Yearning for a tranquil Guwahati of yore

Guwahati, known as Pragjyotispur (meaning 'city of eastern lights') in ancient times, is the city of my birth. Over the years, I have seen a rapid transformation in its infrastructure, a burgeoning population, increasing vehicles, and a construction boom that have led to rising temperatures, drastic climate change and artificial flooding.

During the early 1980s, as a teenager I often walked with my father along the banks of Brahmaputra near our home, enjoying the scenic beauty and northern hills. The stroll from the historic Northbrook Gate to Bharalu was refreshing, filled with fresh air — now a rare luxury whenever I visit my hometown from my job outside Assam.

The city was once dotted with over 100-year-old trees, especially around the verdant Judge’s Field, where I spent joyful days with friends. Today, most of these trees have either been uprooted, or axed in the name of development. Even my tree-lined neighbourhood has now become a concrete jungle.

I remember during the college days, once a tiger strayed into our locality. We stayed indoors until forest officials captured it. Are animals intruding, or are we invading their habitats? Rampant encroachment has shrunk spaces for the wildlife, leading to rising man-animal conflicts.

Earlier, Guwahati never faced flash floods as wetlands drained excess water into the Brahmaputra. Now, encroachment and siltation clog the drains, flooding the city. Nature is paying back.

I yearn for the Guwahati of pristine beauty, tranquil and quiet, but it is gone forever.

Sabir Nishat, Guwahati