Dariya Daulat Bagh

The town of Srirangapatnam is located on an island on the river Cauvery. A few kilometres to its east, lies Dariya Daulat Bagh also known as the "Summer Palace" of Tipu Sultan.

Begun in 1778 AD by Tipu's father Haider Ali, the Dariya Daulat Bagh was completed by in 1784 AD. In a life marked with war and strife, this place on the Cauvery's southern bank was Tipu's favourite retreat. Built like a pavilion, the  palace sits on the Northern side of a large garden. The palace is said to be been used by Tipu in the summers. What we see today is the result of aesthetic cleansing of the Bagh on the lines of European tastes and carries a Colonial hangover.

Noted for its graceful proportions, arabesque work and wall paintings, the Dariya Daulat Bagh is referred to as "Garden of the wealth of the Sea".  The siting of the Bagh on the Cauvery holds clues to the real meaning behind its name. With the Cauvery being a spring-fed river unlike other monsoon-fed rivers of the Deccan along with its penchant to flow along the course of forest tracts, this seems very likely  influence on the siting of the garden. The term Dariya is a persian word by origin, meaning River (i.e. names of river Amu Darya, Syr Darya). Hence Dariya Daulat Bagh is really Garden of the Wealth of the (big) River.

The original form of the garden seems to have been left largely unaltered till date. However notable changes to the garden can be sensed as a result of factors such as war damage and aesthetic preferences of the British. In Tipu's time, the West side of the summer palace would have had a visual link with the city wall and its East gate (Bangalore gate) . This hypothesis can be examined for validity on the basis of one small detail on one of the murals, which shows the view of the Dasera procession being seen from a building which resembles the summer palace. A cursory examination of Aerial imagery hints as this possibility.

The Bagh, subsequent to the War of Srirangapatman (1799) was occupied by the Duke of Wellington (then) Col. Wellesley, followed by Lord Dalhousie, almost 50 years later. Like other gardens in india, the British would have altered the layout of the Bagh to suit their aesthetic preferences. The large swathes of lawn in the immediate vicinity of the palace seems an outcome of this. While orchards along the southern part of the bagh give a hint of the likely composition of the garden, its is possible that both Tipu and the British introduced exotic species into the garden. Remnant mango trees indicate that large parts of the bagh may have been a mango orchard.

The star-shapes in the grass parterre bordering the main axis walkways and the remnant water channel indicate a water axis with fountains which may have been a scaled down version of same feature as seen at the Taj Mahal. The water axis seems to end abruptly with the first basin. This implies the possibilities of the subsequent patches to be a sunken grassed parterre, or a water parterre. Likewise, the elliptical swathe of grass and hedge seen at the entrance gate suggests the possibility of a water basin instead as a terminus to the axis, in keeping with the water-axis theme. Another possibility is that of a raised flower bed with a colourful arrangement of flowers, as was the taste of the age, and given Tipu's horticultural leanings. It is also evident that the immediate ground levels around all these zones have been a subject of intervention over the centuries. Hence kerblines, walkway levels, intersections and water channels with spouts are some of the evidently eroded garden details of Tipu's age. 

Along its peripheries the Bagh has been subjected to many changes. The edge of the Bagh along the Cauvery has overgrown and is rarely approached by visitors. This point of contact between inhabited space and a river has always been interestingly articulated in Hindu and Islamic traditions of design. It would be interesting to visualise the riverside during Tipu's time. Another potential investigation is the axial orientation of the gate of the Bagh towards the south edge of the river as documented in historical maps of Srirangapatna. While a small pavilion marks this terminus, any trace of the axis has disappeared for good. 

 The present day main gate is well set-within in relation to the approach road. Historic maps show an axial alignment of road between the edge of the Fort  and the settlement of Ganjam or Ganj-i-Aam. Ganj-I Aam is known as the settlement of workers and soldiers who were re-located here from Sira, near Tumkur. In an agrarian economy,moving from the mainland on to an island with limited terrain for cultivation, works against the logic of being able to culture and cultivate land. Even stranger is the possibility that such a settlement would be named as  "Neighbourhood of commoners" (Ganj- neighbourhood, Aam- Common). Names ike Paharganj and Daryaganj in Delhi have a landscape-based etymology, which is also a likelihood in the case of Ganjam. 

