Friday, April 29, 2011

This is What Makes a Trip Special

I wanted to put up a short post today to highlight an event that to me was quite special and meaningful and really is what makes a trip unique and fun. I almost included this in the previous post, but thought that it deserved its own. One of the things about being on your own is that you have the flexibility just to get up and go somewhere else one day whether for fun or for the project. A downside though is that you are always traveling alone. That is what makes it special when strangers reach out and take you in as a friend.

That’s what this post is about. Now I understand that when traveling you have to be careful and wary of who you trust and with what, but at the same time you cannot be too afraid or paranoid or else you will miss on special opportunities that can really make a trip. The day after I went to Agra I had such an experience. A last minute e-mail from a member of the Central Building Research Institute called me up to Roorkee for an afternoon to visit the Institute and learn what they are doing. I have already discussed some of this in my previous post on what a sustainable building is in India, and so I will not discuss that here. Instead what made the day special was what happened on the way back to Delhi.

As usual, I had taken a book with me to occupy myself on the 4 hour train ride. I sat in my upper berth reading and from time to time watching the people across and below sleeping, chatting away in Hindi, or occasionally playing cards. I had not heard any English on my way into the train, and no one seemed keen to talk with me, so I had figured I would settle on my book at least for a while. However after about an hour, I was startled up from my reading by a voice below. “Would you like some dinner?”

Politely, I declined, figuring that it was an offer of politeness and not necessarily a true invitation. Besides, a warning in my head about drugged sweets on trains to Varanasi made me a bit wary and so I figured I would pass. But this speaker was persistence. They asked again and showed me the food, ready on a plate, and being shared by several others in their group. After thinking it over, I figured that the worst that could happen was that they would demand money at the end. So why not, I thought, and dropped down from my bunk to join them at their crowded bench.

With big smiles they squished me into their seating area, right in the middle, and watched joyfully as I ate the food they put before me. The patriarch of the group explained that they were a group of 175 in total from Ahmedabad in Gujarat returning from a religious pilgrimage to Haridwar. For the long journey they had packed food but had extra and were happy to share and so invited me in to join. They asked what I was doing in India, and I explained myself, and then we talked for the rest of the ride (about 3 hours) on various subjects—India, America, engineering, religion, politics, and a host of others that I cannot now remember. One by one, they fetched the members of their group to come by and say hello, and in some cases snap a photo.

The whole experience was great, and at the end I was a bit saddened to say goodbye to my new friends who had so quickly and genuinely welcomed me into their family group, fed me, and made the ride much more enjoyable. We exchanged e-mails and phone numbers, and I promised to send the pictures and call if or when I made it down to Ahmedabad. Bidding them a safe journey, I headed on my way and left them to continue down the tracks to Gujarat.

As I said, you have to take some precaution when traveling alone, but if you don’t take a few chances, you won’t meet friendly people as I did. It is amazing how often on this trip I have made new friends who just come into my life for a few hours and then are not to be seen or heard from again. Yet these encounters make the trip far more enjoyable, less lonely, and provide memories that are unique to my trip to India (or wherever).

Thursday, April 28, 2011

A Teardrop on the Face of Eternity

I’ll return now to more of my travel adventures having written last about sustainable buildings in India. It was the day after the close of the conferences I mentioned in that post that I embarked on a day trip to see the single most famous building in India. Whether it is also sustainable, I cannot say, but it certainly has lasted for centuries and is just as gorgeous today as it was years ago.

It is very convenient that Agra, home of the Taj Mahal, is only a short train ride from Delhi. With the amount of tourists heading there daily, trains ply the route frequently and quickly, whisking you there in the morning, giving you 8 hours to see the city, and then returning you to Delhi in time to get a good night’s sleep. It was nice to finally have a single easy trip to my weekend destination, though this one did take me several tries to book—the lure of the Taj means that the root is one of the most popular in India.

However as soon as you step out of the train in Agra, be ready to fight for every last penny. Because of the touristic nature of the city, the hawkers and touts are worse here than in many parts of the country. As soon as I had hit the platform, I was mobbed by drivers asking if I wanted a rickshaw or, as they rightly guessed, I wanted to see the Taj. Wading through the mob of people, I found the pre-paid auto-rickshaw booth (use one if you can—always) to book my driver for the day. Here, however, was a clever driver who was waiting just for people like me. Though he seemed kind enough by offering to, for the same fare and pre-paid slip, drive me in his A/C car rather than a rickshaw, I was to learn that he was not the same as a driver in a rickshaw. First, after I had been frustrated at his pushing more expensive options on me, he finally settled for what I wanted but then just as I was about to hand over my money slyly slipped in that I would have to pay for parking at all stops as well, about 20 rupees per stop. Feeling cheated, I told him no until he finally relented and gave me the price on the board. As I’ve come to learn in India, even when a sign says something is a certain price or is available, don’t assume that is true until you sk. You may still have to fight tooth and nail to get the advertised price.

Finally we were on our way to the Taj Mahal. Though the driver went slower than I thought he should (we were being passed by rickshaws), we finally made id, and I was off on my first adventure of the day. After standing in the long line for security (like everywhere in India, you must go through a metal detector just to get in the door), I entered the grounds of this most famous of all Indian buildings. What I walked into was an entry plaza ringed with sandstone buildings beautifully ornamented and skillfully carved, arranged around a central plaza of grass and walkways. To my left, just over the top of one of the buildings I got my first glimpse of the white marble beauty hiding in the next court. I moved slowly to the center of the plaza, turned to my left, and there beheld my first sight of the Taj Mahal. Through the doorway of the ornate sandstone gateway it sat, visible and yet framed in such a way as to draw you closer—clearly there was more to be revealed.

