On the edge of one of Delhi's most guarded neighbourhoods, a mosque stands intact amid the rubble of the homes that once surrounded it. Across October, hundreds of families who had lived there for generations were moved far to the city's outskirts, leaving behind a community built on work, faith and mutual care. The state points to land ownership and security, while worshippers hold to a waqf registration and a claim to the sacred ground, and a court will soon weigh which account of belonging will prevail.
'We grew up around this historic Delhi mosque - now we have been forced out'
I may have a house but my home was snatched away.
Why does the mosque matter so much to people who no longer live beside it?
Because it's tied to their lives. Wasim says his father and his daughter were both married near it. He still goes back, even when guards turn him away.
And the government's position on it?
It says it owns the land and has promised no action against the mosque for four weeks. Mosque authorities say it was registered as waqf property in 1977 and is heritage-listed.
Careful with the age, though. The Waqf Board says nearly 300 years, others say 125 to 150. That's unsettled.
What's actually been decided in court so far?
In August the high court allowed the relocation. On the mosque, it declined to intervene on access and set a hearing for 16 December.
And the safety reason for blocking prayers is the government's claim. The worshippers' lawyer disputes it. Nothing here settles who is right.
What do the residents say they've lost?
Work, mostly, plus schooling routines, specialised care for Naeem Khan's grandsons, and neighbours who looked out for each other.
Those are residents' accounts, and Mukta Naik's analysis fits them. But the housing agency, the municipal council and the land office didn't respond, so we haven't heard their side beyond what they said in court.
Le Pouls
- Bulldozers reduced homes that had stood for generations to rubble, and 717 families were pushed roughly 31 miles away to Savda Ghevra.
- The government's claim of state ownership and security risk clashes head-on with the mosque's waqf registration and heritage listing.
- Water and power were cut at the compound, and worshippers are often turned away at the gates, leaving the mosque half-alive.
- Families are improvising daily survival, from four-hour commutes and split households to lost incomes and children stranded without specialised care.
- Everything now turns on the Delhi High Court hearing on 16 December, which will decide whether the mosque survives and whether any return is possible.
On the edge of one of Delhi's most guarded neighbourhoods, a mosque stands intact amid the rubble of the homes that once surrounded it. Across October, hundreds of families who had lived there for generations were moved far to the city's outskirts, leaving behind a community built on work, faith and mutual care. The state points to land ownership and security, while worshippers hold to a waqf registration and a claim to the sacred ground, and a court will soon weigh which account of belonging will prevail.
In central Delhi, close to the prime minister's residence, a small mosque stands in a field of rubble. Its pale walls and pointed arches are intact, but the people who gave it life have been scattered. Mohammad Wasim, a 50-year-old driver, points to where his family home once stood, the place where his father was married and, decades later, his daughter too. His family was one of hundreds living in modest homes in Race Course, wedged between military compounds and grand bungalows, where many had worked for generations as drivers, cleaners and gardeners.
On 7 October, authorities demolished homes across three settlements, citing illegal construction on government land and security concerns near military installations. Some 717 families were relocated to Savda Ghevra, nearly 31 miles away. Residents had argued in court that the distance would destroy their jobs, schooling and community ties, but in August the High Court accepted the government's security case and allowed the move.
Only the mosque and a nearby temple were spared. Water and electricity were cut that day, and access is now heavily restricted. The government says it owns the land; the mosque's authorities say it is registered waqf property and a listed heritage structure. The Waqf Board has raised objections, and a worshipper has petitioned the court over prayer limits. For now the government has promised no action for four weeks, and the next hearing is set for 16 December.
For the displaced, the losses are daily and concrete. Rekha has lost the dishwashing work that supported her, and her son struggles to find a job. Babloo now leaves home at 5am to get his children to their old school, a journey of three metro changes and hours of waiting. Naeem Khan says his grandsons with hearing and speech disabilities cannot access the care they need, and his family has been split apart. Akhtari, an elderly widow, has lost the small income she made selling bottles and cattle feed, and fears no one would notice if she fell ill.
