Sim cities

Gautam Bhatia
January 24, 2006

Visualise this. Houses on one-acre plots with low tiled roofs, two car 
garages and picket fences, picture windows, neatly curtained, looking 
out on trimmed lawns — a transplanted subdivision of New Jersey, 
complete with rambling ranch-style homes? No. Just a private housing 
estate in suburban Bangalore, built as promised in the brochure, along 
American lines. I drove around, trying to figure out why they appeared 
so out-of-sync in the hot Bangalore sun. An American answer to every 
Indian urban situation produces this sort of misguided animated 
development, now found throughout India.

Just take the road south of Delhi towards Gurgaon. Behind brick piles, 
earth mounds and mud shacks of Rajasthani labour force, rise 15 to 
20-storey high plate glass skyscrapers built of imported Italian marble, 
designed  by American engineers with South Korean technology. They are 
global architecture’s repetitive imprint and could be anywhere — London, 
Dubai or Hong Kong. Built at three to eight times the cost of 
conventional structures, some of them employ expensive electronic 
technologies out of place in a city of cheap labour: computer-controlled 
louvres shield the façade from the sun and floor-mounted sensors move 
whole elevator banks to pick up a lone passenger.

But the sheer glassiness of the facades is impressive, and hides these 
less visible facets of the buildings’ economy, efficiency and 
workability. Cultural globalisation relies heavily on diverse 
international images to create the right distance from India.

The old India is a picture in perpetual slow fade, carrying in its soft 
focus, undeniable attractions of forgotten lifestyles: Rajasthani 
courtyards, Mughal arches, colonial bungalows, an old palace here, a 
haveli there. No longer desirable, such architectural nostalgia now only 
sets the tone for tourism, the India of brochures and posters.

By contrast, the new India is an incomplete picture; its makers are on 
the road to trial and unabashed plagiarism. The perfect picture has 
already formed somewhere in the world and we are merely buyers on an 
expensive and indulgent shopping spree. Take an American highway and 
string it between Mumbai and Pune. Plant a New Jersey suburb in 
Bangalore, copy a California condominium in Gurgaon. Help yourself to 
South Korean rail technology, buy yourself German carriages. Ask a 
Spanish designer to build a world-class airport. Do it, because action 
must be seen to have been taken, and it’s just too bad if the 
international amalgam is a mess. The present will create its own future.

The trend towards a totally faceless architecture is a global 
phenomenon. Compared to what is happening in China, the new buildings of 
India are only minor aberrations. Even if the State still appears to be 
tied down to its communist political agenda, China’s economy — and 
consequently its cities — presses ahead with its modernist vision.

The Shanghai City Centre is the current design toy of the world’s most 
celebrated architects. London-based Zaha Hadid, Dutchman Rem Koolhas, 
New York’s SOM, French architect Paul Andrew, are only a few stars in 
the in the galaxy of professionals working on grandiose projects — 
museums, leisure palaces, office blocks, banks, hotels and the like. To 
make way for their personal expressions, huge tracts of housing in 
central Shanghai were demolished. In Beijing, vast acres of old brick 
hutong constructions were razed.

But large scale demolition and upheaval is nothing new in a country 
where State ambitions — ideological or economic — override those of 
ordinary citizens. Whether it is the Three Gorges Dam, a 1,000-mile 
highway between Lhasa and Beijing or hi-tech rail links between the East 
coast cities, the Chinese bulldozer devastates on a monumental scale. 
Without a whimper of protest, villages are displaced, communities 
uprooted, and towns submerged. No Medha Patkar voice of dissent is 
heard. No public interest litigation. How can there be? When the images 
of change are so seductive, the tragic consequences of American-scale 
and style of globalisation can barely be felt.

Where once culture may have appeared impervious to change, the sudden 
acceptance of the bold, the new and the impossible has brought a 
profusion of conflicting images into a traditional society. In adopting 
the topdown policy of economic reform and endorsing symbols of the elite 
— resorts, leisure hotels, bank headquarters — China hopes that the 
appeal of wealth symbolised by the glitter of new buildings, will one 
day trickle to the mass of its rural poor.

“We hope to take the Chinese city out of the 19th century, straight into 
the 21st,” said a Chinese planner, “without making the mistakes of the 
20th.” It is an odd expectation, and much like an Indian industrialist 
driving his Mercedes through a rutted mud village in Bihar — an act that 
doesn’t inspire, but invites only scorn.

This willingness to convert historic cities into global showpieces and 
gallery space for Western architects, should act as a stern message to 
Indian administrators. Yet oddly, the Chinese mutilation of its towns 
has only given its southern neighbour a deep inferiority complex. Among 
the fraternity of builders, bureaucrats and professionals in India, 
there is an undercurrent of jealousy and a deepening sense of gloom that 
in the global race to create potent symbols of globalisation, the 
Chinese are winning. And making more money while doing it.

To wish a Shanghai on Delhi or Mumbai would kill the very reason cities 
are made: the variety of economics, cultures and sociologies that come 
together to share common space. For all its richness and squalor, Mumbai 
survives. It may not be glinting across the sea like Hong Kong, but the 
thick, messy geography of varied perceptions, people and places, fuelled by

rural migrations and urban growth all makes into a one-of-a-kind city. A 
happy third world city. So far, the inventive power of its local 
thinking — however corrupt and inefficient — is not lost in the muddled 
waters of global solutions.

The writer is the author of Punjabi Baroque And Other Memories of 
Architecture

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