The
demand
for
western-style
modernity
threatens
the
heritage
of
many
of
India's
smaller
cities.
The
Rainiwari
Canal
still
survives,
passing
through
the
outskirts
of
Srinagar,
a
historic
city
distinguished
by
architecture
reminiscent
of a
medieval
European
city.
But,
the
Mar
Canal,
which
ran
through
the
heart
of
the
city,
was
filled
in
and
converted
into
a
road.
Almost
a century ago Mark
Twain characterized
India as "the
land of dreams and
romance ... of
fabulous wealth and
fabulous
poverty."
Today, India is a land
teeming with a
population three times
that of the United
States on a land area
one third the size, a
land with almost a
third as many cows as
people.
A
more recent traveler
noted that, "India
had too many people,
too many animals, too
many customs, too many
gods‑too much of
everything."
The intensity of the
country never fails to
heighten the visitor's
awareness of history,
traditions, modernity
and human life itself.
Last
year I traveled to
India to undertake a
research and
documentary
photography project.
Once there I found a
nation that values its
heritage yet is
striving to modernize.
Evidence of the
conflict between the
two goals is
everywhere. Faced with
a population growth of
nearly one million per
month and vast
poverty, how can India
give historic
preservation a high
priority?
The
question does not
arise for the Taj
Mahal, the Hindu
temples at Kajuraho or
the caves of Adjanta
and Ellora. Such
monuments are
protected by
legislation passed in
1904 and expanded in
1951. But in small
cities and towns
throughout the
country, vernacular
structures are being
Destroyed
y in the name
of progress.
When
author V.S. Naipaul
wrote, "India
is old and India
continues," he
identified a condition
about the country's
culture that also
applies to its built
environment. Indian
cities are filled with
old buildings, all of
which continue to be
used, lived in, worn
out and rebuilt, but
their existence does
not mean that they
have been preserved.
Preservation is a
conscious act, not a
description of a
condition. In India a
traditional way of
life continues
together with many
historic buildings.
But the demand for
"progress"
threatens to erase a
great deal of the
historic resources.
Men
continue
to
saw
timber
as
they
have
done
for
centuries
in a
village
outside
Srinagar
(bottom
left).
This
condition presents a
tremendous opportunity
and a major problem.
The historic buildings
could be restored and
adapted so that
continuity with the
past is not erased.
However when there is
radical technological
change, increased
wealth and a demand
for modernity, few
structures are
considered sacred;
change is often
radical, irrevocable
and entirely out of
scale with what
remains.
In
overcrowded cities
like Bombay, extreme
land shortages have
driven prices up to
New York City levels.
While development,
pressure threatens
many of the older
neighborhoods,
poverty, neglect and
intense overuse cause
rapid deterioration of
many historic
buildings. This
phenomenon occurs not
only in Bombay but
also in Delhi,
Calcutta and the
ancient walled cities
of Ahmadabad and
Udaipur.
A
20th-century
apartment
building
in
Ahmedabad
stands
in
stark
contrast
to
smaller,
older
structures
(below
right).
India's
harsh climate often
makes efforts at
preservation nothing
less than heroic.
Every year during the
monsoon season, dozens
of buildings collapse
in Bombay, and many
others survive only by
being hastily propped
up with wooden
supports. Last July a
record monsoon struck
Jaipur, the
18th-century city
founded by the
Maharaja jai Singh and
known for its pink
buildings. In three
days more than 36
inches of rain fell,
burying many of the
city's historic sites
under silt and causing
the collapse of 2,000
buildings.
India's
historic environment
faces an even greater
threat than mother
nature-the demand for
western-style
modernity. The
destructive effects of
this demand became
particularly clear to
me on my visit to
Srinagar in Kashmir, a
state in northern
India.
Every
morning
the
women
of
Srinagar
do
their
washing
on
the
banks
of
the
Rainiwari
Canal.
A
traditional
way
of
life
in
India
coexists
with
modern
industrial
practices.
As
I arrived, I gazed
upon a wonderland of
winding canals and
picturesque lakes
surrounding the city,
flanked by the
towering Himalayan
Mountains. Initially,
the central area of
Srinagar seemed a
jumble of rickety
buildings and houses,
narrow congested
streets and a constant
bustle of activity.
Earthquakes have
struck Srinagar quite
regularly, shaking the
seemingly fragile
houses into
extraordinary angles.
The architecture of
Srinagar with its
steeply pitched gabled
roofs atop brick and
wooden structures
reminded me of a
medieval European
city-not a restored
city like Marburg in
Germany but a medieval
city still alive and
lived in as it has
been for centuries.
Buildings
have been added,
others removed or
radically altered-but
what we see in
Srinagar is a mixture
of buildings built and
rebuilt over the last
300 years in a
compatible style.
Never, until recently
have new buildings
clashed with the older
structures. And, with
its economy based on
handicrafts and carpet
weaving, Srinagar has
never had the local
wealth necessary to
undertake a massive
rebuilding of the
city.
Many
of
Srinagar's
old
narrow
streets
remain
intact,
but
the
construction
of
new
roads
threatens
many
of
them.
In
addition, Srinagar
remained relatively
insulated from western
influences for
centuries. The Kashmir
Valley became a
popular vacation spot
for Europeans during
the late 19th century,
but they were not
allowed to own land
and thus had little
impact on the historic
city. Instead, they
stayed in picturesque
houseboats on nearby
Dal Lake, establishing
a whimsical waterborne
vacation paradise that
remains famous today.
