Guest Column | Fine lines: Chandigarh’s blueprint for compliance or chaos?
At its core, the move aims to deter unauthorised changes—extra floors, creeping encroachments, mismatched facades; these might seem minor in isolation, but over time, they chip away at the visual coherence and spatial rhythm that Chandigarh is known for
In the precise rhythm of Chandigarh’s sectors—where every line once served a purpose—a new disruption is emerging, not through construction, but through calculation. A proposed hike in fines for building violations, from ₹500 to a steep ₹1 lakh, is triggering conversations across drawing rooms, council chambers, and architectural forums.
The intention is clear: to safeguard the city’s master plan and architectural legacy. But Chandigarh is no longer the tabula rasa it was in the 1950s. Cities evolve—so do their needs, pressures, and realities. This move raises a pressing question: are we preserving a vision or penalising adaptation? And at what point does protecting the plan start undermining the people who live within it?
Between plan and practice
Chandigarh’s origin story is unlike any other. Born out of Partition’s rupture, it wasn’t just designed—it was envisioned. A modernist city, laid out with grids, clean land-use divisions and calibrated open spaces, it was meant to be both efficient and humane.
The proposed hike in fines is meant to reinforce that original order. It sends a clear message: building violations, whether subtle or sweeping, will no longer be quietly absorbed into the cityscape.
At its core, the move aims to deter unauthorised changes—extra floors, creeping encroachments, mismatched facades. These might seem minor in isolation, but over time, they chip away at the visual coherence and spatial rhythm that Chandigarh is known for. From that perspective, the fine isn’t an overreach—it’s a long-postponed course correction.
But here’s where things get more complex. Buildings don’t remain static—and neither do the lives inside them. Families grow, work moves home, rental needs emerge, incomes fluctuate. Over the decades, homes are quietly adapted to suit changing realities. Not all these changes go through formal channels. Some are thoughtful and necessary. Others are simply convenient. Few are malicious.
That’s why nuance matters. Should a small home-office extension attract the same penalty as an illegal multi-storey commercial block? When all violations are treated equally, the system stops being fair and starts being blind. Without clear categories, the law risks using a hammer when a measuring tape might do.
Enforcement needs empathy
For Chandigarh’s proposed fine hike to work, it needs more than just a bigger number. It needs clarity, fairness and proportion. A tiered penalty system—based on the type, scale and impact of violations—can separate the serious from the situational. A family adding a bedroom shouldn’t face the same penalty as a builder flouting rules for profit.
Equally important is communication. Residents need to understand not just what the rules are, but why they exist. Most building bylaws are grounded in logic—light, air, safety and infrastructure. But when rules feel arbitrary or inconsistently applied, compliance becomes a transaction, not a choice.
Then there’s affordability. Developers may treat penalties as routine, but for middle-income households, ₹1 lakh is no small sum. If the city wants to uphold both equity and order, it must offer alternatives—regularisation, appeal and corrective action, not just punishment.
This isn’t about excusing violations. It’s about designing regulation with the same care we give to buildings—attuned to context, intent and consequence.
Cities must breathe to survive
Chandigarh has always walked a fine line—between order and openness, structure and spontaneity. The proposed fine hike, if crafted with public input and contextual sensitivity, could help restore that balance.
But regulation shouldn’t become resistance to change. Cities aren’t museums. They grow, shift and adapt—and governance must keep pace. The goal should be to protect not just the visual ideals of the master plan, but the lived experience it was meant to support.
This could be an opportunity to rethink how we protect heritage—not as something frozen in time, but as a living intention. If Chandigarh’s spirit is to endure, its rules must serve its people just as much as its plan.
Because even in a city built on precision, a little flexibility can go a long way.
aashna.gakhar@gmail.com
(The writer is a Chandigarh-based architect & interior designer)