I crept closer, keeping my eye on the doorway and the marble beauty beyond until finally I had gone up the steps and through, emerging into the grand plaza beyond. There it sat, resplendent in the late morning sun and brilliantly white against the blue sky in the back. The forecourt led visually and literally up to its steps as pool after pool ran elegantly from the gateway to the magnificent marble tomb at the end. An appropriate distance away on either side sat a sandstone outbuilding, one a mosque, where devotees still pray every Friday.

The sight was breathtaking. It was an absolute masterpiece visually, and the brilliance of the Taj was gorgeous. I stood for a few minutes simply admiring the sight, that is when I could get to the banister overlooking the courtyard. Between the other tourists and the photographers regularly clearing the banister for a paying customer to pose (rather annoying since I paid to see the thing just like everyone else), it was hard to get a chance just to gaze on the building. Even with the hustle around, the sight of it was peaceful. In fact, the crowded nature was almost invisible at times as I stared out over the pathway leading up to the Taj. When not in my trance, I couldn’t help but think how incongruous the loud throngs of tourists were in this place of peace. You have to recall that this was built as a memorial for Mumtaz, Shah Jahan’s favorite wife. It was not meant to be a public gathering place but rather one man’s memorial to his beloved. Its intent was as a peaceful place of reflection and remembrance. It is almost desecrating the grounds, in my opinion, to have tourists boisterously overrun the site.

As you approach the Taj, the beauty changes and the details come into focus. Rather than seeing the beauty as a whole, you begin to see the carefully scripted Arabic around the doorways, the marble bricks and seams, and the incredible precious stone inlays in gorgeous flower patterns. The dissolving effect of the whole to these details is incredible and provides another layer of depth to the whole building.

Head into the building, and aside from being crammed in with lots of loud tourists, many of whom are disrespecting the “No Photography” policy and prompting a whistle from the understaffed guard, there is a reverence to the space. The interior suffused with light and filled with still air gave the spot a holiness suitable for an emperor and his wife. Through jalli screens the tombs of the two were visible, lying eternally in the center of the main room. Again, I couldn’t help but think that the noise and illegally snapped photos destroyed the intended ambience of the tomb, but with the masses parading through daily, I suppose that is inevitable.

I spent more time outside admiring the building and sitting in the warm spring air contemplating the whole beauty of the site from behind a row of flowers and bushes, but before I knew it, I had to move on to see the rest of Agra’s history before my train back to Delhi. I rejoined my driver who said we were off to the Agra Fort. But first, he said, we were going to see another of Agra’s famous sights. A note to fellow travelers: anytime a driver says something like that, it almost always means you are going shopping, and likely to a store where he will get a commission. That’s what happened to me. We ended up at a jewelry store where I was pressured into viewing stones that supposedly only come from the region around Agra. They are exceptionally beautiful in their color and the fact that when subjected to a single light, they throw a star across the whole stone. The jeweler tried to explain to me that the fact that the center of the star moved over the stone when he rotated it was because the “mica,” this mysterious fourth element inside, was moving within the rock. Wanting only to get on to seeing the real sights of Agra, I didn’t argue the point with him, but my training at Harvey Mudd had taught me much better than to believe this explanation (in my head, lessons on crystallography, refraction, etc. were running around, working out the true answer. I’d be happy to discuss with anyone interested).

Finally getting a chance to excuse myself, I headed back to my driver, told him the disappointing news (for him) that I did not buy anything, and then we headed to the Agra Fort. This mighty sandstone edifice was once the seat of power for the Mughal rulers before the capital was shifted to Delhi. It still retains its regal look even despite centuries of minor decay. While not, in my opinion, as impressive as the Rajasthani forts because it is not as well preserved, it is still worth a visit in part for its views of the Taj. One whole side overlooks the Yamuna River and the Taj sitting elegantly on the bank, including the tower where Shah Jahan was imprisoned by his son for the last years of his life. For those unfamiliar with the history, not long after the Taj’s completion, Shah Jahan was deposed by his son (quite a violent race the Mughals were) and imprisoned in a tower in the Agra Fort. Here he lived out his days only able to gaze on his monument to his beloved without being able to visit her.

I wandered through this impressive structure, or at least the part that is open to the public. A section is still used to house troops, and for obvious reasons I could not get in there. Yet after the Taj, it was not as magnificent, and soon I was back in the car to head to the “Baby Taj,” another Tomb, also in marble, for a court advisor named Itimad ud-Daulah that sits across the Yamuna from the masterwork. Yet once more, before arriving at this destination, I was off to see another masterpiece of Agra—this time a stone works. After being shown how the workers inlay precious stones to marble “just as their ancestors did when they worked on the Taj,” I was led into the sales room. A bit frustrated by the pressuring and pitches of the salesman (plus dubious about whether these workers received much if any of the sales money), I told him I was a poor student and thought I had escaped before being led into the cheaper goods room. Now, reservations and knowledge that I was being scammed aside, I did find the pieces beautiful and ended up buying a couple of small trinkets for loved ones and friends. So, then, how did I know I was being scammed this whole time? When I emerged with a bag from the store, I got a hug from my driver. Clearly my purchase meant he got some money too.

After this, we were off again to the Baby Taj. Now in the late afternoon sun, the white marble and sandstone used to create this building were gorgeous in the orange light of the evening (made more orange by the industrial smog around Agra—I don’t entirely believe that the city is free of industry as the craftsmen tried to tell me in the shops). Though not as large or magnificent as its cousin across the river, this tomb has its own charm and is much more peaceful that its famous relative. I was able to sit and enjoy the building as it was meant to be—in quiet and with an atmosphere of peaceful reverence. Again, the interior of the building was clearly perfectly designed for the function. Light shone in through the doorways in shafts that created a diffuse light throughout and at times cast a spotlight on the tombs in the center—the main features of the domed center. It was a gorgeous effect and fitting for the afterlife of a famous and wealthy man.

