My acquaintance with Guwahati began nearly 45 years ago. I was a six- or seven-year-old child when I first came to Guwahati with my parents. We boarded a red bus of the Assam State Transport Corporation (ASTC) and travelled to the city for my mother’s eye treatment under a reputed doctor. That was my first visit to Guwahati — an experience that remains etched in my memory. Though many details have faded, a few vivid scenes still glow in the recesses of my mind.
From the ASTC bus stand located in the heart of Pathsala town, the red bus headed towards Guwahati via Hajo and Nalbari.
In those days, near our home in Pathsala town, there was an open field beside the local town committee office where a mobile theatre group, Kohinoor, set up makeshift halls, held full-dress rehearsals, and staged dramas.
We knew that ground as “Kohinoor Field,” named after the famous mobile theatre troupe. That vast open field was once filled with children like us playing freely, running unhindered, chasing butterflies, and lying on the grass gazing at drifting clouds. Today, on that very ground where children once dreamt their dreams, stands a massive concrete structure — a symbol of so-called development.
As we planned to go to Guwahati in the month of Magh, someone told me that the hills of Guwahati were covered with red blossoms. I remember being told, “When you go towards the end of Magh, you’ll see the hills blooming in red.” I eagerly waited to see those flowers.
On the way, my father narrated stories of places and history in simple language that I could understand. Crossing the Saraighat Bridge over the mighty Brahmaputra was an awe-inspiring moment. From the bus window, I saw the wide river and the distant hills. My father pointed toward the Kamakhya Temple atop Nilachal Hill and explained its significance. My mother listened with as much curiosity as I did.
Suddenly, my eyes turned toward the river waters, where thousands of migratory birds floated. My father explained that during winter such birds visit Assam’s rivers, wetlands, and beels. The serene winter sky of Guwahati then bore no trace of dust pollution.
The Guwahati That Once Was
From the 1980s to the present, Guwahati has witnessed immense upheaval and transformation in its geographical, social, and cultural landscape. But what was Guwahati like in earlier times?
In his book Yug Yug Guwahati, eminent writer Medini Choudhury described old Guwahati in the following manner:
Within the town area, stretching from Latasil in the north to Dhidangpara (present-day Ambari–Railway Colony area) in the south, and from the Kukurmuta boundary in the east to the eastern bank of Dighalipukhuri in the west, there existed a vast low-lying wetland.
In the evenings, apart from the occasional chirping of birds, no human voice was heard. To the south lay Chalabil, and further southwest was Dhemrabil. The Ulubari area was once filled with dense growths of reeds, canes, and jungle. To the east of Ulubari and south of the Sarania hills stretched open deep fields and grazing grounds.
At Sadar Ghat — in front of Hem Goswami’s residence — along the banks of the Brahmaputra, and near the old Radio Station ghat, extending eastward toward Panbazar and Fancy Bazar ghats, the railway line once ran close to the riverbank. Beside it flowed a long drain parallel to the river. That drain stretched eastward and eventually connected with the Romari wetland near Rehabari.
Dighalipukhuri was once surrounded by thick forest. On both sides of the tank stood rows of trees, reeds, and bamboo groves. In the Brahmaputra, river islands (chars) frequently emerged. The riverbanks were covered with dense forests of cane and tall grasses.
On the southern hill slopes of Guwahati (earlier referred to as the North and South Hills before being commonly called hills), there were no modern constructions. Instead, there were large trees and shrubs, including gum trees (from which resin was extracted — referred to locally as rubber trees). Some of these gum trees still stand along the banks of Dighalipukhuri and near the old Circuit House area.
Kharguli and the southern hill areas were also heavily forested. Even in the eighteenth century, tea cultivation was carried out in parts of these hills.
When the process of urbanisation began in Guwahati during British rule, the British first formed the Guwahati Town Committee and later established the Municipality. They introduced several new rules and regulations.
Earlier, people used open spaces for defecation. This practice was stopped. Arrangements were made for sanitary latrines in every house, and sweepers were appointed to clean and remove waste. Unnecessary drains and pits were filled up, and proper drainage systems were constructed.
Since many British officials had to stay in Guwahati for administrative reasons, the British administration introduced modern sanitation systems. They got drains and gutters cleaned regularly and took special measures to prevent diseases like malaria. Before these steps were taken, the residents of the town frequently suffered from diseases such as cholera and typhoid.
Because of the unhealthy environment of Guwahati, the British were initially not willing to make it the capital of Assam. However, for the health and safety of British officers and staff, the Municipality appointed health officers and sanitary inspectors. Their duty was to keep the town clean and hygienic.
As a result of these measures, the unhealthy condition of Guwahati improved. A detailed description of how Guwahati’s sanitation system developed can be found in the comments of W.W. Hunter:
“In Guwahati, under the influence of the Municipality, sanitation has made real progress. Each member of this body has a quarter of the town assigned to him for supervision. The large tanks from which much of the water supply is derived are kept scrupulously clean. Polluting the tanks in any way is punishable by a bye-law. The streets are clean, the surface drains open and free from obstructions, and the inhabitants, both European and native, are obliged to attend to the conservancy of the grounds about their houses.”
(W.W. Hunter: A Statistical Account of Assam, Reprint, 1975, page 99)
From Green City to Dust City
Since 2006, I have been living in Guwahati permanently. Before that, from 1998 onward, I visited regularly. Over the past few decades, Guwahati’s environment has transformed dramatically. In the name of development, wetlands, ponds, and open spaces have been filled up to construct massive buildings, roads, and flyovers.
Until around 2010, although pollution was rising, dust was still somewhat seasonal — mostly during the dry months of Phagun. After artificial flooding, when roads dried up, dust from dried silt would rise. But today, dust engulfs the city throughout the year.
With the rapid expansion of the automobile sector, large flyovers and bridges were constructed across the city. At a time when many households did not even own a vehicle, public transport sufficed. Now, almost every household owns two or three vehicles, and the city’s transport infrastructure struggles to cope. Construction activities have turned dust into an inseparable part of Guwahati’s daily life. From morning till night, almost every locality remains enveloped in dust. Citizens — especially children and the elderly — suffer respiratory distress, yet the authorities seem indifferent.
A New Proposal
Recently, I overheard two Hindi-speaking tourists conversing in Uzan Bazaar. One of them remarked that he visits Guwahati every four or five years and used to love the clean air here — “not like Delhi,” he said. But now, he observed, Guwahati is full of dust, and he no longer feels like returning.
In the 2021–22 state budget speech, the then Finance Minister and present Chief Minister, Dr. Himanta Biswa Sarma, proposed the “Guwahati Development – Emerging Smart City” initiative. He spoke of creating interconnected open spaces and parks under a project named GOSPIN (Guwahati Open Spaces and Park Integrator Network), enabling citizens to walk or cycle seamlessly between green spaces. Plans were also announced to establish an international-standard botanical garden at the old jail premises in Fancy Bazaar.
However, over the past decade, Guwahati’s green cover has shrunk drastically. Despite opposition, valuable heritage trees were felled in the name of infrastructure projects such as the Dighalipukhuri–Noonmati flyover. Instead of preserving trees, development has been equated with concrete expansion.
As greenery diminishes, dust increases. Guwahati, once adorned with betel nut and tamol groves — from which it derived its name (believed to have originated from “Guwa” meaning areca nut and “Haat” meaning market) — has lost its defining character. If citizens are destined to live year-round amid dust and cement, perhaps Guwahati should now be renamed “Dhulihati” — the market of dust.