Preserving Kolkata's Architectural Heritage
Jawhar
Sircar
Unosotterer Panchash, Celebrating Fifty Years,
Presidency
College 1969-72 Batch Alumni, 20 Jan 2020, Kolkata
“Forgive them, for they knew not what
they were doing; But some did, and did not care!” These impassioned words were
inscribed on a poster that was mounted and was fixed on the wall over my desk.
It inspired me for several years until the compulsions of my job took me away
from that house. The poster was printed by the Ananda Bazar group and it
depicted an old sepia tint photograph of demolition labourers tearing down the
Senate Hall of Calcutta University, in 1960. The workers seemed to hammer away,
quite mercilessly, at the intricately carved Grecian pillars
but the imposing triangular
pediment on top
appeared regal and quite unconcerned even as death started at it. Concern for
the past glory of this metropolis pervades the city’s culture and yet, few shed
a tear when a part of this glorious past is ripped apart. Little did Kolkata
know then that it was not tearing down a building: it was actually ripping
apart a very bone from its own ribs, that protected its pulsating heart. This
grand edifice can hardly ever be replicated, but few protested. This sums up
the tragedy of the “second city of the Empire” that once
housed some of the finest edifices of the colonial period. Having failed to
protect many, except the colossal public buildings, which we shall not discuss
here, we take refuge in sentimental nostalgia.
It is needless to remind ourselves
that Kolkata once famous for its large number of palatial buildings, which
earned it the sobriquet: “the City of Palaces”. At present,
however, except the Marble Palace, Jorasanko Thakurbari and a handful of other
such well-maintained ones, the rest are all gone or are in a pitiable state of
disrepair. In a manner of speaking, this is poetic justice, as the wealth that
flowed into the city from the early part of 19th century and
continued unabated for the next one and a half centuries was from unabashed
exploitation. Kolkata’s colonial age architecture flourished as the indigenous
ruling classes, and the British overlords acquired so much of economic
surpluses that they
could allocate quite a bit
of it to building magnificent edifices — to demonstrate, of course, their own
glory, pomp and splendour. We are not in the business of being overwhelmed by
ostentation, but heritage and aesthetics mandate a certain regard for
architectural uniqueness before they disappear and wipe off evidence of how man
and nature conversed in different climates and circumstances. The purpose of
this piece is to plead for retaining whatever we can because once they go, we
shall lose a valuable heritage of our city — with no hope of recreating extinct
cultural species. Let us try to understand the value of Kolkata’s built
heritage from this analytical point of view, but since the area is unmanageably
large, we will restrict the discussion to only two important classes of
architecture that Kolkata boasts of. We shall try to locate the distinguishing
features or unique characteristics that distinguish these forms of Kolkata’s
architecture from their cousins elsewhere. These two categories we shall
explore are the grand Colonial-era residential mansions of the rich of north
Kolkata and the quaint Art Deco buildings of south Kolkata — both of which bear
the stamp of Kolkata and the spirit of Bengal.
What we need to focus on while studying Kolkata’s architectural heritage are the
various improvisations adopted, to combine foreign and local elements and
construction norms. Stylistically speaking, the moneyed elite of colonial
Kolkata copied several neo-classical and other European architectural features
like neo-Renaissance, Romanesque and Palladian and then merged them all with indigenous
requirements and
features. Thus most such palatial buildings are really difficult to place into
standard architectural categories. Not that all of them were, however, either
very artistic or architecturally perfect, but then, they did bear the very own
expressions of old Kolkata. We can decipher, for instance, a great demand for
crowding as much showy stucco ornamentation and Baroque designs on the plaster work of buildings
as was possible. Stately classical columns would often be capped with
excessively carved capitals, replete with floral and leafy designs. The grand
triangular pediments that crowned the rows of columns in front was kept high
and imposing, so as to look down, rather imperiously, on people entering the
hallowed portals. But one also comes across intervening architectural forms as
well, like a decorated balcony in a later Italian style, that appears to jut
out of the first floor of the building that rises just behind the tall pillars.