After some peace and running into a couple of Minnesotans, it was off to the station to end my day. I thanked my guide and headed back to Delhi for the end of my Agra trip. However, before I let you all go, a few more things. As you’ve been reading, perhaps you have been recalling some stories of the Taj from school days or common culture. I know I did while visiting. I remember my 10th grade World History teacher explaining that there was intended to be another Taj in black marble across the river to house the body of Shah Jahan but that it was never completed and then destroyed. I also recall being taught in school that the craftsmen lost their hands so they could never again make something so beautiful. If you go to India, you will hear these stories as well as a multitude of others including one I was told that the ceiling has a hole that lets in a small shaft of light and rain but that no one can find to seal up.

Well, sorry to spoil your fun, but according to all fact-checked sources, none of these three are true no matter what your guide may say. According to Lonely Planet (which typically is more accurate than Indian street guides) there is no archaeological evidence of a black Taj despite extensive excavations and no historical record or proof that the craftsmen were mutilated. Finally, there is no corroboration of the story of the hole in the ceiling, and visually there is no mysterious shaft of light. If someone has evidence to prove any of these wrong, feel free, but I just thought I’d share before I signed off. One other thing: for those literary types, the title of this post is not my invention, but rather the words of Bengali poet Rabindranath Tagore. I'm not quite so romantic or eloquent.

One more thing before I sign off—the obligatory photos of me enjoying the sights. It’s been a while since I posted pictures of me enjoying these places about which I write. And to pre-empt the comments, yes my hair and beard are getting long, and as I write (three months later), they are even longer!

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Would You Want to Live Underground?

I want to depart for today from India in my blog for a brief moment. In my travels I’ve hit two of four BRIC countries already and am thinking that I may try to hit a third (Brazil) as well, though no plans have been made. But I never considered the “R” in that acronym despite its importance as a world power. That was not for lack of interest in the Russian culture or history (on the contrary, I would relish the opportunity to visit St. Petersburg, Moscow, or the Great Gate of Kiev so immortalized in classical music, or rather where they were meant to be. I was also very jealous of a fellow traveler I met who had taken a trip across the trans-Siberian railway). No, in fact my lack of interest in Russia was merely that I had not found a viable eco-city site to study. Well I stumbled today across this article on a plan unveiled in November of last year to build a subterranean Eco-City in an abandoned coal mine under the ice in Siberia. The article doesn’t give a lot of detail, but it does offer an interesting concept.

The article says that they will pipe sunlight into the development from the surface (assuming the pipes are free from snow), but it still makes me question whether that is a good way to live. I don’t know that I personally would want to live underground, void of natural light, air, and views for my life, no matter how much science fiction has glorified or predicted the necessity of the idea. However, on the other hand, in a place like Siberia where heating is vastly important to living, burying the civilization in the relatively warmer ground where it is not affected by the weather patterns outside would make it easier to efficiently heat the civilization on a large scale. Furthermore, with the number of abandoned mines worldwide, this could provide a model for the future in several nations. I guess there are tradeoffs in every situation, but to me the overarching question is simply “Would you want to live underground?”

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

What Does a Sustainable Indian Building Look Like?

I have been going chronologically in terms of my adventures with some of these supplementary posts on my actual work, and today I’m continuing that but stepping out of the chronological a bit in terms of the meetings on which I draw for this post. As I am writing this much later than my trips to Jaisalmer and Jodhpur (which some of you may have read about last time) , I can draw on more opinions and make this post of greater value intellectually. And the reason for doing this now is that hopefully my comments about historic buildings in my last post on Jaisalmer and Jodhpur raised some issues about what sustainability looks like in the Indian context, or rather whether the current trajectory needs to be reconsidered. In this post I want to dissect this a little bit more thoroughly, highlighting what I see as the themes in the small but growing sustainability movement within India.

One of the first meetings I had, with a member of The Energy and Resources Institute (TERI, which, for the climate change watchers out there is the Institute from which Dr. R.K. Pachauri, head of the IPCC hails) exposed the first trend that became very obvious throughout my time in India—developers, professionals, and building owners in India have an obsession with certifications. This means that there are a number of professionals who seek our certification under LEED, GRIHA, or other such schemes (if you don’t know these acronyms, keep reading) and become certified professionals capable of certifying green buildings and projects. On the surface this sounds very good, yet the problem is that this has led to a proliferation of consultancies in a world where developers too are clamoring for certification. As my friend David Wittenberg is fond of saying, all it takes to be a consultant is a sign on your door that reads “Consultant,” and in the sustainability movement in India this is certainly true. Differentiating the real, knowledgeable companies from those out to capitalize on the green agenda is tough, especially for the numerous small to mid-size developers who do not know the field and who lack the money to pay for some of the larger more established firms.

The result is a collection of projects that claim to be targeting certification under LEED or one of the other schemes but then fail to achieve the targets. Or, perhaps more common, many projects advertise “green” features, only to then eliminate many of these in value engineering later on. It is amazing tow walk down the metro stations and look at the number of advertisements for new, “green” housing and then actually follow it up with some online research. You find that “green” often means a higher window to wall ratio, central air-conditioning with a diesel power back-up, and a garden with the building. Can you find the green features? Well, if you go by color, yes the last one is, but if you go by performance, in Delhi’s climate none of this are (the last could be, but the images inevitably show grass and European shrubs, not native plants). But you can bet that in each of these projects there is a sustainability consultant involved who made a buck or two.

