Local architecture, hugely in uenced by the West, is now nding its way back to its roots — with lime plastering, stone and ironwork popping up on large, prestigious projects
Jaalis,
To paint the Chand Baori stepwell of Jaipur in the traditional miniature style cannot be an easy thing to do. For Jaipur-based painter Rajnish Nimbark, to paint it upside down onto a semi-vaulted ceiling, was downright Escherian in complexity. “Even the trees were upside down,” he exclaims. Nimbark was tasked with bringing alive the walls and ceilings of the recently-opened Museum of Meenakari Heritage with frescoes depicting scenes of Indian festivals such as Diwali, Holi and patangbaazi (kite-ghting). “I’ve been doing this for 30 years, but I had never done that before.”
Over 1,800 km away in Bhubaneswar, Krushi Bhawan, the ve-year-old oce building for the state department of agriculture (and a pet project of Chief Minister Naveen Patnaik), boasts an equally distinct visual identity. One hundred artisans from Odisha wove farmland folklore and mythology into dhokra-style light xtures, pattachitra-style carvings on laterite walls, and a brick facade inspired by ikat textile patterns. “We did not know we could do anything dierent,” says Sesha, one of the craftspeople in a promotional video. “Earlier, we did carvings for temples. It was only after this project that we realised our skills could be applied in other architectural projects.”
The idea for the frescoes came from Nisha Vikram, founder of CraftCanvas, an outt that has been connecting craft communities focused on painting with urban customers since 2011, while Sibanand Bhol’s Collective Craft, an organisation that drives innovation among artisan communities, worked with the Odisha craftspeople. Both are frequent collaborators of New Delhi-based design rm Studio Lotus, who spearheaded the two projects.
“What many don’t know is that [jewellery designer] Sunita
Shekhawat was unhappy with the building that was originally constructed,” says Studio Lotus co-founder Ankur Choksi, talking about the agship meenakari store and museum. “Instead of tearing it down, we suggested dressing it up inspired by the many architectural movements — Rajput, Mughal and Art Deco — seen in Jaipur and Jodhpur to give it a sense of place.” This is evident in the red sandstone facade, hand-carved jaalis and araish lime stucco.
Since it opened, the museum has been hailed for proudly staking claim to an Indian craft that denotes luxury. And in its design, it also signals a rising trend in commercial and public architecture, where traditional craft meets contemporary design in new and exciting ways.
Return of swadeshi architecture
This is remarkable considering the history of crafts in India — crafts that are as diverse in material and expression as the regions to which they belong. “Before 1850, there was a burst of creative output,” explains Siddhartha Das, an artist, curator and designer who has worked with craft communities for over 20 years. “There were lots of princely kingdoms with an incredible amount of individualism, and a great fervour for making.” As the British took over, a lot of these forms of making either died out or mutated to meet the needs and desires of a distant market. Post-Independence, he says, there was a dierent kind of fervour — for khadi and swadeshi, driven by a very specic sense of euphoria and purpose to build something new.
In those decades, legendary architects such as Charles Correa ( Jawahar Kala Kendra, Jaipur), B.V. Doshi ( JD Centre of Art, Ahmedabad), Nimish Patel and Parul Zaveri of Abhikram (The Oberoi Udaivilas, Udaipur), and Vasant and Revathi Kamath (Museum of Tribal Heritage, Bhopal), among others, tapped into India’s abundant and diverse craft-based resources and knowledge to create buildings that were at once contextual, rooted in the vernacular, and sustainable.
It is a practice that has somewhat waned in the 21st century, says Mumbai-based architect Sanjay Puri. As designers and clients looked to the West for inspiration, and aspired to sketch cityscapes strung with glass skyscrapers, this search for a new idiom took a backseat. But working with craft communities is “becoming a priority again now”, he says, especially for site-specic architecture.
The last few years have seen several examples across the country, from the new Parliament building, with its jaalis and red sandstone cladding, to Bengaluru’s Kempegowda Terminal 2, which has used bamboo and traditional rattan weaving to great eect.
Why is craft largely missing in the public sector?
Recently, in the Nokha district of Rajasthan, Puri convinced his clients to expand their vision for a memorial for the family patriarch into something that serves the community. While for their home, he integrated crafts, including meenakari, miniature painting, lime plastering, marble carving and tile laying, for the accompanying open-access community centre, his rm employed local craftspeople and materials from the 114 villages of the district (such as sandstone and its carvers), to line the corridors and the facade of the building. “We had forward-thinking clients, but it’s not necessarily a spike in demand,” shares Puri, when asked if there is a greater call to integrate craft in their briefs. A majority of these requests come from the private sector, as government involvement in this eld is fairly low at present.
It’s not a lack of opportunity that is stopping the public sector from adopting craft, either. “There is plenty of scope for craft in public spaces — for instance, at railway stations. But what have we done? We have FRP murals instead of stonework. Somewhere, there is a lapse in understanding in the people involved,” says Bhol. Lack of time is another deterrent. “Iconic public buildings using craft are fewer in number today because we are constructing at a much faster pace. Everything has a short deadline, so the engagement is not there. If the government could develop a framework or an SOP for engaging with craftspeople, with terms and conditions that reect the true on-ground realities, that would help.”