Modern Architecture and the Excavation of the Past William ...

Modern Architecture And the excAvAtion of the PAst: Louis KAhn And the indiAn sub-continent

1William J. r. curtis

This is the paradox: how to become modern and return to sources: how to revive an old dormant civilization and take part in universal civilization. Paul Ricoeur1

As the work of Louis Kahn recedes into history its long-term implications for world architecture become ever more evident. Much has been written about his monumentality, his metaphysics, his ideas of construction, and his debts to classical antiquity. The same is true of his beaux-arts formation, his obsession with ruins, and his interest in the geometrical structures of nature. Several later schools of thought have tried to “claim” Kahn as their chief mentor, from post-modernists to minimalists, but his architecture escapes these easy categories, as it touches much deeper, not to say archetypal, levels in experience. At times he even transcended the limits of Western architectural discourse, as when giving shape to the social and political aspirations of nations newly liberated from imperialism on the Indian sub-con-tinent. With both the National Assembly Complex in Dacca, East Pakistan (now Dhaka, Bangladesh (1962-1983)), and the Indian Institute of Management in Ahmedabad (1962-1974), Kahn penetrated the substructures of the past and transformed them through his usual abstraction into resonant emblems of mo-dernity. To later architects seeking touchstones in tradition and preoccupied with questions of post-colonial identity, his solutions revealed new ways of synthesizing the new and the old, the local and the universal.2 It is impossible to understand Kahn’s Assembly in Dacca separately from the processes of nation-building. Monuments play a role in the marking of new territories, the establishment of symbolic centres and the construction of foundation myths. In the confusion surrounding the independence of India from British rule in 1947, several new capitals were created to deal urgently with the reconfiguration of frontiers. With the Partition of 1948, Pakistan was founded as an Islamic state but its two halves were over 600 miles apart: West Pakistan with Islamabad as its eventual national capital, and East Pakistan with Dacca as a subordinate administrative head. The Eastern territory corres-ponded to part of Bengal, cut in two in 1905 by the Viceroy George Curzon; this left Calcutta, then capital of the British Raj, in the Indian half. Another result of the 1948 Partition was the sectioning of the State of Punjab, which left Lahore, the old state capital, in West Pakistan. It was this that led to the creation of a new capital on the Indian side: Chandigarh, designed by Le Corbusier. Its monuments were supposed to exemplify the values of the newly founded secular and democratic republic of India.

Modern Architecture and the Excavation

of the Past

William J. R. Curtis

353 sher-e-bAngLA nAgAr, cAPitAL of bAngLAdesh, dhAKA, 1962–83. Aerial view of the entire complex under construction.

354 sher-e-bAngLA nAgAr, cAPitAL of bAngLAdesh, dhAKA, 1962–83. national Assembly building.


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East and West Pakistan were different in numerous ways—including climate, landscape, history, ethnic make-up, attitudes to reli- gion, and of course language. Dacca stood in the tropical delta of the Ganges and Brahmaputra rivers, a liquid landscape of shifting channels and humid vegetation. The syncretic versions of Islam in East Pakistan resisted the imposition of an Islamic state ideology from outside. Bengalis preferred their own language to the imported Urdu, and were underrepresented in the legislative assemblies in West Pakistan. In 1962, the President, General Ayub Khan, decided to reset the balance and assuage separatist tendencies by offering Dacca an entire Assembly and Governmental complex. Initially, the project was to have been given to Muzharul Islam who for some years had been develop-ing an architecture adjusted to his subtropical country and its distinctive cultural traditions.3 Inspired by great Bengali writerssuch as Rabindranath Tagore, who contributed to world literature while returning to his roots, Islam felt that provincial regionalism and superficial internationalism were both ills to be avoided. He had studied at Yale University in the 1950s where he had met Paul Rudolph (whose work in Florida established an effective modern response to tropical conditions) and Louis I. Kahn, who designed the Yale Art Gallery and taught at the school. Islam was willing to give up the great opportunity offered to him in favour of an architectural “master” of the first order, so approached Le Corbusier (who refused), Alvar Aalto (who was not well), and finally Kahn, who was happy to accept. Kahn was at the peak of his creativity and working flat out on a series of major projects, but the Dacca commission offered him an unprecedented opportunity to deal with one of the most ancient tasks in architecture: the symbolization of the power of the state in monumental forms. Designing a modern parliament was inherently ambiguous, as it required a judicious balance between authority and representation. The site selected for the Government enclave was a grassy plain to the north of the city and the programme was to include a hall of justice and hos-tels for representatives as well as the main Assembly building [  →   353 ]. Kahn sculpted the land with platforms and bodiesof water, envisaging a Citadel of Assembly aligned axially with a Citadel of Institutions (not built).4 The complex of buildings in Dacca now known as Sher-e-Banglanagar (after Sher-e-Bangla, the Tiger of Bengal) was supposed to anchor in place a political system which in reality had its seat elsewhere. It was only after the War of Independence in 1971, during which East Pakistan seceded from West Pakistan and became the new nation of Bangladesh, that the main parliament building was completed as part of a national capitol in the full sense. It was absorbed by

