Delhi has sighed in relief at the successful completion of the Commonwealth Games, and that big sigh is echoing around the new structures and infrastructure planted in the city. The new designs have left us with more questions than answers. The angled, peaked fins of the stadia, the orthogonal reflective glass panels of the auditoria, the linearity of the new-laid sidewalks, the cross-city diagonals of the metro, the perpendiculars of the overhead bridges and the multicoloured signage — these striations form a confusing web across the city, one whose patterns are incoherent with what existed. Seemingly imposed on the geometry of this radial city, the new designs reek of incongruence of identity, or at best of an identity which is a result of accident rather than deliberation.
Beyond the obvious issues of corruption and quality, we need to ask whose architecture it is that was created for the Games. Yours? Mine? Ours? Or is it an orphan left to fend for itself in an alien context? Does this architecture have roots in our cultural psyche, or is it a byproduct of aspiration and best described as “wannabe”? Does it and should it speak for Delhi or India as a beacon pointing to future prospects, or is it misleading us with its glamorous imagery? Does it lead instead to nothing but banal modernity, which is synonymous with progress?
Delhi, as most know, is the historical result of several cities, from Qila Rai Pithora to Lutyens’s New Delhi. Each new city overlaid and was designed to outshine its predecessor. Does this “infill” herald the arrival of a “newer Delhi”? And if so what is its intention, as image and vocabulary? The new skins of the stadiums, the streets, and overhead and underground connections, seem disconnected from the proud display of a pluralistic India showcased in the opening and closing ceremonies. In no way do these architectural products reflect the cultural melting pot of Indian society. Instead, they stand out in their singularity as an attempt to demonstrate to the world that in emulating Barcelona, Berlin and Beijing we have erased our “Third World” stamp. The new icons seem to be designed as benchmarks, created to inspire awe and raise eyebrows, to shatter the stereotypical image of a poverty-ridden India trampled by turbaned maharajas on elephants.
One is not criticising technology but the manner in which it is used. The steel, glass, spider clamps and acrylics could have colluded to create a new language of this “newer Delhi” rather than rely on a borrowed text to pen stale chapters. They could have used our sense of craft in a method innate rather than superficial, mutating it to a unique vocabulary pivotal to contemporary Indian design. Like the cutting-edge helium aerostat that mirrored vibrant India, the architectural design could have reflected the shifting contexts and confidence of the new Indian, who lives simultaneously in the worlds of tradition and technology.
Many could argue otherwise, claiming that the functionality of stadiums, networks and streets takes priority over its imagery. Yet ask any planner and he will tell you it is these very elements, monumental and mundane, that combine to give a city character and identity. The sloping streets of San Francisco, the shaded alleys of Rome, the skyline of New York, the human scale of Paris, all make “place” out of a mere space.
Humayun’s tomb juxtaposed with the steel columns of Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium, or the Qutb Minar with the Metro as backdrop, ensures surreal moments, a sense of “placelessness” much like a Bollywood set. The new accomplishments of the city need to answer larger questions of identity, bridging the gaps between the old and new not merely to resurrect a pride born of belonging to a city, but so that they may become the foundation for dreams of a significant and not inevitable future.
[The author is a Delhi-based architect]
