat and cauliflower.
The landscape began changing in the early 1990s as the city expanded and farming became difficult. “We also tried poultry farming, but that lasted only a few years. We had to switch because there was not enough water for irrigation,” Bhagwan said.
As development accelerated, migrant labourers arrived. Local landowners realised renting small rooms was a good market.
Former DDA commissioner (planning) AK Jain said that “the implementation of the master plan regulations in Delhi’s village areas was constrained by Land Reforms Act and the land mafia took advantage of the loopholes to undertake largescale unplanned development in places like Saidulajab, Hauz Khas, Shahpur Jat for monetary gains.”
A 65-year-old who owns nearly 7,000 square feet of land said the opening of the Garden of Five Senses in 2003 significantly increased footfall along Westend Marg. “There was nothing here. Should a farmer not be allowed to progress in life?” he asked.
And so they did, growing vertically in a seeming quest for upward mobility – for both landlord and tenant.
A story for 60% of Delhi
It isn’t uncommon to see structures rising six to eight storeys high without adequate oversight in the city’s unauthorised colonies. According to the National Building Code, buildings require varying degrees of fire safety clearances based on their heights. But if an entire street, block, and neighbourhood is illegal, then norms exist only on paper.
The Shelter Baseline Report prepared for the Master Plan of Delhi 2041 notes: “Over 60% of Delhi’s population lives in unplanned informal settlements with compromised habitation conditions – unsafe dwellings with poor access to basic services.”
The report explicitly notes that “strict enforcement of laws regarding layout approvals and authorised construction is essential to ensure a quality-built environment.” Yet it immediately acknowledges that implementation mechanisms remained weak.
For urban planners, the problem is that millions now live in areas never designed to handle emergencies. Narrow lanes prevent fire tenders from reaching affected buildings. Electrical networks evolve ad hoc. Open spaces are scarce. Additional floors are added without scrutiny. Evacuation routes are limited.
The Delhi Sub-Regional Plan 2021 also links unregulated urban growth with disaster vulnerability. After analysing fire incidents between 2003 and 2016, the plan observed: “The number of fire incidents in JJ clusters and high-rise buildings has reduced while fire incidents in industrial and residential areas have increased. One of the reasons is that residential areas have become havens for… dangerous commercial activities without making required firefighting provisions.”
Meanwhile, in recent weeks, authorities have started granting legal recognition to these areas without first providing wider roads, better emergency access, safety audits, or enhanced firefighting infrastructure.