a nationalist mythology which included a range of symbols such as memorials to martyrs and freedom fighters who, with support from the Indian military, had “liberated” the territory from the hold of General Ayub’s West Pakistan. Like so many other monuments in the history of architecture, the National Assembly in Dacca was born out of a history of violent conflicts. With its bold concrete volumes cut by shadows, the main Assembly Building dominates the ensemble and has a slightly otherworldly quality [  →   354 ]: a luminous citadel rising out of the waters on a platform of red brick. It is a grandiose statement which affirms the state in forms both modern and archaic. The networks of luminous lines on the cylinders and rectangles of silver-grey concrete are rims of white marble marking the daily pouring joints, but seen at a distance they read almost as bind-ings, recalling the weaving of bamboo huts. This “house for the people” has a fortified appearance and is aloof in effect. It is approached by processional ramps which lead to the main entrance under a mosque which has four cylindrical towers at its corners and is skewed off the geometry of the rest of the build-ing so as to align with Mecca. The Assembly in Dacca combines secular and religious elements, and is a democratic symbol in a country without a fully functioning democracy. It is modern yet contains echoes of a rich architectural heritage running back through the periods of the Moghuls (sixteenth century), the Mus- lim Sultanates (fourteenth to fifteenth centuries), and Hindu kingdoms, to the early phases of Buddhism in the first millen nium. It reactivates a deeply embedded tradition of centralized forms.5 The National Assembly Building is a cousin of Kahn’s other late works and like them fuses space, geometry, structure, and light in an effort to reveal an immaterial dimension. The massive forms suggest an impenetrable citadel but the giant rectangular, triangular, and circular openings are detailed so that the walls read as thin planes of light emerging from deep reveals of shadow. The same materials are used inside where layers of structure cut by huge round apertures generate a ring of tall streets and galleries lit from above. The mosque creates the sen-sation of an eternal space beyond its walls, the corners dematerialized by glazing. The central Chamber of Representa-tives is an anticlimax by comparison, with its feeble parasol roof perhaps intended to refer to a Buddhist umbrella over a sacred centre.6 Kahn maintained a dialogue with the past but he was a thoroughly modern architect, who used abstraction to create a new order, one in which voids are as important as solids, and in which structure is dramatized by a controlled tectonic expres-sion of materials and construction. Behind the apparent simplic-ity of Kahn’s bold volumes, there is a complex content linking

Modern Architecture And the excAvAtion of the PAst: Louis KAhn And the indiAn sub-continent Modern Architecture And the excAvAtion of the PAst: Louis KAhn And the indiAn sub-continent


visible and invisible realms. In his designs he struggled to unite half-veiled symbols with the material order of architecture. In Kahn’s view, a monument should crystallize the aspirations of an institution while transmitting over time and adding in the long term to the collective memories of a society. In 1944 he wrote:

Monumentality in architecture can only be defined as a quality, a spiritual quality inherent in a structure which conveys the feeling of its eternity, that it cannot be added to or changed. We feel that quality in the Parthenon, the recognized architectural symbol of Greek civilization.7

When Kahn designed a building he absorbed the elements of the problem then after a period of incubation came up with a central intuition in his imagination. He made a distinction between “form” and “design”—the former was an essential, gene ra- ting idea interpreting the nature of the activity to be served; the latter was an elaboration of the core intentions in the realm of architectural language. His “reading” of the task in Dacca implied that an Assembly is an institution of a transcendental nature, so not surprisingly he returned in his earliest sketches to centric geometries of the kind found in most of his sacred projects [  →   355-357 ].8 His “thought-forms” emerged in boldly drawn black lines like series of crystals in formation. In response to the vast nature of the delta of Bengal, with its huge skies, mud causeways, fragile bamboo huts, shifting waters, and epic river systems, Kahn established an axis mundi, anchoring the new building to the earth. This centric form radiated its orthogonal and diagonal axes outwards in eight cosmic directions toward the surrounding flat landscape. In section the Assembly rose above the level of the floods, like some giant ship of state carrying the destiny of the nation. In returning to the “origin” of a parliament, Kahn estab-lished an interaction—a spatial debate—between the central room and all the other functions around it, a diagram of parlia-mentary debate and procedure, resolving itself in an Edict trans-mitted along the Presidential axis. The cross axis was aligned with the direction of Parliament. Tertiary axes departed along the diagonal. In his usual way Kahn separated “served” and “servant” spaces, treating the main chamber as a building within a building (a Pantheon, according to him) and surrounding it with a circular walkway to which extruded volumes were attached. By giving the mosque such a prominent position and by turning it at an angle in the direction of Mecca, Kahn underlined the founding

