The Spaces in Between

How many times have I wandered through the lanes of Panchavati in Nasik? Yet, when I went for a heritage walk after many years, there was this familiarity yet another epiphany of sorts about how architecture assimilates social fabric to create a rich tapestry of human interactions.

 People, dressed for work, hurriedly remove their shoes in the narrow lane before bowing to the deity, framed in the side window. An old lady, sitting on the sunny veranda, watches the world go by, not feeling lonely—just being herself. Children walk in groups, teasing each other, and shouting across the road to call their friends to join them. Vegetable vendors shout above the sounds of the morning, trying to draw customers across the open courtyard. And everywhere, the charm of old wooden doorways and projected balconies adds a timeless quality to the scene.

Photo Courtesy - Amrita @nashikheritagetrails

Each turn of the lane brings in new experiences, new smells, and sounds. Cows mooing, cooking smells wafting across the courtyards, ringing of temple bells, people chanting god’s name and walking towards the temple, women haggling with vegetable vendors, children running with money in their small palms to get chocolate from the small shop. All of these create a variety of interactions at every step.

Photo Courtesy - Amrita @nashikheritagetrails

People carry out their daily routine with an ease that comes with familiarity. No one seems to mind as a cow ambles in front of them, they just touch her and ask for blessings. Small ramps are made to ferry scooters in and out of courtyards. Some people park their cars far away, but it’s ok.

 Why? What makes this unique and desirable? The answer lies in the fact that this is made by people, and it has grown and adapted with generations. It has helped form a community that depends on each other, helps each other, giving solid emotional stability. The boundaries between spaces whether physical or emotional, are blurred. The idea of what is mine and can’t be shared or the concept of a breathing space is loosely defined. Even today, you’ll find women getting together on a hot summer morning, making spices together in the courtyards, or the whole neighborhood coming out to wish a child for an upcoming exam.

 Lanes, courtyards, lane crossings, balconies, and staircases are transitional spaces called liminal spaces that encourage interactions and connections. A 400-year-old banyan tree with a wraparound stone bench becomes a node for people to pause for 10 minutes to catch up with friends. A courtyard threshold becomes a space for a woman to share her emotions with a friend. These pause points are what create the community's well-being.

The spaces have evolved over a century, lending organic growth, with people inhabiting these lanes for generations. Some spaces have been repurposed. A veranda converted into a small soda shop or a printing shop. Someone is selling homemade spices and such in the courtyard. Some courtyards even have a cow or two lazily grazing on fresh grass bought and offered by the devotees.

Human-centric design in architecture is gaining momentum. A design approach that puts the user in the process of design. It looks at what people want, empathises with their needs, aspirations and community values. Apparently, it has huge emotional and physical benefits to the people who use these spaces.

Liminal spaces play a huge role in the human-centric design approach. These inconspicuous spaces foster communication, and connections, vital for emotional well-being.

Next time you come across a space like that, note how it affects your mood. Does it make you feel like lingering around bit longer? Does it make you want to smile and initiate a mundane conversation with a stranger?

Let me know.

 

 

Conversations on architecture

"The joy of 'knowing' is in sharing that knowledge"

Are you wondering who said that? Sounds profound, but then, I can be like that. 

This profound awareness came when we started online design studios. Who would have thought that it was possible? The genesis of an architectural design studio is in understanding the 'gesture design'. For the un-initiated, a gesture design is lots of gestures explaining the ideas in ones' mind without actually drawing them on paper. This involves hand movements to engage teacher's attention, throwing in words like 'interesting forms.' 'framing the views,' and pointing to some seemingly random point on a blank paper, as to where the building, road, entrance and the north are.

All this while the teacher trying to comprehend what's happening in the brain behind the gestures. Trying to make sense of the lines drawn or not drawn on the paper. Multiple thoughts racing through the mind like, is this working? does it have any merit? is it possible to direct this to a meaningful outcome? And then, the hand starts to draw, remembering to piece together a cohesive design through the gestures, explaining the possibilities of that yet-to-be-discovered design. The pencil lines on the paper, the scribbles of sections, bits of perspectives follow words and thoughts to form ideas.

This needs physical space. The entire process of going back and forth is mutual. A student and a teacher conversing in the language of design. There are also hilarious moments of rotating the semi-blank paper asking to point to the north and the mumble that accompanies even more wild gestures. 

It is very very difficult to do this in a virtual world where the video is off and you can't see the expressions, where the whiteboard facility on your computer app can't keep up with your thought process or the mouse has a mind of its own. Then there are innumerable "am i audibles"?? and "feeble networks". But, resilient as we are, we are finding ways to navigate through difficulties of virtual design classes because the joy is in sharing and the joy is in exchange. 

Discussions are an integral part of understanding architecture as much as it is through observation.  Be it classroom discussions, discussions on field trips, meeting great architects and listening to them, questioning them, banter with friends and colleagues, diatribes about who's the best architect in the whole world or gossip about how so-and-so didn't deserve an award for a so-and-so-building. 

Most architects love to reminisce about the long chats on design ideas over 'chai.' The thing we unanimously miss the most amongst the faculty of architecture in this pandemic, is the animated discussions we have in the classroom and outside of it with students and between ourselves too.

This need to talk, banter, diatribe, dialogue, discourse, discuss...stems form the same urge to 'know' and to share what we 'know'. 

Fortunately for me and my architect friends, we found joy in asking and knowing, in an unexpected way through the pandemic. We started conversing with architects on social media apps. Sitting at home we connected with the architecture community across cities and countries to learn and share. Initial apprehension of 'will architects talk to us' dissolved as we realised that everyone has a story to tell and a desire to contribute to this profession. We call our virtual meeting space, 'design adda', a place where like-minded people come together for conversation. 

Each conversation we've had on adda has brought about more awareness of the design thought process, architectural practices, real world challenges. Each question we've asked thoughtfully with an intention to bring about the most productive response while each answer has been fielded with genuine transparency to make it useful for the young professionals. The topics have ranged from sustainability to urban regeneration to illustrations. As I look back, I know it has widened my horizon a bit more. 

We still look forward to the day when we can do an adda in person over a hot cup of 'chai', laughing about the technical glitches and the ubiquitous "am I audible?" discussing what we like the most, architecture.

Hand drawn sketch for 
design exploration

Whiteboard sketch