In the heart of Hyderabad’s rapidly expanding urban sprawl lies Kancha Gachibowli—a verdant semi-forested tract nestled between premier academic institutions and bustling IT corridors. Once an unassuming expanse marked by rocky outcrops and scattered groves, it has now become the epicenter of a legal, ecological, and civic conflict. A proposed development project that seeks to raze hundreds of native trees has sparked fierce resistance spearheaded by students and joined by environmentalists, civil society actors, and legal advocates.
According to environmental assessments, this ecological enclave is home to over 730 species of flowering plants, 10 species of mammals, 15 species of reptiles, and 220 species of birds. On April 3, 2025, the Supreme Court of India took suo motu cognisance of the case and issued a temporary stay on further tree felling, directing the Chief Secretary of Telangana to intervene. What unfolds here is more than a land dispute—it is a critical case study on the contradictions of urban development, the right to the commons, and the ecological future of Indian cities.
The controversy began in late 2024 when a construction proposal for a private university campus—allegedly backed by state authorities—was announced. The project aimed to clear over 2,000 trees across 85 acres in the Kancha Gachibowli area. Documents obtained via Right to Information (RTI) revealed that the initiative had been fast-tracked without a comprehensive Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA) or meaningful public consultation.
The proposed site borders the Gopanpally Reserve Forest and lies near the Osman Sagar lake catchment, both of which are vital ecological buffers for the city. The area is dominated by native species such as neem, banyan, palash, and jamun, forming a thriving habitat for pollinators and birds. Environmentalists warn that clearing this green cover could lead to irreversible habitat fragmentation, exacerbate the urban heat island effect, and intensify water crises.
What further inflamed public outrage was the secrecy and speed with which tree clearance began in February 2025, reportedly during university vacations. By mid-March, earthmovers had begun excavation, and bulldozers were deployed to uproot trees—despite widespread protests.
At the forefront of the resistance were students and faculty from the University of Hyderabad, IIIT-Hyderabad, and TISS, who formed the collective Save Kancha Gachibowli. Through sit-ins, tree-hugging vigils, and flash mobs, they highlighted the environmental devastation and its impact on human life.
“That’s what makes HCU what it is—this living, breathing ecosystem. Even when the rest of Hyderabad swelters, we survive because the forest moderates everything—the air, the heat, even our moods. It’s our own Amazon... Development can’t come at the cost of nature," said Devika P, a University of Hyderabad alumnus.
The students were soon joined by local NGOs, indigenous elders, and urban planners, who warned that Hyderabad risked repeating the mistakes of Delhi and Bengaluru—cities that compromised their ecological balance in the name of unrestrained development.
Despite growing protests, tree felling continued unabated. The legal battle began when civil society groups and student unions filed Public Interest Litigations (PILs), urging judicial intervention. On April 2, the Telangana High Court orally directed the state to halt further clearance work. Yet, defying the directive, bulldozers rolled on, and undergrowth was burned.
That same day, the University of Hyderabad Teachers’ Association took to the streets, demanding the area be declared a bio-heritage reserve. A civil society delegation also met Deputy Chief Minister Mallu Bhatti Vikramarka, urging immediate preservation—but to no avail.
“The fact that the destruction continues shows the government’s disregard for the environment,” said Kiran Kumar Vissa, a member of the delegation. He highlighted violations, including the absence of an EIA, non-compliance with the Wildlife Protection Act, and breaches of the Telangana Water, Land and Trees Act.
The land in question—approximately 400 acres—was originally allocated in 2004 to a private sports academy, later reclaimed by the state in 2024, and promptly handed over to the Telangana Government’s industrial arm (TGIIC) for “mixed-use development”, priced at Rs 75 crore per acre.
Chief Minister Revanth Reddy’s claims that the project would bring in Rs 50,000 crore in investment and generate 500,000 jobs remain unsubstantiated by public data. The Union Ministry of Environment, Forest and Climate Change has now sought an explanation and called for the enforcement of relevant environmental laws. The Supreme Court is scheduled to hear the matter on April 16.
At the heart of the conflict is a fundamental question: Who gets to shape the city—and for whom? The Kancha Gachibowli movement brings attention to the notion of green commons—ecological spaces used collectively by residents, villagers, and students. In an era where gated communities proliferate and public spaces dwindle, such green zones are rare and invaluable.
For villagers in Gopanpally and Vattinagulapally, this land is more than greenery—it is a grazing ground, a source of medicinal herbs, and a spiritual site where festivals are celebrated under the canopy of ancient trees.
Urban sociologists point to similar flashpoints in Mumbai’s Aarey Colony, Bengaluru’s Turahalli Forest, and Delhi’s Ridge. The common denominator? A developmental paradigm that prioritises vertical construction over inclusive, ecological urbanism. Hyderabad’s conflict is now part of a larger national pattern—one where citizens are reclaiming the right to shape sustainable, humane urban futures.
The Kancha Gachibowli forest belongs to the Deccan scrub forest ecosystem—one of India’s most ecologically significant and under-protected landscapes. In a city already grappling with heat waves, air pollution, and groundwater depletion, further environmental loss could prove catastrophic.
India has already lost one-third of its wetlands in the past four decades, largely due to urbanisation and pollution, according to Wetlands International South Asia (WISA). Much of this stems from an outdated approach to urban planning. Regulatory frameworks like the National Building Code and Master Plans often overlook ecological concerns.
In Telangana, the dilution of GO-111 in 2022—once a protective regulation for the Osman Sagar catchment—has opened the door to indiscriminate development. Environmental clearances, activists argue, are fragmented and opaque, often bypassing forest departments and local communities when projects involve so-called “non-forest” lands.
There is now a growing demand for a dedicated Urban Forest Protection Act, akin to heritage laws, to recognise urban green spaces as critical assets for climate resilience, biodiversity, and community well-being.
For now, the Supreme Court’s interim stay offers a reprieve. The upcoming hearing on April 16 will decide whether this pause can become permanent protection and whether a scientific ecological assessment will be mandated before any development resumes.
On the ground, students continue their vigil—tying sacred threads around tree trunks, planting saplings, and painting murals that portray trees as guardians of life. The movement has inspired similar actions in Warangal, Visakhapatnam, and Delhi, reflecting a national awakening to the need for ecological stewardship in urban planning.
In a time of climate emergency and civic disconnection, the Kancha Gachibowli resistance reminds us that progress must be rooted in care, conscience, and community. The fight is not just to save a forest but to reimagine the city itself—as a shared space where nature and people coexist.
Amal Chandra is an author, policy analyst and columnist
Views expressed are the author's own and do not necessarily reflect those of Down To Earth