355 sher-e-bAngLA nAgAr, cAPitAL of bAngLAdesh, dhAKA, 1962–83. early sketches stressing centralized idea of assembly.




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358 sher-e-bAngLA nAgAr, cAPitAL of bAngLAdesh, dhAKA, 1962–83. development sketch for national Assembly building, 1963–1964.

359 AndreA PALLAdio, viLLA trissino, MeLedo, itALy, 1558. froM: L’ArchitetturA d’AndreA PALLAdio divisA in quAttro Libri, 1711.

360 chArLes gArnier, oPérA gArnier, PAris, frAnce, 1875. Plan.

361 cAsteL deL Monte, APuLiA, itALy, cA.1240. Plan.

362 LeonArdo dA vinci, d‘égLise à couPoLes MuLtiPLes. from: Les manuscrits de Léonard de vinci, 1883.



identity of Pakistan as an Islamic state. There are several “levels” on which one may read the Assembly in Dacca. Kahn himself suggested an analogy with a “many-facetted precious stone, con- structed in concrete and marble” while the crystalline forms reveal his deep interest in snowflakes and other geometrical configu- rations in nature.9 The plan suggests a private mandala of a kind—a diagram of psychic resolution—but translated into a cos-mic geometry idealizing the state. In the overall layout of the government complex, the Assem- bly reads as the “head,” while the diagonal arrays of subsidiary red brick buildings read as “arms.” There are echoes of Palla-dio’s grand villa schemes [  →   359 ], while the huge voids and niche-like spaces recall Kahn’s admiration for ancient Rome and the Baths of Caracalla.10 The plan of the Assembly build-ing itself [  →   358 ] is haunted by Garnier’s Paris Opéra (1875)with its ceremonial circulation and curved imperial ramp [  →   360 ]. Schemes like these were second nature to Kahn and he was adept at transforming them into new unities. Possibly he was inspired by Leonardo da Vinci’s sketches of round churches [  →   362 ], but it would be unwise to suggest any single source or meaning given the generic nature of Kahn’s forms. He had a predilection for centralized geometry in several periods and cultures, east and west. He distilled types from the history of architecture, then endowed them with his own sense of order. His obsession with fortresses, for example, extended from Scottish medieval castles with their cylindrical bastions, to the Forteresse de Salses (1497) near Perpignan, with its gatehouse, interior light wells, and solid exterior giving way to a fluid in-terior. One wonders if Kahn also knew the Castel del Monte (1240) in Puglia with its centralized symbolic plan, octagonal geometry, and radiating towers [  →   362 ].11 Kahn fused ideas together but without making obvious references. He transformed his interest in forts into abstract shapes such as cylinders and rectangles which he assembled around ceremonial rooms. His towers were half-way between mechanical shafts and historical monoliths. A key work for him was Frank Lloyd Wright’s Larkin Building in Buffalo (1904) which en-dowed industrial forms with monumentality, treating the service towers almost as the pylons of an ancient Egyptian gateway [  →   265 ]. Wright schematized primary geometries from nature and insisted upon “that law and order inherent in all great architecture.”12 In his search for an authentic modern monumen-tality Kahn also had one eye on Le Corbusier’s heroic achieve- ment in Chandigarh, claiming that his mentor had succeeded in “freezing the dream” in the buildings of the Capitol .13 He hadread Le Corbusier’s Vers une architecture (1923) while still a

363 Le corbusier, sKetch of roMAn ruins And PriMAry soLids. from: vers une architecture, 1923.

364 hyPostyLe hALL, rAMesseuM, Luxor, egyPt 1951. charcoal on paper, 29.2 x 37.5 cm. collection of sue Ann Kahn.