Lavish use was also made of Italian marble and Belgian glass.
The very local need for privacy
of family members enjoined that Kolkata’s bonedi baris would have
two very different wings, namely, the road-facing main building (sadar mahal)
that had necessarily to be quite distinct from the female quarters (andar
mahal), which were hidden from public view. It was, therefore, essential
to have a quadrangular courtyard so that the two quarters could be separate,
and yet be joined by narrower buildings on two sides of the quadrangle, with
covered pathways on each floor that went alongside the living rooms. These
running long and open balconies, popularly known as verandahs, connected the
four blocks around the rectangular inner courtyard (dalans) and they
served a very useful purpose. They ensured that light and ventilation were
available in all the rooms, unlike the present-day dwellings where some rooms
hardly ever receive the sun’s rays or any breeze. We must remember that the
climate of Bengal was and is still most unsuited to grandiose European architecture
and even to the later cooped-up blocks of west-inspired buildings. Cross
ventilation and protection from the elements were two prime necessities, long
before the electric fans changed it all from the early decades of the twentieth
century. The third major requirement was, of course, sunlight, but in
controlled quantities.
It is in this spirit that we need
to view old Kolkata’s architecture, to locate how local problems and issues
were addressed and certain adaptions made. The louvred windows or kharkharis,
had slanting ‘blinds’ that were fixed to an upright wooden rod on
the window’s sash (the little ‘door’ of a window) and these blinds could be
manipulated with the upright rod — to control allow the light from outside to
enter and the air or breeze to flow in. This is very Kolkatan, indeed, even
though other tropical climes have also adapted it, the scale of its use in
Bengal is quite overwhelming. Then, we come across large wooden screens
covering the top half or more of the porch, bay or verandah in palatial
buildings. These massive wooden boards, with fixed slanting Venetian blinds,
were firmly joined to columns, shafts or cast iron pillars and they protected
the inmates from the harsh glare or scorching heat of the sun. They also
withstood gusty thunderstorms and lashing rains that are so characteristic of
Bengal. Without them, the verandahs and the living rooms that were just beyond
them would have been flooded with rain water or even filled with dust that come
with unruly storms.
We may recall that the doors or
windows (if any) of our traditional huts, cottages or even double-storied mud
houses in our villages were indeed kept very small, so as to protect residents
against the elements. The thick mud walls and high thatched roofs of these indigenous buildings helped control the heat
or the cold that prevailed outside. In any case, most men, children and older
ladies preferred to sleep in the open courtyard, at least where commoners were
concerned. This harmony with nature and adaptability are very integral parts of
our heritage, though they hardly exist within the city of Kolkata, where
masonry structures dominate. The moot point is that our traditional walls made
with porous materials interacted continuously with the weather — cooling the
interiors during summer and insulating us from the cold during winter. European
plaster and cement, on the other hand, were meant for harsher climes and
basically to repel the elements, that included icy cold winds, sleet and snow.
Most western houses were sealed in places so as to retain warmth inside them
and cut down many heating costs. When these elements were grafted into our
buildings without imagination, the rooms in houses could become unimaginably
stuffy or hot.
‘Heritage preservation’ does not, therefore, mean just gawking at past
splendour, but appreciating the finer architectural elements that mark several
aristocratic houses of the 18th and 19th century Kolkata.
Many of these features are improvisations of the city and some are quite unlike
their variants in other cities. Let us look at the khilan thakur dalan
or pillared porch that arose from the rectangular courtyard located in the sadar
mahal part the house. It was (and still is) quite prominent in several houses,
like that of, say, of the fabulously rich comprador, Raja Nabakrishna Deb. His dalan
was meant to house the family deity and also to accommodate the image of Durga
during her worship in autumn. As we know, Deb started the ritual of inviting
British civil and military officials to impress them with his Durga Puja, but
we can be sure that white men came to this ‘heathen celebration’ not only to
humour their factotum, but also to witness the Indian dancing girls, who were
the star attraction. Wine and meat dishes flowed in abundance, as worship
became secondary in Deb’s show of pomp and power. Much of this was against
Hindu rituals, but his wealth had secured Deb the position of being the
undisputed leader of the upper caste Hindu tradition in Kolkata.