Given Tipu and his father Haidar Ali's trysts with horticulture, Ganjam is more plausibly "Neighbourhod of Mango (Orchards)" (Aam- mango). This is further reinforced by historic references to the Mughal-styled garden at Sira, built by Dilawar Khan, with which Hyder Ali was very familiar. It is therefore only likely that a colony of gardens, horticultural experts were shifted from Sira to Srirangaptna...to create or tend to a mango orchard, along with the Darya Daulat and the Lal Bagh. 

That, then perhaps also explains why Tipu would build a garden just a mile outside his fort, and away from a much larger garden- the original Lalbagh, behind Ganjam. It is here that we can speculate about the Dariya Daulat Bagh's form and layers in Tipu's time. 

While the Bagh's spatial organization, its siting, name and Tipu's religious bent of mind carry clear references to the Islamic garden,  the presence of sunken parterres and Tipu's own familiarity with the French, also hints at French Garden design influences finding its way into the Bagh. 

So then, what was Tipu's garden really like, in his time? 

The landscape of Ranganatha

The form of Vishnu worshipped as Ranganatha in South India is shown reclining on the eternal serpent Adi-sesha /Ananta-sesha (Adi-prior, Sesha- post, Ananta- infinite). This form is also referred to as Ananta-sayana (resting on the infinite). Scriptures and devotional hymns allude to Adi-sesha floating on the cosmic waters that form Vaikuntha- the heavenly abode of Vishnu. 

The translation of this poetic imagery into the landscape can be sensed in physical form at three places along the river Cauvery, flowing from Karnataka to Tamil Nadu.

The temple towns of Srirangapatnam (near Mysore), Shivasamudram (near Kollegal) and Srirangam (Trichy) form the beginning, middle and end of a cosmic image, stretching over a landscape of almost 290 kilometres. Shivasamudram, Srirangapatnam and Srirangam are also islands in the middle of the Cauvery. Built on terra firma, the temple complexes are nonetheless perceived to be ‘floating on water’, completing the grand allusion of Adisesha resting on cosmic waters. The geographical distance between them in the landscape alludes to an imagery of vast proportions, unfathomable from one vantage point. 

At a personal scale, this idea is carried forward in the viewing of the sanctum. The deity is never seen in entirety. By default the direct view is of the torso, and the viewer is required to visually traverse the width of the door opening to view the complete form. The sacred ritual of the Aarti further reinforces this sense of expanse in a tightly controlled space. Amidst sacred chants, the Aarti reveals the face, the chest and the feet of the deity, in a sequence practiced since time immemorial. 

Parashurama's landscape

Oral traditions and mythology have embellished India’s natural landscape, making it a narrative rich experience. Oral traditions about nature are eventually regarded as folk lore or mythology. Although layered with hyperbole, these stories contain genuine and perceptive knowledge based on careful observation of physical evidence. The geological event of the recession of the Arabian sea and the formation of the West coast of India is one such.

In his of-cited classic paper, S. Widdowson has neatly illustrated the morphological evolution of the South-West Deccan (present day Kerala and parts of present day Karnataka-Goa coast) in the period of the Mid-Upper Tertiary i.e. 35 million-30 million years ago (mya).The recession of the Western ghats along with the formation of the first permanent ice sheets in the Antarctic saw the emergence of a patch of land between the Western ghats and the Arabian sea. Over a relatively short geological time spanning between 25 mya and 1.5 mya, the subsidence of the sea levels saw the short rivers create deep cuts into the newly emerged land. This in turn leached away silica in the form of sand and oxides aided further by the well drained topography and tropical climate with its wet and dry spells. The leached residue was rich in iron, clayey in nature, soft when wet and hard when dry- Laterite. The resulting landscape was a mosaic of basalt sea cliffs with laterite caps and rivers meandering as they reach closer to the sea.

In another milieu, The Puranas mention that the western coast of India was a zone ever-threatened by tumultuous waves and tempests, causing the he took. land to be overcome by the sea. Parashurama- the sixth incarnation of Vishnu known for his ceaseless annihilation of Kshatriya kings- was asked to rehabilitate Brahmins to atone for the lives he took.

Not finding a place safe enough for them, Parashurama is said to have crossed the Sahyadri range (Western Ghats) and reached the edge of the sea, where he fought back the advancing waters and released the land. As the mass of land rose up, the sea god Varuna told him that because it was filled with salt, the land would be barren.

Parashurama then did a penance an invoked the King of Snakes- Nagaraja/Vasuki. Parashurama asked him to spread serpents throughout the land so their venom would neutralize the salt-filled earth (apart from aerating the soil- modern day ecology). The snake King agreed, and subsequently, a lush and fertile land came into existence. 