The government points to the schools, clinics and transport of Savda Ghevra, which was built in 2006 for families displaced from elsewhere in the city. Those families now begin the slow work of rebuilding. The hearing on 16 December will decide what becomes of the mosque, and whether the community that once surrounded it can ever return.
In central Delhi, a short distance from the prime minister's residence, a small mosque stands in a field of rubble. Its pale walls and pointed arches are intact, and its courtyard is still lined with green-and-white tiles. The people who gave the place its life are gone.
Mohammad Wasim, a 50-year-old driver, points across the debris to where his house stood. His father was married there, he says, and decades later so was his daughter. His family was among hundreds who lived around the mosque in a patchwork of modest homes in Race Course, one of the capital's wealthiest and most heavily guarded neighbourhoods, wedged between military compounds, exclusive clubs and sprawling bungalows. Many had been there for generations, working as drivers, cleaners and gardeners in the houses around them.
On 7 October, authorities demolished homes across three settlements, saying they were built illegally on government land. They also cited security concerns because of the proximity to military installations. Some 717 families were relocated to Savda Ghevra, a colony nearly 31 miles away on the city's outskirts. Residents had challenged the evictions in the Delhi High Court, arguing that the distance would upend their jobs, schooling and communities. In August the court allowed the relocation, accepting the government's security argument and noting that alternative housing had been provided.
Only the mosque and a nearby Hindu temple were left standing. Their water and electricity were cut off that day, and access to the compound has since been restricted. Worshippers are generally turned away at the gates, though some are occasionally let in after pleading with guards. The government says it owns the land under the mosque. Mosque authorities say it was registered in 1977 as waqf property, set aside under Islamic law for religious or charitable purposes, and is listed as a heritage structure. The Delhi Waqf Board puts its age at nearly 300 years; other estimates say 125 to 150. The board has written to the authorities seeking restoration of utilities and raising concerns about the mosque's future, and a worshipper has separately petitioned the high court over limits on prayer and fears of demolition.
On 29 October, the government told the court it would take no action against the mosque for four weeks while it considered the board's objections. It opposed restoring access for prayers, citing safety during demolition work, a claim the worshippers' lawyer disputes. The court declined to intervene and set another hearing for 16 December. Wasim still goes to pray when he can; on a recent afternoon he was one of four or five worshippers inside, while a generator chugged outside to supply power.
For the displaced, the losses are practical. Rekha, a widow, washed dishes in nearby homes and did voluntary service at the temple. She has lost that work, her 19-year-old son is struggling to find a job, and she has been allotted a third-floor flat though a metal rod in her leg makes stairs painful. "I may have a house but my home was snatched away," she says. Babloo, who worked at a Race Course club, now leaves at 5am to take his children by metro, with three changes, to their old school in central Delhi. He waits six hours at a tea stall, and the family is back in Savda Ghevra around 4pm. He has found work in Meerut. Naeem Khan, 63, says his two grandsons, who have hearing and speech disabilities, cannot get the specialised schooling and care they need there. His family has also been split: one son and a divorced daughter share his one-room flat, while two other sons had to live elsewhere. "We have been thrown 20 years backward," he says.
Akhtari, an elderly widow, used to earn about 100 rupees a day collecting water bottles and drying leftover rotis to sell as cattle feed. That income is gone. At Race Course, the imam or a neighbour might give her money for flour; now she fears no one would notice if she fell ill. The government says suitable flats closer to Race Course were unavailable and, in court, pointed to Savda Ghevra's schools, dispensaries and transport. Urban researcher Mukta Naik says relocation cuts people off from jobs and networks, and that women bear particular costs in childcare, fares and safety. The Delhi government's housing agency, the municipal council and the central land office did not respond to requests for comment.
Savda Ghevra was created in 2006 on farmland to house families displaced from elsewhere in the city, and by the early 2020s an estimated 50,000 people lived there. The Race Course families are now beginning that same slow work. The next marker is the high court hearing on 16 December, which will bear on the mosque's future.
Citations marquantes
We have been thrown 20 years backward.— Naeem Khan, 63, relocated resident
Relocation disconnects them from both jobs and networks, resulting in livelihood and income loss.— Mukta Naik, urban researcher