One of India’s most important architects on how inclusive
conservation can be both an important developmental tool and mean cash
for the government.
Ratish Nanda,
project director at the Aga Khan Foundation and arguably India’s most
important architect, beats me by reaching Blanco – a Khan Market
restaurant in south Delhi – a few minutes ahead of me and has picked a
nice window table for us. He’s dressed in his trademark kurta, with an
equally trademark ink-pen sticking out of his front pocket, the hallmark
of someone who writes or sketches for a living, says Rajiv Rao.
We exchange pleasantries and order fresh-lime sodas. Nanda
looks around apprehensively as if he’s being stalked. Once he finds out
that this is a feature on him, he becomes even more nervous about the
lunch. When I mention that I need a photograph from him for the
sketch-artist, he’s about to bolt out of the door.
Somehow, we settle down and almost immediately start chatting about
his project: revitalising three of Delhi’s most-treasured sites,
Humayun’s Tomb, Nizamuddin basti and Sunder Nursery into one
unique heritage precinct. I tell Nanda that my wife and I, just a few
weekends ago, took our kids to Humayun’s tomb and it was a fabulous
experience, with its lush Mughal gardens and waterworks, liberating our
trapped urban souls with its sheer size, greenness and grandeur.
I’ve said the right thing apparently since Nanda sheds his
inhibitions, whips out a pen and notebook and elegantly begins sketching
the inner sanctum of the tomb with firm, concise strokes. The project
is the first privately-funded restoration of a World Heritage Site in
India, he tells me, spearheaded by the Aga Khan Trust for Culture and in
collaboration with several state agencies, including the Archaeological
Survey of India, the Municipal Corporation of Delhi and the Central
Public Works Department. This kind of public-private partnership is the
future of conservation, he says.
We decide to order. Nanda says he eats anything, having spent four
years in Afghanistan working on Babur’s tomb. Since the menu doesn’t
feature roast goat, we stick to prawn and fish: I go for the Spanish
prawn skillet with a hint of basil, Nanda suggests a Goan fish-curry and
we both hone in on a crispy red snapper in thai chilli-sauce.
Nanda sketches out the basic issues that confront his field today.
“Our heritage is disappearing bit by bit, but this is somehow not a
scandal,” he says. In Britain, Nanda points out, there are 600,000
protected buildings versus a paltry 7,000 in India. However, the British
had a mummified approach to conservation in India, he says, which
failed. “It completely ignored the local population,” he adds.
Nanda’s – or should I say the Aga Khan Foundation’s – work in the
Nizamuddin basti is an example of the rewards of an alternative
approach. The landscaping of the Chaunsath Khamba complex, for instance,
the largest open space in the basti, has been re-configured as an
open-air theatre, attracting both local residents and citizens from all
over Delhi. “Until local communities can enjoy it and benefit from our
heritage, it is of no use,” says Nanda.
Then there’s the issue of local craftsmanship — age-old traditions
and material that we have totally abandoned. “Why are we building with
glass and steel?” asks Nanda. I mention Jeb Brugmann, author of Welcome to the Urban Revolution,
whom I met a few years ago and who talks about the Indian infatuation
with aping Western structures that has sidelined traditional design
concepts, like the “chowk”, which are far more suited to the Indian way of life. Nanda couldn’t agree more.
“Why aren’t we using sandstone?” asks Nanda. “Our craftsmen need to
get work but our architects don’t know how to use tile work. The
consequence is that the ceramic tile trade has died out and the same
applies to stone craftsmen and even certain kinds of masons.” This is
something Nanda says the foundation is trying to revive, especially when
renovating structures like Humayun’s tomb.
The food arrives. The Spanish shrimp is surprisingly good – though
small – the basil, a subtle touch and the red and green peppers nice and
crunchy. The Goan fish-curry is decent, but nothing more. Nanda and I
are hungry so we stop talking and attack with single-minded purpose.
After some spirited gorging, we lean back, wipe the sweat of our
brow, and get back to the business at hand. Nanda, a Delhi boy who went
to Modern and was a gold medallist at the School of Habitat Studies
where he did his BA, once again emphasises that conservation needs to
step out of its isolation and become sustainable. “Heritage is actually
the only asset that locals have,” he says. The Aga Khan’s projects in
basti Nizamuddin bear this out. Hundreds of youth and adults have been
involved in a programme that included adult education, career
counselling, vocational training and skill enhancement. The project has
also improved streetlights, rebuilt water-harvesting systems, built open
spaces for cricket games and community toilet complexes.
Clearly, culture can be a tool for development. But heritage also
makes good business sense. “There has been a 1,000 per cent increase in
ticket sales in just four months of Humayun’s Tomb being opened,” says
Nanda. Meanwhile, we’ve dug into the Red Snapper and something seems
rotten in the state of Delhi. I have a chat with one of the servers. Oh,
that’s how Snapper is, he tells me confidently, with a broad grin. Both
Nanda and I inform him gently that we both cook, buy fish regularly at
the INA market and that it would be a good idea to remove the offending
plate and tell the chef to check his batch before someone keels over,
never to wake up again. The plate vanishes.
Wrapping up, I ask Nanda for what he thinks we need in India for
conservation to succeed. Understand that conservation is cash,
especially when it comes to the linkages between tourism and our
economy, he says. “Instead we look at it as a burden rather than an
economic asset,” he adds. I pay and we both leave, but not before I’ve
secured a private tour of Nizamuddin from the man who brought it to
life.