The correlation between Widdowson's superb sketch and Parashurama's story can be best sensed in the regions between Sindhudurg, coastal Goa, Coastal Karnataka and North Kerala. In their own ways, places in these regions are revered as sacred spots, and the regional landscape is collectively known as Parashurama Kshetra or Land of Parashurama.

Images: 
Widdowson S: Tertiary Paleosurfaces of the South West Deccan, Western india: Implications for passive Margin uplift in Widdowson S (ed): Paleosurfaces: Recognition Reconstruction and Paleoenvironmental Interpretation. Geological Society Special Publication no 120. London.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parashurama

Not Letting Go...

The inability to let go is characteristic of the typical Indian psyche. Stories abound in feudal India about generations fighting over what seems like crushed pride. Retrospective vision sometimes makes it appear as something banal, or something which could have been settled once and be done with, or better still…let go. But this is never so, whether it is feudal India or any of its modern avatars.

N. Srinivasan cannot let go of his powerful position as the man who makes Indian cricket a daily tamasha. The game, in India, has stripped itself of all residual honour and yet continues to grab its daily share of eyeballs. Indians viewers cannot let go of a much sullied game where victories are now largely pyrrhic.  People who can turn the game of cricket management around for the better are not letting go of their silences, offering what is at best, a lip-service about the Board doing the right thing and other such.

While the Congress cannot let go of the Gandhi family, LK Advani cannot let go of the fact that today his views (about how the BJP should function and project itself ) are now dated. The elderly statesman cannot let go the fact that nobody is listening to him from his own party. The BJP in its desperation to form a Government cannot let go of their poster child Narendra Modi. On a sobering note, secular India should not let go of the fact that his name is associated with communal violence and genocide, and such a person cannot represent the notion of “India” as enshrined in its Constitution.

Arnab Goswami, Rajedep Sardesai , Barkha Dutt and their ilk cannot let go their penchant to take issues to hair splitting ends and emerge none-the-wiser, while wasting programme band-width and ignoring matters which would truly inform and galvanize the Nation.

Corporate India is no different. While Infosys cannot let go of Narayana Murthy, Narayana Murthy cannot let go of Infosys. It doesn’t need a great business analyst to understand that he had never ‘let go’ in the first place, always operating as a ghost figure.

Self-effacing “giants” in academia cannot let go of their “sacrifice”. They cannot digest the bitter truth that in their so-and-so years of teaching, the standards of academia have been dipping. Every batch is a little less interested in the subject than its predecessor, the effort put in is that much less on work and the caliber that much more blunted. But colleges cannot let go the revenue brought in by admitting a new batch no matter what the current crop’s standard is.

Starved for triumph in almost every sector, India cannot let go a Sunita Williams, Kalpana Chawla and other “Indian –origin” achievers like them as citizens and achievers of their respective countries. They are neither products of the Indian system nor beneficiaries of the Indian State. We unashamedly claim them as “our own” while burying our ineptitude in catalyzing the emergence of great leaders and achievers.

Architects cannot let go their fixation with making each building to "stand out" and each building to be a landmark, at least till the next one comes along.  They cannot let go of  0.00 as their datum level. If quality of our inhabited spaces have to improve, Citizens cannot not let go of the fact that poor habitats are more often the result of poor architecture, generally devoid of emotive content, without a sense of connect.

Landscape Architects cannot let go of the sad reality that they have been offering lip-service all this while about being environmental vanguards or at least being environmentally conscious. Solutions to our country’s  ecological and environmental issues that should have been a part of the profession’s roles and responsibilities have been shouldered admirably by others. Landscape architects do not figure in important programmes such as mapping urban open spaces, protecting waterbodies, urban ecology and landscape conservation. Landscape architects in India cannot let go the fact that despite the success of a few, the profession at large is increasingly seen as a redundant yet exalted profession of garden-makers and open space beauticians, where garden contractors are given preference over a landscape architect, simply because the former can deliver what he/she speaks.

Chariots of the Gods

The world famous Ratha Yatra (Chariot Festival) of Lord Jagannath at Puri is one of the most important festivals of Odisha. The festival celebrates the trinity of Jagannatha, Balabhadra and Subhadra and is held annually between June-July. The festival comprises of many stages such as ritual cleansing, isolation, decoration, procession, transit halt and return to the main sanctum. Each stage is steeped in meaning and mythology. 