Now before it sounds like I am discrediting out of hand India’s green movement, I want to quickly say that there are some excellent consultancies and projects that really are very sustainable. Most of my information on green buildings in India comes from a dedicated group of professionals, all of whom know one another, who practice excellent design and very adeptly integrate passive techniques with modern technology. One need to look no further than the work of Ashok Lall, Vinod Gupta, Sanjay Prakash, Ashish Karode, and Rajesh Dongre to know that there are environmentally-sensitive architects practicing in India whose work rivals that of any other such designer worldwide. On the consultancy end, Spectral Services and Godrej make up the two largest consulting firms with other smaller players such as Green Buildings India and Kalpakrit entering the field with high levels of competency. The belief that India is moving toward a greener standard for buildings is also supported by the staggering growth in registered floor space under both the LEED and GRIHA sustainable building rating schemes (again, keep reading and I promise I will explain these acronyms).

However, for those who have taken a glance at the websites linked to the names above, you may already have a sense of the second trend in sustainable projects in India—they are typically of a relatively small size. With some exceptions of government, educational, and a few IT campuses (IT giant Infosys is incredibly progressive in its sustainability measures), most projects executed by the architects above are fairly small in size. They typically perhaps are a single institutional or commercial building, an office fit out, or a single home. Developers have yet to jump on the green bandwagon in a meaningful way; it has been jargon only that they have adopted. The reason for this was given to me in another meeting with one of the architects above. He said that, to put it bluntly, architects in India are often treated as “glorified draughtsmen,” and then paid as such. What this means is that on the whole, spending on the architect’s portion of the project is very low relative to the entire project budget. For those familiar with the field or who have been reading my blogs, you will know that this stage of the project where you have the most potential to integrate good, sustainable design is in the architect’s hands. Yet without a large budget, architects cannot make effective sustainable choices. It is always a fight to convince developers who do not yet understand that spending a bit more up front will save in construction and engineering later in the project. They instead go by previous projects where they limited the architect’s portion of the project and were able to sell the building for profit. This marginalization of architects deters others from engaging meaningfully in sustainability within their practices since it is a costly venture, and furthermore encourages them to hand projects to recent graduates who are paid less (“green” architects, if you will, but not the right “green”).

This latter point leads into another discouraging note on Indian sustainability but this one instead with a positive trend. Current education in Indian architectural schools does not encourage sustainability in the curriculum. Students may be introduced to simulation programs and the basics of sustainable design, but on the whole they do not get a comprehensive introduction and do not graduate with an idea that this should be integrated into the process of design throughout. Now when you think that these are the ones doing most of the designing in India you see why it is a discouraging trend. Furthermore, the sense of academic research is very different in India. Independent research is unheard of among students, graduate level work does not have the same support or culture of providing new concepts for industry as it does in America and Europe, and worst of all, I am led to believe that plagiarism is common and ignored by professors in general. One commenter even said that students graduate without reading the building codes—they read instead whatever the shortest summary is when they Google “Indian Building Codes.” Given this, you are probably wondering how I can say this has an encouraging trend. Well, the good news is that this is changing. A growing number of architects are going abroad to be trained and becoming inculcated in the sustainability and research traditions of the US and Europe. They in turn are introducing this to universities in India as visiting professors or carrying it on in their practices, thereby training young architects in new modes of design. Furthermore, under pressure from the Western world, India’s own universities are developing new focuses on research and are rapidly trying to become more modern in their methods. It doesn’t come easy to Indian schools, but it is happening. In architecture, this is indicated by a growing number of MA programs in architecture and landscape architecture.

Education and research at the university level is one thing, but with the current lack of green buildings in India, it is clear that education at the professional and everyday social levels are also needed. And frankly, this is one point that gives me some hope but also provokes an interesting question. Let me explain what I mean. I attended several conferences the week after I returned from Jodhpur and Jaisalmer and at all of them had the pleasure of listening to several ministers discuss the programs in place for advancing energy efficiency and sustainability in India. By all accounts, it seems that there is a firm foundation in place for educating professionals and citizens about sustainable building and energy efficiency. There are several nationally sponsored programs to train engineers and architects, others at the levels of cities and states, and campaigns to raise awareness about the availability of energy efficient appliances and fixtures. In addition, in the professional community, incentives for using the GRIHA green building rating system are meant to encourage professionals to become trained and implement the system. This is definitely positive.

What is interesting is that either through differences of opinion on what defines sustainability or because of the tradition of large bureaucracy in India, the green building movement in the country is somewhat fragmented. I don’t necessarily identify this as a positive or negative trend, but rather just as a trend since I’m not sure what to make of it. But what became clear at these conferences is that there are two very strong green building movements—LEED and GRIHA—for new buildings and one—the BEE 5 Star System—for existing buildings. For those familiar with the US context, you may have heard of LEED, or Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design. Originally developed by the US Green Building Council, it spread to India through an agreement with the fledgling Indian Green Building Council several years back. This allowed USGBC to retain some authority over the program while letting the Indian leaders adapt it to their context. Simultaneously, TERI, the institute I have previously mentioned, developed its own rating known as GRIHA, or Green Rating for Integrated Habitat Assessment. The latter has now been adopted by the Ministry of New and Renewable Energy as the official rating system of the Government of India.