These raised dalan platforms, that housed the deities, had thick
load-bearing pillars in front of the rooms and were usually just one-storey
high. Quite often, rooms that rose above the thakur dalan went up
to two or three storeys and could be put to good use. Beautiful multi-floriated
arches adorned and joined the upper part of these thick columns— serving as
open doorways to view the deities. The number of such openings were usually
three (teen khilan dalan) or five (panch khilan dalan).
The plasters on the walls of these thick, short pillars were often highly
ornamented and the floriated arches that joined them were copied by Kolkata’s
aristocracy from late medieval terracotta temples of Bengal. The latter, in
turn, had incorporated them, strangely enough, from Islamic architecture. The main
raised sacred porch of the thakur dalan could have a ‘stage’-like
space in front, but we find that a gentle flight of stairs led down to the
central courtyard. These wonderful thakur dalans are still well
preserved in most old houses, as no one would like to upset the family deity.
Besides the Sovabajar Rajbari of the Deb family and its many branches, we come
across excellent thakur dalans that have been preserved quite
well till now in the mansions of the Tagores of Jorashanko (without images or deities), the
Mitras of Darjipara, Jagatram Dutta of Nimtala, Dwarpanarayan Tagore in
Pathuriaghaa, the Roys of Jorashanko and the Jhamapukur Rajbati. These
excellent, typically-Bengali khilan thakur dalans of the grand buildings
of north Kolkata are actually an architectural gift of Kolkata to the heritage
of India, but sadly, few understand its significance.
There is yet another
architectural splendour of Kolkata that was once the envy of Sydney in
Australia, which was incidentally linked to Kolkata by regular shipping lines.
We also had other forms of exchanges, including the swapping of many colonial
rulers that explains why so many roads and parks of Sydney and other cities of
Australia (and New Zealand) are replete with names like Wellington, Wellesley,
Auckland, Eden and Victoria. The architectural expression that I refer to is
the exquisite cast iron sculpture that adorned the facades of many such
buildings. They appeared on balconies, as balustrades (commonly known as
railings), and were also
prominent as gates and perimeter fences. Careful observers are amazed to see
the fineness of the work and the most delicate designs that man could ever
weave with iron. Quite often, large parts of such cast iron dreams are found to
have been taken away and sold by weight and replaced by unimaginative
factory-produced wrought iron. My friends and I have photographed quite a few
of these and presented these visuals at talks overseas — to many a gasp of
wonder. As the artisans of the foundries of Howrah were genetically more
skilled, our cast iron grills are superior to many other such specimens in
different parts of the world. But while Sydney still prizes its cast iron
balustrades on its balconies and one can undertake heritage walks for to admire
their sheer beauty, we have managed to destroy most of them. I think it is time
to read the proud publications of Sydney on this subject, like Lacework in
Iron —just to get inspired. We may
then focus not only on stucco, on plaster and on architectural styles but also
on railings, balustrades, windows and of course wonderful doorways and marble
flooring. And, by the way, a middle class adaption called red oxide flooring is
another proud heritage of Kolkata’s architecture that we hardly notice.