The main attraction of the festival is the Ratha Jatra (Chariot Tour) where the three principal dieties are carried in a ceremonial procession on the main road of the city. As per ritual, every year the chariots are constructed afresh and finally disposed off after the festival is over.Only the 'Sarathi' (charioteer), Ghoda (horses), Kalasa (Crowning element) and Parswa devatas (subsidiary dieties) are not made new every year. 

The construction of the rathas is carried out as per prescribed rituals, by a team of woodcutters, carpenters, smiths, polishers, artisans, rope makers and tailors, overseen by officers. Their roles have been traditionally associated with the festival for generations just like that of the priests and the King.

Legend says that the idols were carved out of a single log of driftwood found on the seashore by alocal King. The wood species used for construction of the 3 chariots allude to a complete ecological chain and are representative of certain eco-types within the Odisha region. In a way, this references itself back to  Krishna (Jagannatha) who advocated the worship of Nature.  

The species used for the rathas comprise of dry-deciduous species - Phasi (Anogeissus accuminata), Dhaura (Anogeissus latifolia), Imli (Tamarindus indica), Moist deciduous species such as Asan (Terminalia tomentosa), Simili ( Bombax ceiba), Sal (Shorea robusta), Kansa (Hymenodictyon orixense), Moi (Lannea corommondalica), Paladhua (Erythrina indica), Mahalimba (Ailanthus excelsa), Gambhari (Gmelina arborea), and Moist evergreen species Kadamba (Neolamarckia cadamba), Kalachua (Diospyros sylvatica), Devadaru (Polyalthia longifolia). The wood of Neem (Azadirachta indica) is taken to be the driftwood species, while the thick ropes used to pull the chariots are made from coconut coir.

During the regime of Maratha rulers, traditionally the timbers for construction of grand chariots of Lord Jagannath at Puri were supplied by the King of Dasapalla, an ex-Princely State of Odisha free of cost. After merger of Dasapalla in the State during 1948, the Govt. of Odisha continued to uphold the traditional commitment for the temple. The District Forest Offices at Nayagarh, Khordha and Boudh today supply the annual requirement of timbers for the Car Festival at Puri,free of cost.

Year after year the threat of gradual depletion of natural forests has hindered the supply of such quantities of timber and fire wood of specified species. Ad-hoc exploitation in the past has further compounded the problem whereby the population of the aforesaid desired species in the forests has diminished alarmingly. 

Currently, a two pronged strategy has been conceptualised to address this problem. First, systematic management of some identified natural forest areas bearing naturally grown ratha-timber species are being taken up to meet the immediate requirement. Second, intensive plantations have been taken up under the scheme ‘Jagannatha Van Prakalpa’ (JVP) for all the ratha-timber species except Sal to meet the future requirements of car timber in a sustained manner.

However, some concerns still persist:

Natural Dense Forests are degrading due to heavy illicit felling and removal by timber mafias. As a result, adequate numbers of desired species with specified girth class are not available in the forest and the supply from the forest department is gradually diminishing.

As stated in the Revised Working Plans prepared by the Forest Divisions, the trees raised under Jagannath Vana Prakalpa will take a minimum of 35-40 years to provide small girth timber and about 70-80 years to attain exploitable girth class. Hence these are not available to meet immediate requirements.

Solutions being presented, not all of it completely acceptable, include:

1. Choice of car timber species may be changed according to availability. It has already been done in case of Rukuna Rath of Lord Lingaraj (tamarind tree is used as axle, mango log is used as bearing and Kumbhi (Careya arborea) timber is used as rest part of the solid wheel). In such a case, what happens to adherence of an age-old ritual, and more importantly, the fight to conserve such timber sock in the wild?

2. The components of grand chariots which need large girth timbers may be preserved for reuse. This goes against the religious narrative of renewal, and alludes to our inability to guarantee protection of our natural resources even for religious use.

3. Car timber yielding plants can be raised in private lands with a mindset to donate the same to Sri Jagannath Temple Administration. This is seen as shrugging of the onus of the State on to the shoulders of individuals. This strategy may last a generation or two at best, before the economics of real estate catch up with it.

4. Car timber plants should be protected by everybody in forest as well as in private holdings. This needs a State mechanism and powerful laws which will prevent illegal felling, or felling under some other pretexts.

Another point that can be made as a case is that all open spaces in Odisha should compulsorily look at renewing its native floristic stock, including the creation of urban woodlands and green belts which can be carefully monitoried for wood extraction. This would place a huge responsibility on Planners, Landscape Architects, Horticulturists and Forest Nurseries working on projects in Odisha. If adopted seriously, it will also stymie the introduction of exotics.