The challenge here is that there are strong proponents in favor of each rating system and no sign of a merger of the systems in the near future. Proponents of LEED back its international basis and reliance on codes as a baseline that are used in countries worldwide. Opponents criticize the system as being based on an American building model where technologies such as air conditioning are expected in any constructed space. This was the feeling of the group that developed GRIHA at least. They were of the opinion that India needed a system that was just as applicable to non-air conditioned spaces as to air conditioned buildings; GRIHA was seen as the means of achieving this. The problem is that now India has two systems that rate buildings in the same categories albeit with slightly different metrics, are both vying for market share in India, and both of which claim to be applicable to the Indian market. LEED currently has the upper hand in terms of built space simply because it is better established, but GRIHA now has a government mandate for all new national government spaces. There seemed to be a feeling among architects that GRIHA is better developed for Indian buildings, but at the same time most acknowledged that the international label of LEED was still preferred by some clients. The concern from my perspective is that having two rating systems could lead developers to be unsure of which to pursue and in the end either try to over commit and due both only to fall short or to do neither until one emerges as the winner. On the other hand, with the amount of development occurring in India, there is room in my opinion for both systems to coexist, have their market share, and advance thinking on sustainable buildings. This is the case now and may be for a while, but we will see how it plays out.

Personally, I rather like the GRIHA system because the thinking behind its formation highlights the trend in India which gives me the most hope for sustainable buildings in the nation. This is the penchant for looking backwards among the (few) academicians studying this subject in order to determine what happens going forward. In my post about Jaisalmer and Jodhpur I referred frequently to the sustainable “technologies” that these ancient structures incorporated and developed. Whereas LEED typically pulls from a baseline of modern buildings, GRIHA was developed by researchers who really considered what buildings were like in the past and how they incorporated passive design by region to achieve low energy, comfortable buildings. This trend is not just limited to the researchers at TERI either. Several of the independent architects with whom I met talked about performing their own research projects to study how buildings and landscapes in the past contributed to the environmental and comfort performance of the space. They studied the organization of streets, their relation to landforms, the windows and screens of the buildings, and the massing to gain insights on what a modern low energy building should be. At the Central Building Research Institute (CBRI) in Roorkee, there was a whole research team devoted to learning about traditional materials and design techniques for low-cost, high-performance housing. Some of the models they had on site were truly incredible as well. It was refreshing to see science giving credence to traditional building techniques, explaining why they work, and then incorporating those ideas into new forms of architecture and design.

This habit of looking back to go forward is something that was missing in China and was only present in Abu Dhabi through Masdar (which was initiated by a British architect, Norman Foster). These two countries were so absorbed in the Western model of development, they had forgotten to consider their own heritage beyond the aesthetics (and in China, usually not even that much). The result is buildings that do not perform adequately in the climate, are not responsive to seasonal changes, and are generally uncomfortable to live in unless you have a lot of technology to stabilize the internal environment. For this reason, I have a lot of hope for India. It is partly out of necessity with such a large impoverished population that they are looking at traditional techniques and low-cost building, but it is more because of the importance of the past in the culture that this is an integral part of the sustainable building movement. It surprised me a bit to find this to be the case, but as I have said refreshing. There truly is a lot that can be learned from these historic designs—years of wisdom and refining of knowledge went into making some of what still stands today. To dismiss that and adopt wholesale what is imported from the US or Europe is a mistake. Therefore, I think that even though the Indian sustainability movement is small now and has some other discouraging trends, if it retains its view to the past, I anticipate a strong growth in its development in the coming years. More importantly, it will be an Indian style green building movement that will cater to the peculiarities of the Indian market and therefore be self-sustaining and hopefully have fewer of the resource issues that are being predicted to plague China in the coming years.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Why Don’t We Build Them That Way Anymore?

My third weekend excursion from Delhi changed direction from my previous two. Whereas in my visits to Chandigarh and Amritsar, I had been carried up north, I now reversed course and went south into the state of Rajasthan—the desert state of India. Here, camels roam, kingdoms of sandstone rise from plains of sand, and, hard as it is to imagine in a country whose worst disasters can be monsoons, life without water is the norm. Though there are many famous and beautiful cities in Rajasthan, this trip carried me to just two of them: Jaisalmer and Jodhpur.

My trip started on a Saturday evening as I boarded the sleeper train for Jaisalmer. I wasn’t too sure what to expect as I’d only ridden in the coach cars previously. Well, it turns out that China still has India beat on train travel. In China, the lowest sleeper class was fitted with 6 beds complete with sheets and pillow in each separated compartment (meaning each had a door). In India, the lowest sleeper class meant there were still six beds, but no sheet and no door. What’s more, people who were only traveling short distances bought tickets that allowed them to come sit on the lower beds with sleeper passengers until their destinations. For me with a lower berth ticket, that meant that I could not easily go to sleep when I wanted due to extra people beyond just those 6 in our little train compartment sitting, eating, playing cards, and generally hanging out on my bed.

When finally these extra passengers departed, I figured I could stretch out, claim my bed, and get some shut eye. That I did, but due to the cold, soon found myself curled up in a ball just to keep warm (it turns out the Rajasthani desert in winter chills at night, and when the window on the train doesn’t properly close, it gets frigid). Well, on about 3 am I woke up due to some noise or bump in the train’s motion and found that another intermediate passenger had decided that since I wasn’t using my full bed, that gave him right to use the empty space. He too was curled up at the foot of my berth meaning that I could not stretch out had I wanted to (which I did). All I could do was think that this was India—in a country so full of people without the more modern trains of China, this was the result. Who could blame him for taking the extra space to try and get some sleep? It inconvenienced me and I felt a bit put off since I had paid more for the right to that space, but I just let it go and figured that this was India and I had to understand that this was normal.

The next time I woke up my bedmate was gone, and before I knew it, daybreak had arrived and I could no longer sleep with the sunlight streaming through the open windows. Though when night had fallen I was still in the greenery around Delhi, I now found myself in a barren landscape with hills of rock and sand only peppered with the occasional bush and weed. A few hours later, the scenery was still the same as we steamed into Jaisalmer station in full view of the magnificent Jaisalmer Fort.

