Preserving past, losing legacy in Punjab

Over the last three decades, I have had the opportunity to work across Punjab’s diverse geography, engaging in the conservation of cultural heritage — documenting neglected historic sites, proposing adaptive reuse frameworks, shaping tourism development projects, and co-authoring the Punjab State Cultural Heritage Policy in partnership with UNESCO. These efforts, supported through schemes such as the Asian Development Bank’s Infrastructure Development Investment Program for Tourism (IDIPT), the 13th Finance Commission, and the Heritage City Development and Augmentation Yojana (HRIDAY) in Amritsar — which received a UNESCO Asia-Pacific Award — marked critical steps toward strengthening the role of heritage in Punjab’s development narrative.

We were able to recover significant monuments from decades of inappropriate use: Gobindgarh Fort was reclaimed from Army control; Patti Fort and Ram Bagh Gate were vacated after long occupation by the police; later additions to significant Mughal period monuments such as the Naugharah at Aam Khas Bagh were removed to restore its historic integrity. The state’s protected heritage list expanded from 30 to over 90 notified monuments. Yet, these milestones pointed not to the conclusion of a conservation journey, but to its urgent reorientation.

A need became increasingly visible: to develop systems that engage local communities, social infrastructure, and regional entrepreneurship to these sites instead of mere structural restoration. This understanding led to the drafting of the Punjab Cultural Heritage Policy that advocated integrating conservation into a larger development framework, while reinforcing the institutional capacity of the Department of Cultural Affairs, Archaeology and Museums, Punjab.

However, the interventions on these sites in the past few years have undone much of the careful conservation undertaken over decades. A recent visit to some of the heritage sites restored in the Malwa region revealed a bleak picture: the heritage once rescued through advocacy is gathering the dust of neglect under the weight of misguided restoration and misplaced priorities.

Visits to Patiala, Nabha and Fatehgarh Sahib reveal a deep disjuncture between the intent of conservation and its execution on the ground.

Sites such as Qila Mubarak, Aam Khas Bagh, Sarai Lashkari Khan and the tombs of Sirhind are not merely architectural objects. They are living records of Punjab’s complex past. Situated along the old Mughal imperial highway which morphed into the Grand Trunk Road during the British rule, these speak of trade, migration, spiritual exchange, and plural coexistence. They are part of a shared heritage that belongs not only to Sikh, Mughal or colonial histories but to all those who have traversed, inhabited and shaped this land.

Yet, walking through these sites today, we find a landscape scarred by misguided interventions and bureaucratic neglect.

At Qila Mubarak, once the ceremonial and administrative heart of Patiala, and a rare example of hybrid Sikh courtly architecture, we witnessed a disturbing transformation. Public spaces such as the Ran Basa and Lassi Khana have been handed over to private hospitality ventures — a hotel and event hall. Original lime flooring has been replaced with machine-cut red sandstone; delicate frescoes have been carelessly repainted; crucial drainage systems — essential for the fort’s structural longevity — have been destroyed. These changes not only threaten the architectural authenticity of the site, but directly violate public funding mandates, which stipulate conservation for community benefit — not for private enterprise.

Outside the Qila, we met a Nihang Singh, who operates a rickshaw for tourists visiting the site but has never been permitted to step inside. Exclusion from a site that is deeply integral to the district and the state’s martial and royal history reflects a deeper systemic flaw: the alienation of communities from their own heritage.

There are no technical implications of the private sector monetising these monuments, but it can be quite shameful when we forget the original stories of these sites. Active memory markers are becoming neutral places. It is critical that conservation and adaptive reuse strategies reflect a deeper understanding of what are the key stories we are trying to tell. The current ways are leading to an erasure of emotions, narratives and iconic characters from a royal quila to a military fort. If these sites become wedding halls, then the only aspect of our culture that we are choosing to showcase down the line is that of dance and music.

At Aam Khas Bagh, a 16th-century Mughal garden and halting site for emperors travelling between Lahore and Delhi, and at Serai Lashkari Khan, a remarkable caravan serai now nominated for UNESCO World Heritage status, recent renovations have stripped away historical subtleties. Uniform red sandstone paving has erased variations in texture and use; inappropriate boundary treatments and misplaced lighting have rendered these sites sterile and stage-managed. What were once spaces of congregation and cultural exchange now function as hollowed monuments — photogenic, but disconnected from both history and local memory.

The situation at the tombs of Sirhind, a historically significant city that bore witness to the grandeur of the Delhi Sultanate and Sikh martyrdom, is especially concerning. Past attempts towards conservation have been severely distorted with misguided interventions. Decorative colonial-style motifs now adorn boundary walls, while the tomb interiors crumble from neglect. Vast funds have been spent on peripheral landscaping and construction — often out of context — while the tombs themselves remain vulnerable to structural damage.

Such interventions misread what conservation requires: not aesthetic beautification but meaningful restoration rooted in historic continuity. The quiet dignity of these tombs is not served by elaborate railings or manicured pathways; rather, it is undermined by them. The presence of cattle tied in the vicinity of the structures or moss on aging brickwork is not necessarily a sign of decay. In many cases, these are signs of cohabitation and community use — subtle expressions of care that do not conform to institutionalised metrics.

The only vandalism in these cases is government inaction — a form of violence against heritage.

What these sites reveal is not merely the failure of individual projects but a broader systemic breakdown. Heritage impact assessments are not conducted. Professional conservation guidelines are routinely ignored. There is a pervasive lack of technical capacity within state departments responsible for oversight. A worrying matter is emerging — one that frames heritage as a backdrop for profit, rather than a shared resource. Historic structures are being leased out for commercial use, their cultural and architectural meanings diluted to fit tourism models. This is not preservation. It is loss disguised as development.

It is in fact a living, non-renewable public resource — one that carries meaning, memory, and identity. Once lost, it cannot be reconstructed. Even if recovered to its original state, it will never carry the same meaning. The value is not only in what it looks like, but in what it holds: ancestral stories, local knowledge, architectural ingenuity, and community identity.

The Punjab Cultural Heritage Policy, an initiative of the state government through a partnership with UNESCO in 2011 that was developed in consultation with experts and stakeholders across the state, clearly articulates this ethos. It advocates for conservation that is participatory, inclusive and accountable. It centres people — not profit — within its framework. And yet, policy on paper has not translated into practice on the ground.

There is still time to act. These buildings are witness to centuries of movement, resilience, hospitality and imagination. Preserving them is not merely about the past. It is about the choices we make for our future.

Heritage is your inheritance. Saving it is not nostalgia, it’s an act of justice to the past and responsibility to the future. The State must choose: will it allow this silent erasure, or reclaim its duty to protect? The choice, and the duty, is ours. We must shift from policy on paper to policy in practice.

— Rai is an acclaimed conservationist and Arora is an architect

Immediate steps needed

— All current and upcoming interventions at historic sites must be paused and independently assessed.

— A professional Heritage Review Advisory Committee reporting to the CM must be set up to evaluate conservation decisions.

— Heritage impact assessments must be made mandatory for all reuse and development projects involving heritage sites.

— Community engagement must be institutionalised as part of every conservation initiative — not an afterthought, but a prerequisite.

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