It is evident that a Traditional practice and religious ritual is facing some tough dilemmas. The answers to these will be seen as a mirror of our time and our race, in the years to come. As an antithesis to Erich von Daniken's hypotheses, this time around, the Chariots of Our Gods need some extraordinary help from Man. 

A Tale of Two Cities

New Delhi and Bangalore are two cities in India which carry an image of “Garden City”.  Under the British Empire, the development of New Delhi and Bangalore subscribed to a common framework, with a few differences. In whole or in parts, both cities showcase:

1. Grand Manner Planning as a Metaphor- highlighting the dominant class of society- the British
2. Emphasis on Siting, Massing and architectural character of new buildings
3. Social engineering- insulation of the European class from the Native Town
4. Insulation of the administration and ruling class by strategic positioning of the army and the Cordon Sanitaire/ Parade Grounds, to counter insurgencies with a free line of fire
5. Establishment of civic and commercial districts with easy access
6. Centralizing of services and related uses to achieve a hierarchical land use structure
7. Establishment of hygienic urban conditions for new residential areas
8. Emphasis on urban open spaces as recreation areas
9. Preservation of historic urban elements
10. Creation of streetscape to unify the city visually- Use of focal points, roundabouts and tree-lined roads

This framework can be traced back to the City Beautiful Movement in the United States that developed in response to conditions in American cities at the turn of the 20th century. Its idea of city streetscape was inspired by the tree-lined boulevards, public squares and plazas, and neoclassical architecture of European cities. It is here, on the point of tree-lined streets, that Bangalore and New Delhi share another set of similarities and differences.

In his hugely popular book “Trees of Delhi” (2006), Pradip Krishen sheds some light on the “Avenue Trees of the New Capital” about the preference for certain species by Captain George Swinton (Chairman-Town Planning Committee) and Edwin Lutyens (Chief Architect). It seems that the selection of species was concluded on the basis of visual effects such as crown silhouette, mass, shape and canopy height in order to integrate some near and distant vistas of ancient and new architecture. This need for controlled visual experiences apparently left out robust and long-lived evergreens like the banyan from most streets. Many native trees of Delhi, being summer-deciduous, never made the cut in the quest for nearly verdant cityscape, while the ones chosen for their supposed “evergreen nature” and brought in from elsewhere (e.g. moist places) changed their attributes due to the semi-arid climate of Delhi- ‘an elementary ecological miscalculation’ as Pradip Krishen puts it.

Bangalore, at the turn of the century, did not have the same striking vistas of Lutyens’ Delhi. However, being blessed with a better climate and groundwater regime and better soil, the tree-lined roads of Bangalore responded to the concept of Serial Blossoming. Advocated by Gustave Krumbeigel, the concept depended on continuous seasonal blossoms and affected the perception of the city in every season. It is likely that Krumbeigel independently derived his species along the same lines of bias as seen at Lutyens’ Delhi, reinforced with his own professional exposure and training in Europe. Here too, some of the most familiar trees favored by its native inhabitants were rejected by Krumbeigel, resulting in a short list of avenue trees for Bangalore, mostly exotic.

It is likely that, the botanical enterprise of Tipu Sultan would have also played a part in Krumbeigel’s concept. Tipu’s love for horticulture saw the import of many foreign species into Bangalore, especially the Lalbagh gardens, which were curated by Krumbeigel at the turn of the 20^th Century. "The Bangalore of Krumbiegel was a fertile lab to experiment with harnessing nature and experimenting with trees that could be imported, acclimatized and nurtured to become part of the local landscape," attests Suresh Jayaram, visual artist and art historian, who curated a multimedia exhibition on Krumbiegel's life and work in 2010, titled 'Whatever he touched, he Adorned'.

End note:

Pradip Krishen leaves us to ponder: “…the people who planned New Delhi’s avenue trees…weeded out candidates they knew to be deciduous. They got it egregiously wrong, and we are living the consequences of their miscalculations. It is this criterion for selection that explains why some of the most familiar avenue trees of the Mughals were rejected (by the British), resulting in a short list of avenue trees for Lutyens’ Delhi”.

Likewise, today, Bangalore grapples with its fair share of elementary ecological miscalculation. The sense of its native landscape is completely eroded not just with absence of trees, but also with associated landscape units like the flat valleys, rain-fed tanks, hillocks and the flora and fauna which once colonized them. Its urban landscape sees an increasing number of trees axed in the name of development.  