A short walk later, I found myself in the confines of the old city of Jaisalmer facing a network of narrow roads bordered by sandstone buildings several storeys high that nearly toppled over into the streets. Wires crisscrossed above mimicking the chaos of the street below as rickshaws, cyclists, and pedestrians struggled to navigate through the shop fronts encroaching on the paths and the hawkers peddling their wares. With only a couple of wrong turns, I soon reached the base of the Fort itself, a towering, bulbous structure built right out of the hill in the middle of the city. Up a long, twisting path (presumably to prevent the enemy forces from making a direct charge at the gates) lay the inner city, replete with temples, the palace, and more shops.

Here I wandered through the ancient city and toured the palace. What amazed me throughout was how vibrant this city was in a place where on first glance life should not be able to survive. On the palace tour, they make a point of showing off the rainwater collection system—a network of pipes, tanks, and sloped floors that ensures no drop of water is lost during the limited rains. The reason is that this was the only source of water for the town during the year. Though there may have been little water, there was certainly plenty of stone, and this allowed the ruling family to build a grand palace and multiple temples throughout the city. All made of a golden sandstone, the buildings revealed gorgeous details and attention to detail that often seems lost in modern buildings, especially in the hectic streets of Delhi. Certainly this is not the common man’s architecture, but it clearly was different from anything we see today in its attention to detail and style.

After touring the palace, I went winding through the old city to marvel at the temples buried in the seemingly incomprehensible network of alleys. Even on the warm day, these alleys were kept cool by the tall structures looming above and the mass of stone to either side. I thoroughly enjoyed this maze of streets as I walked. You saw life happening around every corner—here a woman sat with her baby, chatting with the neighbors in the adjacent doorway. There, some men sat talking over an afternoon chai while waiting for unsuspecting tourists to browse at the nearby shops. The only downside was the lack of public space—I happened upon three kids practicing cricket in one alley in a manner that blocked all traffic. I had to wait for the bowler to notice before I could safely pass. These old walkways were alive, now built around the tourist economy, but you could imagine that once they buzzed with a royal atmosphere, selling not to travelers but to courtiers, merchants, and visitors from nearby kingdoms. This seemed a city preserved in time.

In the afternoon I headed back down the winding gate to the main part of the city in search of the old houses of Jaisalmer—the ornately decorated havelis. In the first, I was lucky enough to be given a tour guide with my ticket who explained the subtleties of the construction. These houses, several hundred years old, have stood the test of time through their solid sandstone construction. Without any water for mortar, the bricks were made in massive sizes and laid in interlocking double layers such that water could not get in and the weight of the blocks would seal any cracks between bricks. Wood and iron were used to help lynch blocks together when needed, but stone was preferred as it not only kept the house standing but kept the heat out. Perhaps they could not have described it themselves, but with the desert temperatures that oscillate between high and cold throughout a 24-hour period, the stone they used provided a wonderful thermal mass for moderating the temperature within the haveli. This was complemented by windows that could be opened in the main rooms to allow cross breezes, while on hot days, light was provided only through small windows in the upper reaches of the walls. Looking around I was in awe at the amount of ingenious building I was seeing, and all without a single energy simulation to advise on how best to reduce the energy consumption!

Thinking about Jaisalmer, it really justifies the trend that seems to be present among environmentally sensitive architects with whom I met on my stay in India toward looking backward in time for solutions to today’s challenges of creating sustainable structures. With the varying climates of India (of which Jaisalmer represents one), a lot can be learned by delving into the history of the people in each climate to see how they adapted. Here was a building made with no water, locally quarried stone, and no electricity or air conditioning that was perfectly responsive to its environment, allowed a degree of climate control, provided natural light, and was solid enough to stand up to hundreds of years of weathering. Imagine now a glass building, the sad trend in new construction outside of Delhi, in this same environment. There would be no way to keep out the heat on the blazing hot days or trap the cool air of the nights for later!

It left me wondering what happened between this haveli and now that so much knowledge seems to have been lost. About a week ago, I found a quote online that put this perfectly. Attributed to Marie Antoinette, it reads “There is nothing new except what has been forgotten.” Here was a perfect example of how the climate sensitivity that took decades or centuries to develop and perfect through trial and error has been bred out of buildings because it does not involve new technology or styles. Now I am not necessarily advocating that all of Jaisalmer’s new buildings immediately replicate these havelis, but they should provide a starting point for considering construction and design in this environment. Rather than just building to international appearances, architects should spend a little more time trying to understand and replicate these forms. Why use jali screens, for example (decorative clay window treatments)? And why build in stone and not glass? These questions need to be considered before the initial form of a building is set. Some may argue that you cannot build traditionally and still come up with a modern-looking building, but there are many counterexamples to this. If you set the materials in your mind first, the creativity of the artist in the architect will find a way to use them in a beautiful and modern pattern. It is only if they design first thinking of glass and then switch to making it stone that you may end up with a monstrosity that pleases no one, and frankly probably will not perform well either.

Another reason why it is not feasible to all of a sudden start building more havelis is that they were traditionally houses of the wealthy and therefore covered in ornamental decorations that were expensive, individually commissioned pieces of art. Walking through was a wonderful introduction to the artisanry of Rajasthan—as I mentioned before, the beautifully detailed sandstone ornaments, mirrored ceilings and walls, and finely sculpted and painted tiles provided breathtaking beauty within these homes. More than just being comfortable, these estates were palatial and decadent—perhaps fitting for a trader or a chief minister, but not feasible for the common man.

As I finished my haveli tours and the day fell on Jaisalmer, I caught a glimpse of the setting sun from the roof of one of these palaces. With the orange rays illuminating the sky, the golden fort blazed richly above the romantic clutter of houses at its feet. Picturesque in every way, from here the life and the woes of the city people below fell away in a beautiful, honey-colored vista that will remain in my mind forever.

