Homage to Violated Spaces
The need for a dwelling is a basic human one. Inhabited space, home or elsewhere, is therefore a ubiquitous phenomenon. From outdoors to indoors, the inhabited space has evolved considerably over human history. While some of these are intimate and cosy, others can be cold or even suffocating. For instance, while we find the economy class of an airplane unpleasant without fail, we willingly spend time in a pub, where the amount of space and density of people are quite similar and have a good time at that. We might be most comfortable in our own homes, and yet we choose to step out and occupy some other places outside of this bubble. The ambiance of any space can vary owing to different reasons. What draws us to certain places more than others?
While the universality of inhabiting is limited to the need for physical structures as shelters, experiencing spaces surpasses its geometry and is rather subjective. I am fascinated by the mostly ambiguous and mystifying qualities that chiefly contribute to the underlying atmosphere of any space. Thus, in the age of the ‘Psychological Human’<1>, it is only logical to analyze spaces from a visceral frame of reference along with its geometry to understand its essence.
Archetype
Studying an archetype will help us penetrate the geometry-experience equation. One of the finest examples of architecture that is ‘too personal and too magnificent’<2> is the Taj Mahal.
According to legend, the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan built this mausoleum to honor and cherish his beloved queen Mumtaz Mahal. Such a tragic cause implies an emotional prelude to this story. There must have been a poignant moment during the Emperor’s grief when the desire to build the Taj was conceived. Some accounts also hold that it was a promise that the queen exacted on her deathbed. Either way, heightened emotions birthed this grand scheme. And gave it the strength of commitment it demanded, apart from the overflowing coffers and access to unlimited resources, obviously. History says it involved the perseverance of 22,000 odd workers over 22 years to create this breathtaking marvel. This would constitute the ‘personal’ aspect. Today, we can only wonder if it intensified the pain of his loss, when the Emperor first beheld this stunningly beautiful creation, that is said to be symbolic of his late wife’s beauty. Or if the architects and artisans were overjoyed or relieved at the success of their hard labor.
Whatever their feelings were back then, the Taj Mahal has an iconic status in the present day. Evidently, it was not designed as a space to be inhabited, certainly by no one alive. A tomb is certainly an extreme and a rather bizarre example in the study of inhabited spaces. Be as it may, around three centuries after it was erected, it sees about 2-4 million visitors from around the world annually. And this sheer volume of footfall here makes it an excellent subject for our study.
The supposed solace Shah Jahan must have derived on meditating upon the Taj during his final years in captivity, is undoubtedly a far cry from the tepid response of a disinterested tourist or the fervent excitement of a poetic soul. The feelings associated are vastly different in both situations. While the dying emperor must have looked at it through a lens of grief and heartbreak, the poet’s was touched by the idea of eternal love that all this splendor represented. Where the Shah must have felt incomparable pain, it was a source of pleasure for the passionate architect and a moment of triumph for the zealous traveler; and a mere pastime for that tired, disinterested tourist. This is proof that a space is in a constant state of flux with reference to its occupants, their visceral responses taking center stage.
A majority of people who visit the Taj are travelers. Of these, excepting a rare few, everyone is checking off yet another thing off their travel wish list. And this bunch seems completely disconnected from what is around them. As I walked around this heritage site, that is slowly dying in Delhi’s polluted environment, I could not help but wonder at the human rashness and detachment that led to it. It was mirrored in the disinterestedness of these imperceptive tourists. Did they not feel joy looking at the intricate marble inlay work and the soaring minarets? Did they not feel the grief that led something so timeless in its beauty? Did they not feel pain in the decay as they walked on the marble floors that had lost its lustre, wearing protective foot cover to prevent further damage to it? It pained me to see that they were violating this incredible memorial by their incessant chatter and lack of sensitivity. I wondered if the bereaved Mughal emperor ever considered it even a remote possibility when he envisioned this everlasting tribute to his love. That one day in the future, someone would walk around so much beauty and not be affected by it. I felt it is a sacrilege to this space, where in all likelihood, he must have hoped for some tranquility. I could reason away the lack of appreciation to the artistic touches because it might take a trained eye to notice the nuances of beauty and the strokes of mastery. But how the common sense to be respectful around a tomb escaped them was something I could not understand. Distanced from the story of its inception by years that have passed, its hold seems to be deteriorating in the common social psyche. The lack of awareness and basic etiquette I witnessed was a humiliating and humbling revelation. It is all the more scarier because this nonchalant, irresponsible attitude is perceptible in all the creative or other pursuits that we engage in.
Sanctity of Spaces