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student, and absorbed the lesson that modern architecture might be founded upon perennial values drawn from the ruins of antiquity [  →   363 ].14 The curious reversals of space and mat-ter, shadow and light in Kahn’s sketches of the ancient Egyp-tian hypostyle hall at Karnak [  →   364 ] seem to find an equiva-lent in the sublime spaces and shadowy voids of the Assembly in Dacca. Kahn’s imagination could link together diverse examples and synthesize them around a core of symbolic and formal themes, sometimes even hinting at an archetype beneath. The plan of the Assembly in Dacca recalls Moghul centralized struct ures in India such as the Tomb of Humayun in Delhi (1562) [  →   365 ] or the Taj Mahal in Agra (17th century) [  →   367 ], both of which Kahn knew. In this type, a central chamber is placed under a dome and there is a circular corridor for ritual circumambulation. There are primary and secondary axes corresponding to the car- dinal points, even diagonal axes, making a total of eight directions. There is a ring of secondary chambers along the perimeter, and the ensemble stands on a raised platform. It is as if Kahn had taken these massive masonry structures and reversed the emphasis of figure and ground within them, achieving presence through absence. As for the exterior expression, Kahn’s giant openings and triangular cut-outs could be read as abstractions of the huge niches in the Moghul tombs, derived in the long run from Persian architecture and known as “eywans.” Kahn’s marble strips recall the marble inlays of the Tomb of Humayun [  →   366 ], while the celestial vision of the heavenly tomb of the Taj Mahal, rising in white marble from a base of red sandstone next to the river Jumna, perhaps finds a recollection in the sub-lime image of Kahn’s Assembly floating triumphantly above the threatening waters of Bengal [  →   368, 369, 354 ].15 Kahn’s interest in “beginnings” took him back through the levels of time to certain archetypal situations, some with an eschatological slant, such as the notion of a ray of light slicing through shadows and reiterating the beginning of the universe—a theme in several sacred building traditions in India. The fusion of squares, circles, and polygons in vibrating cosmic geometries suggesting microcosms, even undersea worlds, is to be found in Indian temple architecture, including the fifteenth-century Jain example at Ranakpur which Kahn visited and admired.16 If the centralized tomb form was brought by the Moghuls and dropped into the semi-tropical landscape of the Bengali deltas, it there met with another tradition of centralized forms descend- ing in the long run from the Buddhist monasteries and stupas of the first millennium (for example, Paharpur, c. 750) [  →   370 ]. The bowing forms of the brick mosques of the Sultanate period

365 toMb of huMAyun, deLhi, indiA, 1562. Plan.

367 tAJ MAhAL, AgrA, indiA, 17th century. Plan.

366 toMb of huMAyun, deLhi, indiA, 1562. niches And MArbLe inLAys.

368 tAJ MAhAL, AgrA, indiA, 17th century. the marble mausoleum rises above a red sandstone foundation on the shores of the Jumna river.



(fourteenth and fifteenth centuries) mimetically incorporated the curved, boat-like roofs and bindings of bamboo huts, but in a more permanent form. Perhaps Kahn’s white marble lines over vast cylinders represent a further stage in this transposi tion from the vernacular to the monumental, an evocation of local origins in a primitive hut. But at a certain point he cut with the past completely, seeking an entirely new order while returning to “ground zero.” For the Assembly he imagined voids filled with light, an idea of metaphysical abstraction transcending time. Kahn’s excavation of the past via modern forms chimed with a quest for national identity which drew together essentialist myths of territorial continuity with aspirations toward international modernity. His solution to the Assembly was effective as a national state symbol but its fortress-like exteriors did not exactly suggest a parliament inviting participation. The building may have enshrined a democratic ideal but the political reality on the ground was different. Citizens were eventually able to enjoy the orchards, stretches of water, and platforms of the com-plex as a whole, but they still had to look at their Assembly building from the outside, a political emblem of a democracy waiting to arrive. The architecture of the Assembly in Dacca still raises doubts: is it an occidental imposition on a poor, third-world, “under- developed” country? Or is it, on the contrary, the found ation stone of a new architectural tradition, combining the local and the universal, the modern and the archetypal? These questions do not have definitive answers.17 As for climate, Kahn’s solution of large holes in the walls was not the best way of dealing with tropical heat and humidity which normally required open screen-like buildings for cross-ventilation. In effect, Kahn’s work in Dacca—rather like Le Corbusier’s in Chandigarh—provided a powerful prototype which none the less needed to be critically transformed if it was to serve as an architectural guide. Kahn’s other project on the sub-continent is the Indian Insti tute of Management in Ahmedabad (1962–74), in the west-ern state of Gujarat. Unlike Dacca, Ahmedabad has a hot, dry climate and suffers from sandstorms from the nearby desert. The traditional buildings, with pillars and beams in wood and stone, combine deep overhangs of shade with cross-ventilation. Water is crucial for survival, and there are numerous wells, cylindrical cisterns, and tanks. This is another region with a strong archi-tectural heritage including mosques, subterranean stepped wells, and tomb complexes built by a series of Muslim dynasties in the thirteenth to sixteenth centuries. These Islamic buildings were in turn strongly influenced by the Hindu architecture of the Solanki Dynasty (eleventh to the thirteenth centuries) so, rather

369 sher-e-bAngLA nAgAr, cAPitAL of bAngLAdesh, dhAKA, 1962–83. interaction of architecture and landscape.