Both Swinton's and Krumbeigel’s concepts create an irreplaceable loss from an ecological preference point-of-view. Yet, it appears, in today’s aesthetically cleansed landscapes of phoenix and foxtail palms, duranta and plumerias the disregard towards their concepts seem like an irreplaceable loss.

Simplicity

The power of the thought, the elegance of the concept, the simplicity in expression. So simple, it can arguably be termed boring. Perhaps it is being dismissed as such, which is a pity. Indian Cities are full of unassigned voids  awaiting a Paley Park-like catalyst.

At one level it is a pocket garden/ public space. At another level, it is -to me- the willingness to accept simple interventions that end up having a profound impact on the way we see cities, nature and people.

I have been looking at it for years, yet it beguiles me.

As Ghalib concluded, "...yun hota toh kya hota..."

A Place in the Shade

The name Borivali recalls the Zizyphus trees (Bor in Marathi) which were abundant till about ten years ago. Borivali is my hometown, specifically Mandapeshwar or Mt. Poinsur. The place contains varied marks of history.  The 65 million years old landscape with yielded itself in the 5^th Century CE to the chisel marks of the stone carver at Mandapeshwar- a Buddhist era outpost along the Dahisar river.  Perhaps then the Dahisar river flowed closer to the caves. It is said, till the late 1960s, crocodiles apparently resided along the river. Nearby, was an old bridge- perhaps late 17^th Century CE- a lifeline across a river prone to floods. A thousand years ago, monks, wayfarers and merchants camped at Mandapeshwar while negotiating the route between Kanheri and the port of Sopara (present day Nala Sopara). Later, so did the Portguese invaders who came here from Bassein (Vasai) in the mid-16^th century CE, followed by Jesuit priests in the mid-19^th century.  Over the years, Mandapeshwar became Montpazier and then Mt. Poinsur.  

In this setting, Jeevan Bima Nagar, a township built by the Life Insurance Corporation of India between 1974-78 sits on a small hillock. Its slopes gradually merge with the not-too far away mangroves, tidal flats and salt pans. The layout of the colony bears influences of distinct cultures on a now famous and respected architect. It has a Radburn-like Cul-de-sac arrangement which ends into a central green. Like the traditional Indian settlements, there is no boundary wall to the township. The houses and floor plans with cascading terraces and spilt windows visually connect the residents with the existing mango orchard amidst which the majority of buildings were nestled. Contact with nature through an aperture is a design leitmotif here.

While there is no attempt to acknowledge the larger ecology and history in the Masterplan, the architect seems have enjoyed siting buildings on the sloping land. The geometries of the hill and the layout plan gave ample opportunity to demonstrate this. It created interesting possibilities like pedestrian alleys between buildings, split level entrances and a sense of relative high and low elevations which could stimulate a child’s imagination. Dry pitched walls became forts of warring kings and “Chor Police” could be played throughout the colony without having to worry about the main road traffic.

There were no badminton courts or netted cricket pitches. The rain and sun dictated the games of the season. The road was the arena and there were a few mud pockets at places to create the slush so important for football and a beating from your mother. There was no lawn. We had sun-loving hardy grasses in the unassigned spaces between buildings which became small maidans. They also substituted as congregation spaces. There was a creative use of open space, because the intent of the space was not thrust upon its residents by being "landscaped".

One had to learn how to climb trees, how to hit a six that cleared the canopy of the Pangara tree and where that snake hole was, in that culvert. There were wells which became source of water in particularly dry summers (twice) and a silent testimony to the magic of groundwater. Every child had a version of how water came to be in the well. We weren’t yet exposed to the subject of Environmental science.

My grandfather used to take long walks along unpaved trails- a pagdandi.  He would reach out and break a sturdy twig, and the next day I would have my bow. The arrows came from the broomsticks. We aimed to hit our enemy but we also learned to duck and avoid injury. We learned to jump on and tackle where leaves were littered and the banyan roots hung. Today the idea of an unpaved walkway is unpardonable, a safety floor mandatory and a jungle gym necessary.

Somewhere down the line, our parents jobs started paying better. Scooters and cars clogged our cricket pitches. Parking lots overtook our maidans. Buildings acquired compound walls and the space between buildings became filthy backyards. The jaalis unfortunately got built-up, and the window shutters devolved into sliding windows which brought in heat. A naturally cool place, Jeevan Bima Nagar started using air conditioners as the surrounding greens outside the colony gave way to rapid urbanization.  

