“If only haveli walls could talk, what fascinating stories they would tell, having witnessed many generations of children growing up and daughters getting married and leaving their familiar surroundings forever.” This is how Randhawa, using a portrait taken from his family archives, explains the extraordinary gathering of Sikh men, most of them armed with guns, at his grandfather Charan Singh Sidhu’s home in Bidowali in Punjab in 1923 for a family wedding.
The bride is, of course, not in the picture, but Randhawa’s mother is visible as a babe in arms at the back. It is her sister who will be married. The bridegroom is a young boy seated next to Randhawa’s grandfather, looking very composed considering that he had been pulled out of school for the betrothal.
Randhawa’s mother lived to be 101 and passed away in 2022. The haveli now lies deserted as the whirligig of change has swept through its courtyard and scattered the successive generations of the family into different parts of the country.
Vernacular Architecture of India: Traditional Residential Styles and Spaces
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The image also suggests a rough time frame for the patchwork quilt of images that Randhawa has collected during his travels through the subcontinent, and he manages to include a number of references from the distant past.
In a chapter on stepwells and hammams (bath houses), for instance, he includes the photograph of a stepwell excavated at Dholavira in Gujarat which links it to the Harappan age. In highlighting the panoramic view of the Ajanta caves of western India, he touches upon the lives of the monks and laypeople who occupied them in the distant past, even as some of the frescoes on these walls depict a more worldly lifestyle. At Orchha, in Madhya Pradesh, he locates some of the oldest vernacular residences that have survived from the 17th and 18th centuries even if in a dilapidated condition.
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In a brief biographical note, Randhawa is described as a photographer who started as an engineer at IIT Kanpur and joined the IAS. It allowed him to be a witness to the cultural and social issues taking place in the areas where he was posted. One of these places was in Gujarat, which might explain his particular fondness for the arts and crafts of that region of immense, if not exotic, diversity.
One of his earlier books is titled Kachchh: The Last Frontier. It opens vistas into the nomadic life of the different tribes and caravans of people living in these border areas and pouring themselves into the fabric of their homelands with a dexterity and vitality that resonate with enduring passion. It underlines why architecture in India has been called “a living art”.
Distinct identities
No matter how many times one may have seen the mica-studded clay walls of the region, or the adobe dwellings of other groups of people fashioned out of mud, straw, slate, brick, wood, thatch, paint, and memory, the instinct to stamp a distinct identity never ceases to hold one’s attention.
As Randhawa records, under the influence of the colonists, whether of earlier Dutch, Danish, Portuguese, French, or more significantly of the British, the courtyards morphed into the partially shaded veranda running around three-quarters of the front and sides of the homes. | Photo Credit: By Special Arrangement
Randhawa invokes the names of two famous Scottish-born individuals who contributed to the study of the Indian habitat. One of them is the sociologist Patrick Geddes (1854-1932), whose views on town planning rested on three main principles: the effect of geography, the need to respect the cultural affinities of the people, and the need to encourage civic education reform.
The other person, James Fergusson (1808-86), was an architect-historian with an eclectic view of the architecture of past civilisations and provides a notable base on which to reimagine India’s architectural traditions.
Whether Westernised Orientalism was the way to go when designing the new British India capital on Raisina Hill in New Delhi in the last days of the Empire is a question that different writers have grappled with in the last section of the book. But one thing that everyone agrees on is the remarkable skill of Indian craftspeople, whether as masons, carpenters, thatchers, or artisans working with stone, wood, and stucco. These sculptors, carvers, and fresco artists have honed their craft through generations, often working together to create intricate and timeless masterpieces.
“One thing that everyone agrees on is the remarkable skill of Indian craftspeople, whether as masons, carpenters, thatchers, or artisans working with stone, wood, and stucco. They have honed their craft through generations, often working together to create intricate and timeless masterpieces.”
Randhawa is equally at pains to focus upon these aspects as seen in the homes of ordinary people. The grand monuments of palaces, forts, mosques, temples, and churches tend only to serve as reference points. One might even say that this is a bazaari perspective, using the term in the Persian sense of merchants. Being merchants, they brought in new ideas and materials such as hanging glass lamps, clocks, and mirrors as in the case of the Bora community at Sidhpur in Gujarat, or Burma Teak and patterned tiles by the Chettiars of Tamil Nadu, while communities such as the Parsis and the Jews created their own distinct aesthetics.
Then again, the homes of the Todas of the Nilgiris, and the people of northeastern India, the Andamans, the Nicobar Islands, not to mention the Lakshadweep are also there to remind us that no one description about the Indian way of life can define the multitudes.
Of courtyards and terraces
Of what can be defined as a dominant trait in several communities is the use of a courtyard, or numerous sub-courtyards, that either bifurcate the linear plan of a composite joint family dwelling, or is centred within it, serving multiple purposes. The famous Chettinad mansions of the Chettiar community of the Sivaganga and Pudukkottai districts of Tamil Nadu have been described as “country forts”. The idea of an inward-looking series of living spaces occupied by one family running in parallel lines from a massive front entrance facing the main thoroughfare all the way to an entrance at the back is a common prototype.
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In many cases, the use of terraces as additional space was common. This is particularly true in northern India where during the hot dry summers, people would sleep on the terrace. Or, as happens in Ahmedabad, fly kites during the Kite Festival from their closely linked terraces.
As Randhawa records, under the influence of the colonists, whether of earlier Dutch, Danish, Portuguese, French, or more significantly of the British, the courtyards morphed into the partially shaded veranda running around three-quarters of the front and sides of the homes. The garden and the outer walls offered sufficient protection against the danger of any attacks. The original Bengal style bangladar pitched roof evolved into the English cottage bungalow with the additional features of clerestory windows in the upper reaches, of a double-layered roof plan to let in light and air. It was left to Edwin Lutyens (1869-1944), who left his architectural stamp on Raisina Hill in New Delhi, to have the last word on the subject of appropriation, or assimilation of cultures, when he cried “Bungle-ohs”.
Randhawa leaves us with a compendium of endless “Bungle-ohs” for both the layperson and the specialist to celebrate at a leisurely pace.
Geeta Doctor is a Chennai-based writer, critic, and cultural commentator.
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