370 teMPLe, rAnAKPur, indiA, 15th century.


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as in Bengal, certain “substructures” of tradition were rethought in several periods. Ahmedabad was at a key point between desert and sea, situated on silk routes from central Asia, so that a merchant class emerged there which was used to exchange with the outside world. This class included several Jain families who put their wealth to good use by building temples and other communal institutions. In the nineteenth century Ahmedabad developed a unique urban culture based upon the wealth produced by textiles. Local millowners managed to sidestep the devastating effects of the Manchester cotton industries under British imperialism by indus- trializing themselves. In the 1920s Ahmedabad played a role in the movement towards independence, and Gandhi set up his ashram on the west bank of the Sabarmati river. The textile busi-ness relied upon a judicious balance between craft and industry, the rural base and urban culture, and the pursuit of quality in design was a constant concern. In the twentieth century the mer-chants of Ahmedabad, many of them Jain, turned their minds to the endowment of educational and cultural institutions to modernise their local society. They were quick to grasp the importance of Le Corbusier when he first came to India in 1951 to design Chandigarh, and invited him to contribute to their city. Ahmedabad can boast four buildings by him: the Museum, the Millowners’ Association Building, the Shodhan House, and the Sarabhai House with its low vaults on brick piers and its concrete beams.18 The old city of Ahmedabad with its close-knit streets, courtyards and “haveli” residences stands on the east bank of the Sabarmati river. In the 1950s, after independence, most of the modern development took place to the west, including the construction of new university buildings and research institutions. Again, the tradition of enlightened philanthropy was crucial in establishing a long-term vision of education. Business leaders including Kasturbhai Lalbhai and Vikram Sarabhai decided that India needed a new class of managers, able to compete on an international scale. They helped to formulate the idea of a school of management, broadly based on Western models such as the Harvard Business School. The initiative was financed by the Government of India, by the State Government of Gujurat, and by Sarabhai himself. A site was chosen at Vastrapur, about six kilometres to the west of the city centre, and initially the job was offered to Balkrishna Doshi who had worked with Le Corbusier on the Indian projects and had recently designed the Indian Institute of Indology (1958) on the Ahmedabad university campus. It was Doshi who suggested that the client turn to Louis Kahn as a worthy accompaniment to Le Corbusier. The

merchants of Ahmedabad wanted nothing but the best from the contemporary world of architecture.19

The Indian Institute of Management stands on a flat site and presents a somewhat fortified exterior with its bold brick walls cut by deep openings of shadows [  →   371 ]. Access from the main road leads to a monumental ramp and a flight of steps which passes into the main teaching block with its library and lecture halls around a large court [  →   372 ]. The dormitories depart on adiagonal beyond a lawn and present their back sides to the road in a row of cylindrical stair-towers and giant circular openings punched through the walls and braced by concrete beams [  →   373 ]. Freestanding houses for the faculty are situa-ted further out in a park-like setting. The scheme as a whole is unified by the brick and concrete vocabulary, but the different uses are designated by changes in the scale of openings. As one moves into the complex, one grasps that the spaces between are as important as the objects that enclose them. In fact, what looks in plan like a formalist pattern of rectangles and diagonals trans-lates in experience into a sequence of vistas and courts, a dense weave of open and closed spaces which recalls some features of a traditional urban landscape [  →   374 ]. The overall forms and plan geometries of IIM clearly belong to the same family as the Assembly in Dacca, the Bryn Mawr dormi tories, and the Exeter Library—that is, with fringes of smal ler spaces around the edges and larger courts or communal areas in the centre. But in each case the intention is different. For Kahn a teaching institution at this scale was like a small city, with its private dwellings, its transitional squares, its walls, stairways, and ramps. A plan for him was a “society of rooms.” One of his models in this case was the basic type of the monastery with its distri-bution of individual cells, its larger collective order, its commu-nal areas, and the linking cloisters and walkways in which casual encounters and exchanges may occur. But Kahn was also acutely aware of the ferocity of the climate in Ahmedabad, and of the need to establish layers of shade between inside and outside, and to permit cross-ventilation through large openings. Beyond the practical considerations there were the poetic ones for, as Le Corbusier already knew, the strong light of India permitted the architect to dramatize the relief of buildings with deep pockets of shadow. Kahn did not arrive at the final forms of IIM quickly.20 On the contrary, it was a laborious design process in which there were several changes of direction. It was Doshi, for exam ple, who poin- ted out to Kahn how important it was to catch the prevailing south-western breezes, and this led to the entire scheme being flipped over and angled differently so that the 45° spaces would