But history moves relentlessly and many of the stately palaces have been
pulled down, one by one, from the 1950s. While some were demolished for public
convenience like the widening of roads and the first such example that comes to
our mind is the Choudhury’s palace of Saheb, Bibi, Ghulam — that had to make way for Central
Avenue. Others were handed over to promoters, often by squabbling siblings and
cousins, for constructing multi-storied flats, But each time a building with
neo-classical features or rococo or even ostentatious baroque was ripped apart,
we lost an irreplaceable specimen of colonial Bengal’s superb craftsmanship. What perhaps
compensates a bit is profusion of western art deco architecture in central Kolkata in
the 1930s — that gradually spread further south. World class architects,
Ballardie, Thomson, and Mathews, introduced this new style that had taken
America and Europe by storm. The sheer minimalist beauty that art deco and western modernist aesthetics exuded charmed several
generations in the twentieth century. People had, in fact, become quite weary
of being dominated by heavily ornamented neo-classical buildings and by other
grand forms of imposing architecture of the preceding two centuries. The
distinguishing features of the art deco style are simple, clean shapes, often
with a ‘streamlined’ look, that bore very geometric bands of plaster on the outer
surface, running either horizontally or vertically, and a marked preference for
curved verandahs.
Art deco architecture could
flourish because new materials and technologies came into the market at the end
of the 19th century and later. The arrival of reinforced concrete
and light steel, for example, permitted the stylistic development and flexible
appearance of art deco, as load-bearing pillars became less essential. Once
constrictions like these were tackled, architects could experiment with more
fluid forms and geometric designs — like sharp rectangles and squares that vied
with equally pleasing curvatures. It was mainly after the First World War that art deco architecture, led by revolutionary
masters like Le Corbusier led the movement in Paris, where its Theatre des Champs-Elysées appeared to herald the Art Deco
movement, New York’s art deco skyscrapers — like the Chrysler building, the
Rockefeller Centre and the Empire State Building — dazzled the world.
Kolkata got its first taste of art deco in the 1940s and 1950s, through the
fascinating architecture of English movie halls like Metro, New Empire, Globe,
Lighthouse, Roxy — and was simply overwhelmed. But since we are not discussing
public buildings here, let us move to Elgin Road, Ballygunge and Alipore where
the newer wealthy class, especially those from outside of Bengal, built their
early art deco mansions.
Architects like Arjun Ray constructed landmark buildings like the jahaj bari
(house shaped like a ship) and art deco became more democratic as the middle class started
copying the stylish circular covered verandahs and broad staircases of the
bigger mansions. This salaried class consisted of educated people, who were
often more qualified and better-read than the old rich of north Kolkata. They
were the very core around which the post-Rabindranath, post-Saratchandra
generations of litterateurs, artists, musicians and professors would expand and
flourish. Many set up dwellings in the new urban areas that were opened up by
the Calcutta Improvement Trust or by private developers like the Hindustan
Cooperative of Nalini Ranjan Sarkar. The latter, incidentally, sold plots to
qualified middle class home-seekers on Hindustan Park and Hindustan Road in the
Rashbehari-Gariahat area. And, this is the area that has the maximum
concentration of smaller three-storied or four-storied art deco residential buildings, sprawled all
over Purna Das Road, Keyatala, Southern Avenue, and the many eponymous roads in
the localities around the Dhakuria Lakes.
While the western world used art deco for gigantic public buildings,
Kolkata adopted it eventually for smaller private residences. The west actually
gave up this fashion after the Second World War, but Kolkata’s residential
buildings were built in right earnest only after the War, in the 1950s and
1960s. These scaled down versions and modest art deco buildings of south Kolkata were
called ‘Metro-style’ houses, and they are in sharp contrast to the ostentation
of the palatial buildings of north Kolkata. These smaller buildings stand out
even today with their own quiet dignity — often combining so effortlessly
contrasting geometries, like sharply defined rectangular corners on one side
with semi circular balconies and gently curved architecture on the other side.
The part that covers the central staircase usually has glass panes all the way
up to the top, running along the middle of the building. This vertical area is
often decorated with raised lines or bands in geometric patterns, from top to
bottom. Some even have a small flag stand on top, but no one knows why it is
there. This art deco style has not yet acquired celebrity heritage status, as
few really observe its sheer beauty. Besides, most heritage lovers are so
fixated on the neo classical and other grander architecture of Kolkata, that
they cannot get out of the groove. It is time we recognised smaller art deco
residences as Kolkata’s unique contribution.