The Dahisar river too has witnessed a change in relation to the Mandapeshwar Caves.  Today it is about 800 metres further to the east, obscured by a burgeoning Shivaji Nagar Colony. My family's  domestic backbone-Parvati bai- was a construction worker from Satara, who helped build the colony 35 years ago. Today, many like her are indispensible to the families that live in Jeevan Bima Nagar and surrounding colonies. It is where the “other half” of our lives live. They keep their colony clean and wistfully remember when the river used to flood their homes. The landscape has bound different destinies together.

The Maratha-era bridge is now gone, and the tempestuous river lies channelized, till it abates as a tidal estuary and meets the mangroves. The river today has few traces of its bygone picturesque character and is highly polluted with industrial effluents, sewage and stormwater. In recent times it had narrowed down and silted up. After the 2005 Maharashtra floods, where more than a 100 people lost their lives, the local corporation undertook a de-silting and widening project to clean up the river and prevent future flooding. There are occasional stirrings regarding the beautification/ environmental improvement of the river. The caves spring to life on Shivaratri, when the precinct is cleaned and devotees throng to seek blessings. Otherwise, it alternates as a parking lot for autorickshaws and the occasional drunken brawls. There are few interested souls in the Shivaji Nagar slums and surrounding colonies who bother with its heritage status.  The Archeological survey‘s guardianship has prevented the misuse of the place. In the last few years, the salt pans have been claimed for resorts and slums proliferate as vote banks. All this is a clear nexus with the CRZ rules. The salt makers have gone into the pages of history like the monks. The caves thankfully haven’t vanished.

Recently  the 19-acre central green area- absolute wilderness- in the colony was in threat of acquisition by market forces.  Fringe open spaces continue to be lopped off and sold to builders. Nostalgia has prompted residents to re-organize street-side games and Sunday-events for children. The community is waking up to the beauty of having undefined and hence multipurpose open spaces. The mango trees still yield fruit, albeit lesser than before. No buildings or roads disturb them as they age gracefully. But the urge to break the compound walls and let children and pets wander is an idea whose time has gone.

All of this is proof that the way we now think of boundaries and segregations has changed and needs to be integrated as experiences rather than lifeless landuses.

It does not take a degree in Architecture to realize that my house and my colony weave the outdoor and Indoor seamlessly. I did not have to look far to understand phrases like borrowed view, indirect lighting, diffused sun,  vista, threshold, transition space. It does not need a course in climatology and History of Indian Architecture to know that the buildings were oriented to harness sea breeze and keep out the sun. The windows, by their design allowed an adult and a kid to see the outdoors, and kept the rain out. The jaali brought in diffused light that had bounced off a rough plastered white blank wall of the adjoining building. The step outside each door on each floor created an aangan-like place where the fishmonger, salt seller and the milkman would navigate between noisy kids and elderly neighbours. Sight sound and smell is an integral part of living here.

It tells us that perhaps we can blur the distinction between landscape and architecture- an imagination of Architecture as a non-sanitized, inclusive environment.

This project has been relegated to a footnote status in the large body of work by the architect-Charles Correa. For me, this is one of my best references when I look for the Place of Nature in the City of the Future.

(Illustrated talk presented at the ISOLA 2012 Conference- Bhopal under Panorama: The Place of Nature in Tomorrow's City")

The futility of knowing what a Building will be

"We know what our buildings are going to be", is right now the biggest statement that is floating all around wherever I go. There is a wide ocean of possibilities that lies between Knowing and Seeking Architecture. The seeking is the journey. The knowing, is just one pit-stop on the way.

Even then, what does it take to "know " what a building ought to be? Is it enough if it creates an enclosure, functionally organizes its indoor usage and carries notions of aesthetics which are as fickle as the client's mind? Is it enough to declare that the building is planned for "flexibility of use"? Or that it superficially alludes to a sense of Place?

The design of a building cannot be just driven by the knowledge/ one's command of climatology/daylighting/floor use efficiency/ quick buildability although these are very valid parameters for a building to exist. Nor can its parts be "assigned" to various consultants from allied fields to make the building work.

If Louis Kahn's "Ask the brick what it wants to be" is any yardstick, then it takes more than just bricks and mortar to know what a building ought to be. 