As I made my way through the town for dinner, I happened across another memorable sight, this time organized by a tour group I just happened to fall in line behind. The guide explained that in this village had lived the Guinness world record holder for the longest moustache ever. Though he no longer lived, his son had taken up the family legacy and was working toward the new record. For the tour, he was happy to show off his progress.

After this amusing diversion, I wound my way to a rooftop restaurant looking out over the fort. With a fresh lime soda in hand, I ordered up a big non-veg thali, a traditional plate of various dishes—a sampler, if you will, of Jaisalmer cuisine. Here, I experienced firsthand another sustainable feature of the city’s history. As was explained to me by a member of The Energy and Resources Institute (TERI) in Delhi, India’s culture evolved in every way in response to the seasons. Festivals, such as Holi, were designed to both celebrate the seasons and acclimate participants to the change in weather from winter to summer. Because of the different climates, these festivals varied in recognition and celebration. Food as well evolved differently in response to climate. In Rajasthan, where I now sat eating my thali, the lack of water led to a greater use of buttermilk and cream within dishes. Buttermilk too was the traditional drink with meals, and moist seasoned meats were also the norm to help provide succulent treats. I must say, none of this really crossed my mind as I ate—instead I was focused on the sublime sight of the fort illuminated at night, the sounds of the enchanting traditional music being skillfully played behind me, and the aromatic spices hitting my tongue. It provided a nice close to a wonderful day of exploring a city that still maintains strong links to its history.

After my relaxing dinner, it was time to wander back through the streets to the train station to head to another old city, Jodhpur. Yet before I escaped Jaisalmer, I had to make one more stop for a sweet treat. Recall how I said that the cuisine was often based on creams? Well, my after dinner specialty was no exception. If you travel to India it is mandatory that you try a lassi—a cream based drink served up chilled either sweet or salty that will satisfyingly slide down your throat. And don’t just get any lassi, if you ask me—make sure you grab a makhania lassi—one spiced with saffron. It provides a little sweet touch and a flavor that can’t be beat.

After my lassi pit stop, it was time to catch the train. This time with an upper berth on a much less crowded route, I was not surprised by any midnight visitors at the foot of my bed. Instead, I slept undisturbed until we arrived at 5 am in Jodhpur, my next stop and second introduction to Rajasthan.

Hopping off the train early in the morning, I headed into town without much else to do even though nothing was open. Wandering through the deserted streets in the early morning without much light, it was amazing how romantic the criss-crossed wires, falling doors and windows, and rusted signs were by the yellow lights of the streets. Without the full sun to expose the dusty reality and free of the bustle of vendors and street life, the buildings exuded only their color and charm.

After wandering in this atmosphere for a while, I came upon the main square of the city where I was surrounded by open space and had a clear vista of the mighty Mehrangarh fort perched on the hill above Jodhpur. Here I sat and watched the sun rise as the town awoke. The sweepers emerged from their slumber first, followed by the first vendors hurrying in to set up their shop. As it was Monday, schoolchildren passed by on their way to lessons at the first crack of dawn, and slowly, the whole city awoke to greet the day.

Just as things began to get busy, I left the town square and made my way up the hill toward the fort. In the tortuous streets, I got lost many times, but like a true Indian, I just stopped and asked directions. Unfortunately, I came across a little trickster who wasn’t on his way to school who misled me three times on where I had to go, probably for his own entertainment. But finally after being righted by a shop owner, I was off on the steep path up to Mehrangarh. At the top, I had gorgeous views of the early morning over Jodhpur in front, and a staggering rise of stone walls behind me up to the top of the fort. Though I was at the foot of the fort, I chose instead to start my day down the other side of the hill at Jaswant Thada, a tomb of a former leader of Jodhpur. As I walked, I was stunned on the road by the view of this marble tomb perched delicately over a river pitted against the hills and crumbling city wall. Pictures cannot capture the beauty of this marble edifice in the misty morning light contrasting with the green bushes, blue water, and orangey-brown hills in the back. It was a sublime sight, and a wonderful place to sit and enjoy the early morning.

After a while, I finally tore myself away from my perch and headed down the road to the monument itself, leaving my secret vantage point by the roadside for another lucky traveler to stumble upon. While the monument was beautiful on the inside and up close, it didn’t match the view I had found previously. Made of white marble, and thus dubbed by some as the Taj Mahal of Rajasthan, the building was exquisitely carved and full of ornate detail—a sign of ostentation, wealth, and the love of the former ruler by his closest family and friends. This was one of the first examples of such a personal memento on a grand scale in India, and it led me to think about a few different things. First, I suppose in the past such buildings were not opposed by the populous most times simply because of the caste system and the fear of the ruling class, but I began to wonder how the middle and lower classes would have viewed such spending on a single person. Perhaps they took it as the right of the rulers, but perhaps there was social discontent. Second, and in counterpoint to my first thought, this monument must have provided a lot of employment. The level of craftsmanship in the marble work and the attention to detail must have taken builders and artists years to finish, therefore stimulating the economy in some way. Yet this led to my third train of thought, which was to wonder how such a project would be viewed today. Likely, it seems to me that it would be seen as a waste of public funds, especially in a country with as much disparity in income as India has. Yet at the same time, memorials are still commissioned, perhaps not on this scale, but they are a part of life.

Anyhow, after marveling at the workmanship and construction of this marble memorial, I turned from Jaswant Thada to find a stunning view of Mehrangarh and the city of Jodhpur. From here, it was peaceful to behold the fort’s monumental façade over what the seemingly quiet town of Jodhpur. I say “seemingly” because from here, the noise of the city could not be heard and the sights of hustle and bustle could not be seen though I knew that on a Monday morning they must be there.

