DECODING IDENTITY

It is a 'Journey to design expression' connecting our roots. Design is a strong medium of expression based on which things are actually brought into tangible existence representing feelings-emotions.

October, 1945

I wish I had some more share of time to stay. The experiences I’ve gathered in all these days shall always be memorable. I’ve never felt like an unknown, an outsider. This city has wrapped me up with love and hope and gifted me a vision of a happy life enriched with cultural & traditional integrity. Today, when am about to leave, forever, I feel a heavy heart to say goodbye to the ‘City of Joy’ indeed.

Time is running at its highest gear as is life. But, I feel like I’m stuck. Perhaps, losing myself into the depth of timelessness. I wonder, where are our lives leading to? What’s the identity? Of me? Of us? Of the city we are dwelling in? Every single soul needs a physical body to pass through an eventful or may be eventless but life. Perhaps the collection of these countless events creates the individual identities and the collective one be that of the city. A city, a town, a village, a metropolis represents its people, their activities, their lifestyle, their perspectives. Perhaps, it reflects the era - its time & space. Life seems like a narrative; the narrator be the Self �" the inner voice. I feel like to give a pause, to listen to that voice, to look above & beyond the rapid & dynamic lifestyles and see people, thus to witness the change, the path of which I seek to trace.

I walk down the narrow lanes of North Calcutta. The image of the city perhaps is born out of a harmonic composition of built masses and unbuilt spaces. As I move along the continuous facades of the adjoining two-three storied houses, the sudden breaks by those narrow alleys, which the Bengalis call ‘Goli’s; the proportion of the space enclosed by the adjacent houses just amazes me, as if asking me to look beyond what I see, to explore, to experience the whole from the parts. There is chaos, yet balance and vibrancy of lives.

The room I’m staying is a part of a 50-year-old house at Kumartuli, Calcutta. It’s welcoming grand entrance foyer, the projected plinth called as ‘roaks’ to emphasize social interaction, the open-to-sky courtyard with the arrangement of rooms all around, the volume of the rooms itself, the wooden ceiling, the depth of the walls, the marble flooring, the lightings all add to the visual appropriateness & richness enhancing the spatial character. I’m an Italian architect by profession, a writer & traveller by passion. It gives me peace & immense pleasure when I could slowly discover each of those treasured intangible broken pieces of poetry scattered & hidden all along a city in form of its architecture. It’s not always about monuments or structures, it’s also about the spatial & the design expression which is created not only through the built forms but also from the architectural language of its surrounding context and socio-economic-cultural background, and that develops the narrative, framing the perception of the beholder.

Before I depart, one last wish is to experience one of the greatest festivals of India ever �" the Durga Puja. I’ve never seen so many shades of happiness including happy tears among people, celebrating together irrespective of age-caste-creed-lifestyle. I’m leaving behind some of my favourite clicks, that has captured some priceless moments of people, places and architecture; those beautiful sculptures of the Goddess, different pandals of different forms & varying volumes, everyday life, the horse-drawn carriages, tram-line. I truly believe that cultural diversity shapes a city, thus shapes its architecture, its unique identity. I travel to fulfill my quest to comprehend the architectural language behind the unique image of different cities of different countries. This further fuels my thirst of knowledge to explore different cultures & contexts, thereby different design expressions & development, and thus to enrich the self with wisdom.

I feel happy to express myself, to share my thoughts. Thank you & goodbye Birendra. Hope to keep in touch. Adieu Calcutta.

Ar. Marco Abruzzo.

2

Year 2105.

A new year, a new beginning. The clock struck ten in the morning. Veer, a ten-year-old kid came out running from a broken building, shouting, “Dad! I’ve just found a box. It looks so interesting. But how to unlock it? I can’t find any pattern palette!” Surprised, he asked Veer to show that box & scolded him for entering this “house in danger” building without his permission. The building, outside of which they were standing almost looked like a ruin, with broken floors, cracked ceilings, hollow roof. The last time it could be called as a house was thirty years back, after; the owners had shifted to US from Kolkata. Shubhankar, Veer’s father stood quietly for a moment. He went ahead, saw the dusted nameplate that read as “Duttabari 1895” in Bengali which meant ‘Dutta House’. Veer belonged to a generation where, humans have been conquering the world with advanced scientific & technological interventions. With the dawn of 22nd century, India too has emerged as a developed country. The economic & political holds were strengthened. Historically India was always a great centre of global market. Shubhankar Dutt, one of the famous business tycoons in US decided to expand his franchise in India. He came here at Kumartoli in Kolkata to develop his grand iconic business tower replacing this old structure.

Shubhankar took the box in his hands. The box was decorated with ornamental mouldings & detailed with sculptural embossment that represented old Calcutta. He noticed a hand written note, yellowish, crumpled & laminated that read as “To Mr. Birendra Sekhar Dutta, With love. From Ar. Marco Abruzzo.” Shubhankar had a very blurred vision in his memory of the sole experience of Kolkata he had in his childhood when he was just a two-year-old kid. His father Samriddha Dutta shifted to US in the year 2065 & settled for a better livelihood. He gave in effort to maintain his paternal home. But at one point of time, he failed to keep in touch & the house was left in the hands of his not-so-financially-strong cousin. Shubhankar Dutta (renowned as Shubhankar Datt), was born & brought up in US possessing modernised thought and practical & rational visionary. He owned one of the biggest real estate businesses in US. He had seen many iconic structures representing high tech visions of modern architecture �" deconstruction, parametricism as dominant contemporary styles.