371 indiAn institute of MAnAgeMent, AhMedAbAd, indiA, 1962–74. dormitories.

372 indiAn institute of MAnAgeMent, AhMedAbAd, indiA, 1962–74. Main building.

373 indiAn institute of MAnAgeMent, AhMedAbAd, indiA, 1962–74. street view, dormitories.


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permit the passage of air. Some of Kahn’s earliest sketches [  →   375 ] showed him experimenting with great flat-topped mounds, almost like ancient “mastabas” of sculpted land (one recalls the importance of the platform as a strong gesture of monumentality in Dacca). In plan too there were several hesi- tat ions as Kahn started out with a square as a sort of neutral point of departure then gradually articulated it, introducing overlaps of rectangles and triangles, as in many of his other schemes. The resulting geometry with its ambiguities of figure and ground suggests textile patterns [  →   376 ]. One can see here a personal style at work as the architect probes the nature of the pro-gramme, or rather the aspirations behind the client’s list of requirements. On the subject of social interpretation Kahn stated revealingly: “the architect’s first act is to take the program that comes to him and change it. Not to satisfy it but to put it into the realm of architecture, which is to put it into the realm of spaces.” He insisted time and again that “architecture is the thoughtful making of spaces.”21 Kahn’s interpretation of the educational programme at IIM took into account the case study method, which led him to believe that much of the teaching would occur in small groups and that some of these exercises could occur almost any- where, including on the generous landings of the dormi tories which were conceived as transitional spaces with contact to the outside. The dormitories reinvented the idea of the Oxbridge staircase with rooms each side on the various levels, while the insistence upon courts was also in a long collegiate tradition of Western architecture. Kahn was acutely sensitive to urban spaces, as one can see in his numerous sketches of Italian piazzas [  →   288, 302 ], and it is likely that he was also alert to Indiancitadel complexes such as the forts in Agra and Delhi with their rounded bastions, ramps, layers of space, shifting axes, and overlaps of geometry. The bold brick cylinders of IIM recall another complex that fascinated the architect: the Cathedral and Bishop’s Palace at Albi in south-western France (thirteenth century), Kahn’s travel sketch [  →   137 ]. Kahn was a modern architectwho used abstraction to fuse together sources from different places and times. The idea of treating university buildings as microcosms of ideal cities is recurrent in the history of modern architecture.22 But rather than being forward-looking, Kahn’s “utopia” rejected machinism in favor of an idealized, archaic past. The vocabulary of stark brick with concrete structural ties and round openings can no doubt be related to a host of Kahn’s obsessions, such as the naked ruins of antiquity, or Piranesi’s engravings of Roman bridges. But he also responded to the abstract forms of the

374 indiAn institute of MAnAgeMent, AhMedAbAd, indiA, 1962–74. gradual transitions between interior and exterior.