After marveling at this sight for a bit, I headed back up the road to the base of Mehrangarh. From the base, I had to climb up further along another tortuous path to prevent my army and I from charging the gate and storming the palace. Along the way, there was evidence of the fort’s tumultuous history—cannon shell imprints dotted the walls, and after the main gate, the moving imprints of the hands of one Maharaja’s widows who threw themselves on his funeral pyre. Further up, I emerged into the main palace, a stunning mix of Mughal and traditional architecture that was used as a palace until recently. Now it is a museum showing what life as Rajasthani royalty was like. The exhibits covered everything from weaponry (important in the warrior traditions of the state), modes of transit including the women’s’ palanquins, and even portraits of the Maharajahs from the past. It was a really interesting walk through both past and recent history, and something I really enjoyed. Yet what was most stunning to me was the architecture. The palace is an interesting blend of Muslim and Indian influences, so details range from floral patterns and jali screens (ornately decorated clay window treatments used to hide the women from the eyes of the men below) typical of the Middle Eastern influence to more traditional pyramidal and rounded forms of Indian architecture. The blend led to some quite stunning courtyards and spaces, all of which also had to wisely use air flows and natural light to make the spaces livable.

I found it interesting that in the palace, elements that on the surface seemed predominantly cultural actually were also very environmental in use. For example, the jali screens which I mentioned previously not only prevented the women from being seen but also helped allow in light to the chambers while blocking most of the heat. The open nature of the intricate patterns also allowed for breezes to flow through unabated, thus cooling the rooms. Large rings dangling in the courtyards that once held tapestries also seem on the surface as a decorative touch, but in reality, in summer these tapestries were dunked in water so that breezes would pick up the cool water and spread it over the occupants in the palace. Combine this with the thermal mass of the stones making the palace (also predominantly for defense and stability), and you have a very climate-responsive building, and an example of smart design from hundreds of years ago. Why did we switch to massive glass buildings?

After my tour of the palace, I headed out to the fort’s battlements. Aside from marveling at the array of cannons won in battle (one even was all the way from China, I think via the British army, or perhaps a Middle Eastern invader), the view over Jodhpur from up here was breathtaking. For those who know Jodhpur you will know that it too has a colorful nickname—the blue city. What is strange is that it is completely deserving of this moniker.

The city, from the top of the fort, actually is blue! Well, at least the old part. Now you may ask why that is. Well, one explanation is that the natural blue color helps both to keep houses cool in the summer and that it acts as a natural repellent for mosquitoes and other insects. Don’t ask me why the color blue repels—it wasn’t explained beyond that, but apparently it does. And as for the cooling effect, it is understood now in building design that color has a huge impact on a structure, and light colors and those that reflect the sun definitely help. This again is another example of excellent traditional design that came from years of trial and error rather than today’s energy simulations and advanced design thinking. Unfortunately, things like the simple color of a building are only now being rediscovered as important for performance. Part of the reason, at least, is earlier in this paragraph. Can you find it?

Part of the reason is that indigenous building techniques and traditional styles are often not well explained by those who practice them. They may not even understand that what they are doing is better from a performance standpoint than some other alternative. They may simply build the way they do or paint the way the do because that is what has been done for years in their village. They may simply know nothing else. Now imagine going into a village in a harsh climate, seeing a building, and asking why it is comfortable inside. You may get some answers, but it will never be complete. To understand why, you need to do a full study on the building and few people are doing these, especially in India. Some architects interested in research are, and the Central Building Research Institute in Roorkee is doing work on understanding these traditional structures. Aside from that, there are few attempts as developers are content to proceed in their modern ways without concern for whether it is the best path for the region or not. The first step to changing this mentality is understanding the alternatives. Rather than apply costly technology, we must re-learn and analyze the traditional techniques that have worked effectively and cheaply for years and teach those to new architects, designers, and developers. If India does this effectively, it could set a precedent for sustainable design worldwide. Few countries take as much pride in their heritage as India, and if the design community wakes up to the value of this heritage to modern works, the savings could be staggering and the visual results breathtaking.

Coming back to my trip from my (hopefully thought-provoking) aside, another staggering thing about the battlements was that from up here you could hear all of the noises of the city bouncing their way up the sheer cliff at your feet. Horns honked, parents yelled, and birds chirped, all invisible to the eye but present to the ear. It was a reminder as you surveyed this city, its paths and buildings jumbling together in an orchestrated confusion, that it was not just a sight but a pulsing center of life. The combination was amazing, and held my attention for quite a while. As I finally made my way back down from the fort, this time not to return, the noises remained and slowly the city itself came into clearer focus and narrowed in scope from a vast picture to smaller sections until finally it was just the narrow street in front of me, multi-colored buildings on either side leaning over the busy lanes of cyclists, vendors, rickshaws, and the ever-present cows.

With a few hours until my train, I wandered these narrow streets and happened upon multiple children fascinated by me but more by my camera. Each one called to me asking for “one snap.” Happy to oblige, I would take a quick photo and then show them which usually set them running off giggling to tell friends or parents. On one occasion, the kids asked not just for one snap of them but then to take one of me! A little nervous for my camera, I carefully let them try with some interesting candid results.

As the sun set on Jodhpur, I found myself once more in the town square where it all began that morning for me. As I sipped another makhania lassi, I watched the last rays of light flicker over the fort, the lights on the clock tower blaze to life, and the pace of the city begin to wane. With the pulse of the city fading, it was time for me too to call it a day and catch my overnighter back to Delhi, once again with the luxury of having my own berth all to myself.