I
had read the 1842
account of an English
visitor's boat trip
through the Mar Canal,
one of the ancient
canals in the city,
and was fascinated by
the description. "Its
walls of massive
stone, its heavy
single arch bridges
and landing places ...
the gloomy passages
leading down upon it
betoken the greatest
antiquity."
In
my search, I found
parts of other canals
that answered the 1842
description, but the
Mar Canal was gone.
Built by the Muslims
in the 15th century,
it had given the city
its reputation as the
"Venice of the
East". But
now it has been filled
and converted into a
two-lane road. More
than 600 of Srinagar's
oldest buildings were
destroyed in this
redevelopment, which
included the
construction of new
shops that more
resemble rows of
powder magazines than
an attractive new
market. Srinagar had
at last entered the
20th century and had
been subjected to its
first modern-day urban
renewal.
The
new Mar Road
obliterates the
historic pattern of
streets and collides
with the historic
city. The new shops,
with their concrete
walls and flat roofs,
were not designed with
any respect for the
steeply gabled
brick-and-wood houses
behind them.
The
canal had been used as
an open sewer, but,
ironically, the
proposed sewer line
under Mar Road was
eliminated in a budget
cutback. In the final
analysis, the new road
and redevelopment was
meant to show what the
entire city could look
like in the future.
The
resemblance of this
scheme to urban
renewal projects in
the United States is
not accidental. Many
of the architects and
planners in India have
been trained in the
West, and planning
ideas that only
recently have been
questioned in the U.S.
and Europe are still
popular in Asia.
The
conflict of progress
versus preservation is
even more apparent in
the case of the Dal
Project, which will
provide sewer
connections to the
houseboats moored
along Dal Lake.
However, while
improving sanitation,
the project threatens
the lake's character.
The plan calls for
organizing the boats
into rigid clusters,
dredging out the
floating gardens and
removing many of the
picturesque clusters
of farmers' and
weavers' houses that
have existed on
islands in the lake
since the 19th
century. The project
even includes a new
road on a viaduct that
will pass between the
houseboats, destroying
the peace and
tranquility of this
vacation retreat.
Modernization
in third-world
countries is often
done in the name of
tourism. Tourists are
not expected to
tolerate the decay and
lack of amenities that
the local people have
endured for
generations. Yet in
the process of
modernizing a city,
the very qualities
that attracted
tourists in the first
place can
inadvertently be
sacrificed.
This
point became even
clearer in the fabled
desert city of Udaipur,
a walled bastion of
castles, palaces,
gardens and takes. I
came to stay in the
city's most famous
monument, the Lake
Palace, built by the
maharaja as an island
retreat in the 18th
century and now
operated as a
five-star hotel.
When
I first looked at the
Lake Palace, I found
that the magical
quality I had expected
was not there. The
hotel is still very
beautiful, but it has
lost the transcendent
quality that had made
it one of the wonders
of the world. During
the 1970s, I learned,
most of the former
palace had been
demolished to make way
for new hotel rooms.
Many
of the cupolas and
details had been
reconstructed, but the
scale was different,
and the visual effect
was lost. I was
confronted with a
familiar problem: How
do you preserve the
character of a
historic structure
when adaptive use
requires major design
changes? In Udaipur it
is a continuing
problem. A similar
palace at the other
end of the lake is
presently being
reconstructed as a
hotel.
What
is happening in
Srinagar and Udaipur
is repeated in many
other cities. In
Ahmadabad, for
example, the city
walls have almost all
been removed to
provide land for new
development. And the
Chinubhai House, the
most splendid and
unusual mill owner's
mansion in the city,
is to be replaced by
ordinary blocks of
apartments.
The
Chinubhai
House,
a
mill
owner's
mansion
in
Ahmedabad,
faces
demolition
(below).
The
1910
house,
combining
western
and
Indian
architectural
styles,
will
be
replaced
by a
block
of
apartments.
These
situations in Indian
cities demonstrate one
of the most common
preservation problems
in both the East and
the West: It is
usually the most
important buildings
that are most
threatened. The focus
of human activity that
had made the buildings
important provides the
mechanism for their
eventual destruction.
The discovery of their
value is usually in
time to save the last
example of something,
but rarely in time to
save the best.
Like
the Sufi story of the
man who had to
disfigure himself to
achieve enlightenment,
it seems that it is
only after witnessing
such destruction that
people later discover
the worth of
historic artifacts
and their own need for
them.
I
did find that an
awareness of this need
is beginning to grow
in India. It is the
urban equivalent of
the discovery of one's
own soul.
Places have
souls too, and that
soul is the collective
record of the common
culture.
To
a preservationist from
the West, India
provides a unique
chance to enter a
world existing in a
time warp. For in
India preservation
doesn't mean merely
saving the physical
remains of a past and
forgotten way of life.
There, the rich, old
culture itself is
still alive. In India
the concept of
preservation is not
known as we know it in
the West, simply
because so much of the
country still lives in
the past. The
combination of a
modern industrialized
existence with a
historic
pre-industrial way of
life enhances the
richness of the
culture. It is
important that this
quality not be lost.
Randolph
Langenbach,
a
Cambridge,
Mass.,
architect,
photographer
and
historic
preservation
planner,
spent
six
months
in
India
last
year
under
a
grant
from
the
Indo-U.S.
Subcommission
on
Education
and
Culture.