Shubhankar pulled the rusted tower bolt to unlock the box. He saw the black & white photographs with the copyright. Veer looked at them with twisted eyebrows & curious eyes. He whispered, “Marco Abruzzo”. “The photographs are so beautiful dad! The house in these images looks like the one we are standing in front of. But that’s a beautiful one. Dad! What’s written in that note?” Shubhankar read the entire write-up. While reading, he went on adding his perspectives, “I always hate this crowd & chaos. How come someone find poetry amidst this unbearable chattering!” However, Veer seemed lost in his thoughts. “Dad! You mean this broken structure is supposedly our ancestral home? Please can I go in?” It seemed adventurous to the little eyes. This time, both the father & son entered together.

Veer felt an undefined happiness, deeply attracted, as if finally, he came back ‘home’. Even if, it was his first visit, he went straight to the room which once belonged to his great-grandfather’s great-grandfather, who had built the house, Mr.Birendra Sekhar Dutta. The furnished room cladded with dust was covered with white clothes getting prepared for the auction the next day. Veer didn’t know about his father’s idea of selling the house. He touched the mouldings of the lazarus bed. The bed itself was a piece of architecture. He saw the ornamented dressing table with an elongated mirror imported from Belgium. The wooden ceiling had deteriorated, walls with thick lines of cracks. He saw a wall hung picture frame, destroyed in parts that showed a tall, wide-shouldered middle aged Bengali man with an Italian guy with his hand around his shoulder. Veer roamed around the courtyard, the verandahs, the broken balconies. He felt like all the corners of the house were so familiar. Veer ran to the terrace to greet his unknown yet own city. But, once, he reached the roof, he felt strangely disappointed, the disappointment he himself didn’t have any reasons for. He saw a busy skyline of iconic architectural creations in form of towers, skyscrapers, modular structures, like the kind of house in which Veer & his family lived in US. The view was predetermined as it was supposed to be, but Veer couldn’t comprehend his reasons of denial & dissatisfaction. Suddenly, amidst the tussle of thoughts in his mind, he heard some shallow husky voice of mumblings, as if two people were busy talking & sharing thoughts among each other. Veer looked for the source. Finally, he saw two men from behind. “You see, our Calcutta is changing. Can you feel the change? The city is seeing technological, political, economic, social, cultural developments & improvisations. I know that change is the only constant of time. But, my heart doesn’t wish to accept its rapid escalation. Do you still find your poetry in this city? Do you accept the identity now? This 22nd century people have reached real high in their achievements. No doubt, they are solving issues concerning environment, population projection, transportation, urban & regional planning development, development of urbanscapes etc. The image of the entire city that once was visible from my terrace, has now come under the shadows of the giant structures. I don’t know, amidst all these advancements, I see the victory of the machines. I miss the soul, the soul of our ‘City of Joy’, the vibrancy of life, the colours of emotions. I hope, today’s Kolkata is still the ‘City of Joy’ in its true essence.” Veer listened to his words that led him into deeper thoughts. He stood quiet, observing these two men dressed in old-fashioned attires. After a sudden pause, he heard the other voice. “Yes, maybe you’re right. It’s all about the perceptions that change with time. They have emerged as more rational & practical beings. They are tended to identify the problems & search for solutions and they are succeeding. The city fabric has evolved; the organic character has lost its shades. Their motto is no longer restoration & conservation. They believe in breaking & re-making. The city now is filled with buildings iconic in itself all over the world. Perhaps, they are trying to create an identity of the whole, the human settlement. We need to mend our perceptions that are mostly guided by emotions. Let them create a new world. Let’s go friend. Our time is gone. Tomorrow, this house will be sold.” The other voice, filled with pain & tears, “I can never believe my Duttabari will be sold that too by our kids. It’s time to distant ourselves from our roots.”

Veer was stunned as soon as the two men turned back. He was shocked, ran faster to find his dad. Shubhankar caught hold of him & asked why he was panting with fear. Veer, with teary eyes, replied, “Dad! How can you sell our house? You know, it’s weird but true that history has always impressed me than science could. And today I have witnessed the past.” Shubhankar was puzzled, “Veer, who told you about the auction? It’s an old broken structure of no use anymore. Instead, there will be a marvellous sky-high tower.”

“Dad! But I wish to travel in time, explore our roots. I have learnt that future is incomplete without the knowledge of the past. Promise me that you will make it beautiful again, like it was, not as a business centre but as our ‘home’.

Speechless & surprised, Shubhankar promised, after a pause of thoughtful silence, “anything for my kid.”

The faint husky voice whispered behind with a victorious smile.

“Marco! Our roots are still too strong.”

***

Author's Note

Its a story of perceptions. Each character with a different perceptual approach. Hope, the readers will like the representation of the perceptions. Its all about connecting to the roots and the need.