We may consider it right for
heritage lovers and connoisseurs of architecture to make whatever comment they want on others’
property, or for the preservation lobby to bemoan the destruction and
rebuilding that come invariably with the passage of time. But we also need to
understand that the owners need money to sustain uneconomically large
buildings, and if the city’s built heritage is to be preserved, then someone has to bear the
burden. This economic logic is accepted and it explains why so many art deco
buildings around the Rashbehari Avenue area have been reutilised Nd converted
into upmarket boutiques, shops and quaint restaurants — without damaging their
basic character. But when we consider the bigger problem of maintaining the
huge mansions of north Kolkata, presuming of course that much of them are under
the owner’s occupation, we need to consider large amount of funds. Let us,
therefore, see how is it that other self-respecting countries or cities have
managed to cling on to what they will never able to replace. One of the methods
to save and preserve heritage is to provide state or municipal funding, but I
do not think we should even discuss this subject in India. After 41 years in
administration, I hardly know any municipal body in India that has not taken an
active part in the destruction of the history and heritage of the very cities
that were entrusted to them.
One idea that I have been advocating for over two decades is the institution
of a ‘Lottery Fund’. Most people hardly know that large
parts of early Kolkata were built through public funds garnered by lotteries
conducted by the East India Company’s government. In fact, in 1817, the
Company set up an official ‘Lottery Committee’ to raise money from citizens to
plan and execute public projects. Some of the best examples of public roads in
old Kolkata that were built with funds raised from public lotteries are
Wellesley Street (Rafi Ahmed Kidwai Road), Wellington Street (Nirmal Chunder
Street), College Street and Cornwallis Street (Bidhan Sarani) as well as Strand
Road. Another building that was financed completely from such funds was the
grand Town Hall of Kolkata. A new Kolkata Heritage Lottery Fund on the model of
the successful United Kingdom Heritage Lottery Fund is quite feasible — to help owners of heritage
buildings in Kolkata repair and re-utilise them. And, after all, citizens can
buy these lottery tickets for a public cause, with no sense of guilt and still
some hope to win jackpots. The UK Fund earns millions of pounds and these
ultimately go to subsidise the maintenance of heritage buildings and historical
areas. The Bank of China and HSBC take an active part in providing heritage
funds for their cities in China. There are many such ideas which our government
just needs to examine and decide. An Oversight Committee consisting of urban
planning experts and architects, with no conflict of interest, can surely take
over from that point, along with heritage conscious citizens — to maintain
their own town’s heritage. At the same time public bodies need to observe the
highest level of transparency, while they engage themselves in the task of
saving every small part of the priceless and irreplaceable history of their
communities, cities, state and the nation.
Kolkata must also remember that
while Delhi has four World Heritage Sites declared by the UNESCO and Mumbai,
Chennai, Ahmedabad, Jaipur, Hyderabad all have such prestigious buildings of
international fame, the grand old capital of British India, Kolkata, is yet to
earn this award for even a single site. Since Kolkata does not have any notable
architecture of the pre-colonial era, we could propose the Victoria Memorial or
the Howrah Bridge or even Fort William to the UNESCO, Paris, for World Heritage
stature — but this requires a lot of professional documentation. UNESCO’s rules
mandate a large number of compliances and multiple dimensions — in order to
maintain the purity of the original structure. These entail heritage consciousness
and a fierce pride in the past that the citizens of most developed nations
possess. We will require decades to instil this spirit among our citizens in
this country and in this city, before we can even dream of taking up serious
tasks of this nature. With every passing year, however, we lose some
irreplaceable part of our architectural heritage.
But we can always make a start —
so let us begin, now.
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