Dehradun: A Growing City, or a Changing Mizaaj?
By Aloke Lal
Dehradun was never merely seen—it was always felt.
Mornings would begin with sunlight filtering through litchi orchards, while the distant hills of Mussoorie stood quietly watchful over the valley. Life moved at an unhurried pace. An evening walk along Rajpur Road was not routine—it was a ritual. A visit to Paltan Bazaar was as much about conversations as it was about commerce.
That was Dehradun’s mizaaj—its temperament. Simple, gentle, and complete in itself.
As Ruskin Bond once wrote, “You can’t leave Dehradun. Even when you do, it never quite leaves you.” This is not just a line—it is the essence of the city’s soul.
And yet, that mizaaj now feels as though it is beginning to shift.
Roads that once offered quiet now carry a constant hum of traffic. The stretch from Clock Tower outwards no longer unfolds at ease—it often crawls. Open spaces are steadily giving way to rising structures, sometimes without regard for what the land can sustain.
Change, of course, is inevitable. Cities cannot remain frozen in time. Dehradun must grow—to provide opportunities for its young, to strengthen infrastructure, and to secure its future. Development is not a choice; it is a necessity. But must development come at the cost of mizaaj?
Across India, we have seen what happens when growth loses direction. Expansion overtakes planning, roads fill faster than they can be built, water becomes scarce, and a city’s identity slowly begins to fade. What remains is not progress, but pressure. Dehradun, fortunately, still has a choice. It can grow without losing its mizaaj.
Consider mobility. The daily commute along Rajpur Road or towards ISBT is already becoming a test of patience. If dependence on private vehicles continues unchecked, congestion will soon define the city. Cities like Copenhagen have shown that when safe and convenient alternatives—walking, cycling, public transport—are created, people willingly embrace them. Dehradun, with its scale and geography, is ideally suited for such a transition.
Urban expansion, too, demands careful thought. The rapid spread towards areas like Sahastradhara Road is often outpacing infrastructure. Without planning, such growth risks becoming a burden rather than a benefit. The example of Chandigarh reminds us that a city can grow and still breathe—if design and discipline guide its expansion.
Yet, perhaps the most crucial concern is environmental. Dehradun’s mizaaj is shaped by its natural surroundings—its rivers, forests, and groundwater systems. These are not obstacles to development; they are its foundation. Ignoring them will not just alter the landscape—it will fundamentally change the city’s character. Cities like Melbourne demonstrate that urban development can work with nature rather than against it. Dehradun must adopt a similar approach.
And then there is culture—the intangible, yet defining element. The vibrancy of Dehradun does not lie in louder streets or brighter skylines alone. It lies in the warmth of its neighbourhoods, the familiarity of its markets, and the quiet legacy of institutions like The Doon School and Welham Girls’ School. It lies in a way of life that still allows space to pause.
If all of this is lost in the pursuit of modernity, one must ask—what exactly are we modernising?
The aspiration to become a “metropolitan city” is often voiced. But perhaps the real question is: what kind of metropolis do we wish to be?
Merely larger—or genuinely better?
A city that offers opportunity without anxiety.
(Image by the author using Generative AI)
A city that moves forward without losing its balance.
A city that evolves, yet retains its mizaaj.
Dehradun is changing—this much is certain. What remains to be decided is whether that change will refine its mizaaj… or quietly erase it.
(The writer is a former DGP, best-selling author and the Festival Director of the Crime Literature Festival of India)