Jantar Mantar observatories in Delhi [  →   377 ] and Jaipur (eigh-teenth century) and, closer at hand, to the hydraulic engineering works with their giant sluices in the Ahmeda bad architectural tradition. The solution of the inverted arch with cross-ties was supposed to be a reliable way of resisting earthquakes (not 100 percent successful to judge by the cracks caused by the last major earthquake in 2001). Textured brick walls and concrete beams were used by Le Corbusier in the Sarabhai House in Ahmedabad of 1951, a building on the knife-edge between a procured “peasantism” and the industrial verna cular of textile mills. Kahn’s use of brick at IIM was more precise, procuring vast surfaces sensitive to light, sliced in places by gaps of shadow. His treat- ment of brick walls as planes recalls the precision and military severity of the Garrison Church in New Delhi by Arthur Gordon Shoosmith (1930). Kahn succeeded in reconciling bold modern geometry with local craftsmanship, and in the process contributed to a generic style used by others with varying degrees of intensity. Kahn was very much his own architect but he was not blind to the general situation of architecture and there were some affinities between his direction and that of contemporaries. There is a strain of the archaic, a lurking primitivism, in several works of the 1950s, not least those of Le Corbusier, including the monuments in Chandigarh. In the 1950s both Alvar Aalto and Jorn Utzon returned to fundamental types such as the plat-form and the courtyard, while cross-breeding influences from distant cultures. Aalto’s townships in the Finnish forest with their levels, precincts, and fractured courts in textured brick were like so many Nordic versions of antique ruins. Utzon’s Fredens- borg housing in Denmark (1961–63) established a society of spaces in the landscape by working out variations upon the patio dwelling in brick, and by seeking common ground between Danish farmyards and Chinese courtyard houses. The closest conceptual cousin to IIM (although each architect had his distinctive language and pedigree) might be the University of East Anglia by Denys Lasdun (1962), an “urban landscape” of platforms, stepped dormitories, and towers, combining 90° an 45° geometries and wedding buildings to the natural setting. In the early 1960s, the obsession with “spaces between” and “thresholds” was evident in the work of Aldo van Eyck, who discus sed his Amsterdam Orphanage (1959–63) in terms of “labyrinthine cla- rity.” Similar themes surfaced in the discussions of “Team Ten.” All this represented a broad reaction against the freestanding objects and diagrammatic planning of the immediate post-war years.23

In India and Bangladesh, Kahn opened the way to fresh read-ings of the past for a post-colonial generation seeking a return

375 indiAn institute of MAnAgeMent, AhMedAbAd, indiA, 1962–74. Plan sketches, early version.

376 indiAn institute of MAnAgeMent, AhMedAbAd, indiA, 1962–74. Partial site plan.


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to core values in tradition, which they hoped to transform into a modern architecture adapted to local contexts and climates. Kahn tended to be seen as a counterpoint and contrast to Le Corbusier, even as a corrective to the vast open spaces and isola- ted objects of Chandigarh. His influence arrived in Ahmeda bad before him, as one may judge from the Gandhi Smarak Sangra-halaya Museum by Charles Correa (1958–63) [  →   380 ], an inge-nious fusion of Kahn’s Trenton Bath Houses, Le Corbusier’s Sarabhai House and the village vernacular, around a spatial con-cept of interflowing “outdoor rooms.” Subsequently, Kahn’s basic spatial and geometrical patterns—centric spaces with fringes of smaller rooms; circles, squares, polygons, and axes; inter- woven courts—provided conceptual screens through which several periods of Indian architecture could be “seen” and re- interpreted, including the interlocking voids of Rajput fortresses, the unfolding spaces of Fatehpur Sikri, and the dense pattern of streets and squares in desert cities such as Jaisalmer [  →   378 ]. One senses these continuities in the work of Raj Rewal, for example, whose Indian Asian Games Housing in New Delhi (1980-82)[  →   379 ], with its reinvention of the traditional urban landscape of courts and terraces, is a worthy relative of Kahn’s IIM but in another architectural language.24 They can be found too in Bangladesh,where architects related to the Chetana Research Group have sought out links between substantial modern architecture and what they consider to be spatial archetypes in their region. The recent Changdaon Mosque, Chittagong, Bangladesh by Kashef Mahboob Chowdhury (2006–7) fuses ideas from Kahn’s Assembly with a reinterpretation of the local courtyard type for the mosque: it thus exemplifies this general line of thought.25

This excavation of tradition took different forms but as a rule it penetrated to underlying types and spatial structures. Above all it avoided the imitation of traditional motifs, associated with the revivalism of the British Raj. Balkrishna Doshi worked with both Le Corbusier and Kahn and sought a middle way between them in his own search for an authentic modern Indian architecture.26 For him this was a matter of philosophies and personalities, as much as forms. Doshi always regarded Kahn as a guru existing on a higher plane and struggled against his first mentor Le Corbusier to establish an identity of his own. His studio Sangath in Ahmedabad (1979-81) [  →   381 ] brought the two influences together in a vaulted precinct of subterranean spaces, water channels, and grassy platforms. It was the abstraction of an Indian village but with echoes of Kahn’s Kimbell Museum and Le Corbusier’s Sarabhai House, themselves relati- ves of each other. Doshi thus extended vaulted lineages within modern architecture but transformed them to fit his quest