The idea of declaring that one knows what the building should be /will be is like saying that we breathe with our nose. Though factually correct, the breath through the nose is the basis for engaging with Prana - vital Life.  This happens regardless of whose nose it is, or where the air is coming from. Likewise, the act of making a building has to engage the designer and the user's senses. It can only get better if it manages to communicate some poetics of Space and engages with the land on which it sits.

This is that vital Life- Prana- necessary for creating a distinction between a Building (a mere shell which panders to function aesthetics and climate) and Architecture.

There is no other way. 

Preferring Feel over Feeling is symptomatic of the various forms of disconnect we see around us, paradoxically enabled by technological connectivity. It has percolated into design of spaces, and is becoming responsible for further catalyzing the disconnect.

The sooner this is grasped...the better. Only then will we see the renaissance of Architecture with Soul. 

Flora of Mumbai-2

Continuing the tryst with Flora with an effort to understand Floristic biodiversity and landscape character, atleast three sources of information have been useful to view the Floristic composition of the landscape of the Mumbai region:

1. BOTANICAL REGION: A Botanical region is roughly similar to the geographical regions ( i.e. Malabar, Deccan, Gangetic Plains, Himalayan etc.) 
2. Forest Type of the Mumbai region (Forest Type– the coverage/ extent of any/ all floristic types.)
3. HISTORIC ACCOUNTS OF AGRICULTURAL AND HORTICULTURAL PRACTICES-  sourced from the Gazetteer of Bombay (SM Edwards 1909, Vol I pp 80- 125)

 FLORA OF MUMBAI- a brief summary:

With respect to the Botanical Regions of India, Mumbai comes under the Malabar region, which is continuous along the West Coast. This region is characterized by Tropical and Sub-Tropical Moist (Broadleaf) Forest type.

As per the eco-system classification of the Forest Types of India (Champion and Seth, 1931), the Mumbai region is dominated by the Sub-Tropical Moist Deciduous Forest type.

A study of the recordings in the Gazetteer of Bombay  (Vol I pp 80- 125  ) indicates a large portion of the natural landscape of the Bombay region having characteristics of a seasonal and Littoral Swamp- which is a different Forest Type.

The Manmade landscape of the erstwhile Bombay region is also recorded as a mixed palette of Horticultural practices –introduction of exotic/ non-native plant species (now naturalized), Fruit Orchards and Vegetable farming. 

The average rainfall of Mumbai - 2300 mm- coupled with its subtropical climate can sustain a broad palette of plant material, including exotics. In order to conserve the amount of water used in landscape irrigation and address native plant diversity, the preference of native and naturalized species over exotics, plays an important role. The Botanical diversity of the Mumbai region has some common parameters. 

	BOTANICAL REGION	FOREST TYPE
Native Forest Type	Tropical and Sub-Tropical Moist (Broadleaf) Forest	Sub-Tropical    Moist Deciduous	Tropical Seasonal  Swamp Forest
Mean Annual Rainfall	1200-3000	1900- 3000 mm	1000-2000 mm
# of Rainy Days	63-150	100-110	~ 100
# of Dry Months	3-8 months	4-6	4-6 months
Annual Mean Humidity	Upto 80%	80%	>80 %
Mean Annual Temp	24-27 C	Upto 30 C	Upto 30 C
Mean Maximum Temp	43C	40 C- 43C	-------
Natural water availability (rainfall) /natural irrigation rate	Approx 30 mm per day for 100 days	Approx 30 mm per  dayfor 100 days	Approx 20 mm per  dayfor 100 days
Species Natural Occurrence:	Albizzia spp. Dendrocalamus strictus (bamboo) Lagerstroemia spp. Mimusops elengi Schleichera trijuga Tectona grandis (teak) 10-25% Terminalia spp. Zizyphus jujuba	Atrocarpus spp. Albizzia spp. Amoora rohituka Anona spp. Eugenia spp. Michelia spp. Terminalia spp.	Borasus flabellifer Cocos nucifera Phoenix sylvestris Syzygium cumini   Mangrove scrub  Acanthus spp.  Avicennia spp.  Salvadora persica

 ISSUE:

Current horticultural practice is to provide between 4 to 6 litres per sq.mt of water during establishment and reducing to approx 3-4 litres thereon. This is due to the predominant use of lawns, exotic plants, and the urge to have a manicured look.

Compare this statistic to the natural water availability in the table above.  

LESSON:

If the Mean annual rainfall is taken as the optimum water requirement for the planting, then from this, the daily water requirement can be calculated. Due to the naturalization of these species, their ability to cope with dry spells is much more than exotics. This further reduces the daily demand for water.