Barely weeks after the news broke that IIM Ahmedabad had issued an expression of interest for constructing new dormitories to replace the iconic structures designed by American architect Louis Kahn, another story appeared. This spoke of the possible demolition of a number of important structures on Central Vista — the vast array of Soviet-style bhavans along India Gate. All this while the demolition of Delhi’s Hall of Nations is still fresh in memory.
Why is such important modern architectural heritage suddenly and thoughtlessly being consigned to the wrecking ball? The Central Vista decision, of course, comes in the wake of the new revamp proposed by the government — a unilateral idea to replace the entire stretch of 1950s’ structures with a set of sandstone blocks. Contested but uncontestable, the case of the future arena of national pride was fought in court, but its outcome was a foregone conclusion.
The IIM demolition — now withdrawn — is, however, disturbing, for it emerged in similar unilateral fashion, but from an autonomous institution. Initiated by the late Vikram Sarabhai, the complex at Ahmedabad was designed in the 1960s by an architect recognised the world over as one of the great masters of the late 20th century. The decision to demolish the dormitories was doubly surprising given that the Mumbai-based architectural firm, Somaya & Kalappa Consultants, had received a UN award for successfully restoring the the Vikram Sarabhai Library in the main academic complex.
In India, however, this impulse to demolish is not altogether odd, given that over the last 50 years we have built so little of lasting architectural value. Our culture is quite unique in its distressing disconnect with the surroundings. Living as we do in decrepit junkyard cities,
Old furniture designed by Le Corbusier in the Punjab and Haryana assembly building, Chandigarh.
shamelessly opulent malls and farmhouses, and broken plaster housing, we can hardly recognise something of real significance any more. Kahn’s work emerges from a deeply philosophical view of space and human habitation — a dimension altogether missing from our ordinary life. So few buildings around us make us stop and think and wonder. Simplistic yardsticks of age, built-up area, or earthquake resistance are enough for us to measure their worth.
Perennially stained
But if we use the argument of earthquake safety to start replacing buildings then almost half our cities will have to be razed. Most urban structures have not been built to conform to seismic conditions; indeed, many were constructed before seismology was applied to architecture. The IIM campus too adheres to the code of its time. Should we now tear down the Taj Mahal because Shah Jahan’s 17th century tomb doesn’t conform to the 21st century seismic code? Should we replace Connaught Place with an earthquake-proof glass shopping mall?
Another Louis Kahn building in the subcontinent tells an altogether different story. Twenty years in the making, the
The Punjab and Haryana assembly building designed and built by Le Corbusier in Chandigarh.
40-year-old Jatiya Sangsad Bhaban or National Parliament House in Dhaka occupies a pride of place in Bangladesh. Despite its unusual modernism, it is visited and admired daily by the local population; its impeccable maintenance and upkeep confirm its place in the country’s history and heritage. By contrast, Chandigarh, India’s first planned city and Le Corbusier’s largest project, is eroded and perennially stained.
The grey concrete structures have been radically altered by random modifications. Temporary sheds serving as parking lots for bureaucrats are scattered across the tarmac of official buildings. Now shared by two States, the offices of the high court and the secretariat have been partitioned haphazardly, and original furniture has been surreptitiously sold off at international auctions. Only the UNESCO World Heritage tag keeps us from tearing it down.
Organic relationship
If we see so little value in Le Corbusier, how do we then respect our other modern heritage — the IIMs, the IICs and the IITs, the Sabarmati Ashram museum, or the Baha’i temple? Is it heritage if people are still using it in their daily lives? Which among these is worth retaining?
First and foremost, it is crucial to assess what constitutes heritage. This cannot just be a chronological record of buildings, but should actively reflect their time as well as their place in the present. The list shouldn’t just include individual landmarks, monuments, schools and universities, but also larger historic chunks and whole neighbourhoods that clearly state, for example, that yes, this represents Mumbai’s Art Deco of the 1930s or this is a colonial Kolkata street of the 1890s. In the absence of comprehensive heritage, the relationship between the citizen and the city loses coherence.
Second, we must rethink how to build judiciously. As one of the most overbuilt countries in the world, India adds a vast assembly of bridges, schools, roads and housing to its landscape every year. Supported by government finance, much of it is of dubious quality and poor design. How much of this is needed to fulfil an annual budgetary requirement, how much is a real need, and what among them will constitute future heritage? The ultimate state of India’s visible health must depend on the conservation of existing buildings and landscape. Not in endlessly building and thoughtlessly demolishing.
The writer is a Delhi-based architect and sculptor.
Published - February 12, 2021 01:01 pm IST