377 JAntAr MAntAr, observAtory, deLhi, indiA, 18th century.



for an Indian identity. Sangath lives in the tension bet ween rural and industrial worlds, its labyrinthine interior and synco - pated structure suggesting a meandering equivalent to Indian music. The insulated vaults in concrete and hollow tiles touch upon archetypes such as the vaulted caves of ancient Buddhist Chaitya halls, or the giant mud storage jars of the timeless desert vernacular. In its way, Sangath implied a return to “ori-gins” in fundamental forms. The desire to modernise while returning to pre-colonial eras of culture preceded the arrival of Kahn but he helped by providing forms that were sufficiently ambiguous that they could be read in several ways. Anant Raje worked with Kahn on IIM Ahmedabad and completed the scheme after Kahn’s death in 1974, but he also extended the lessons of his mentor in his own work. In addition to being an individual solution, IIM suggested a type, a citadel of learning with inner courts and transitions, which provided a model for large-scale educational institutions in India. Raje transformed some of these ideas in his own Indian Institute of Forestry Management (1984) [  →   382 ] which occupies a hilltop site outside Bhopal and is formed from platforms, a theatre, interstitial spaces, courts, and sequences of indoor and outdoor rooms. The arches and planning principles clearly owe much to Kahn, but the underlying organization reveals Raje’s fascination with ancient ruins including Hadrian’s Villa at Tivoli near Rome and Indian palace/fortress complexes such as Mandu (fifteenth century) with its courts, ramps, water-ways, and pavilions [  →   038 ]. Raje summed up the importance of Kahn, not just to himself, but also to others inspired by his example:

Simply stated, Kahn raised the intellectual level to a spiritual level invoking humanistic ideals in pursuit of timeless architectural solutions. His instinct for new technology combined with abstract visual language and learning from the lessons of history gave a new meaning and purpose to architecture. . . . The nature of the material that governed the construction in brick generated arches, pilasters, buttresses. . . . Walls brought about a composite order with concrete for frames and restraining members used for ties—a new architectural language that recognized craftsmanship . . . This language instantly made connection with historical places such as Mandu, Golconda, Bider, Bijapur on the Deccan plateau in central India where the Sultanates built some of the most magnificent buildings in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.27

378 dense netWorK of buiLdings, ALLeys, And squAres in the historicAL city center of JAisALMer, indiA.

379 rAJ reWAL, AsiAn gAMes housing, neW deLhi, indiA, 1980–82.


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380 chArLes correA, gAndhi sMArAK sAngrAhALAyA MuseuM, sAbArMAti AshrAM, AhMedAbAd, indiA, 1958–63.

381 bALKrishnA doshi, sAngAth studio, AhMedAbAd, indiA, 1979–81.



Both Kahn and Le Corbusier had a major impact on the development of architecture on the Indian sub-continent. They functioned like mirrors and refracting lenses for later architects, helping them to discover themselves and to see problems more clearly.28 There were superficial imitators, naturally, but the more probing architects absorbed the principles and transformed the prototypes while criticizing their limitations. Kahn’s works in Dacca and Ahmedabad suggested that one could be modern and traditional simultaneously, that one could avoid the superficial imitation of international styles without retreating into a provincial regionalism. He explored dimensions of modern space even as he investigated archetypes; he responded to the local while aspiring to the universal. The multivalent abstraction of his forms stimulated later invention and encouraged multiple readings, a process which continues into the present. Kahn came along at just the right moment for societies recovering from colo- nialism and seeking new frameworks of identity but in relation to a cosmopolitan architectural culture. Writing in 1913, the his-torian E. B. Havell suggested that India throughout the ages had always absorbed artistic elements from elsewhere then reshaped them according to her own ideals. Kahn’s interventions provided an essential catalyst in this long-range historical pro-cess. 29

382 bALKrishnA doshi, sAngAth studio, AhMedAbAd, indiA, 1979–81.


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7 Louis I. Kahn, “Monumentality,” 1944, in Paul Zucker, ed., New Architecture and City Planning: A Symposium, New York, New York Philosophical Library, 1944, pp. 77 ff.; see also William J. R. Curtis, “Modern Architecture, Monumentality and the Meaning of Institutions,” Harvard Architecture Review IV, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard and MIT Press, 1984, pp. 65–83, and Curtis, “Reflections on Monumentality,” ibid., pp. 84–85, the latter in nine sections responding to José Luis Sert, Fernand Léger, and Sigfried Giedion, “Nine Points on Monumentality,” 1943, in Giedion, Architecture You and Me: The Diary of a Development, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1958, pp. 48–52. 8 See Richard Saul Wurman, What Will Be Has Always Been: Words of Louis I. Kahn, New York, Access, 1986; especially for Kahn, “Assembly is of a transcendent nature,” p. 105, and “A Citadel,” pp. 195 ff. 9 See Ronner, Jhaveri, and Vasella, 1985, p. 247, for the quotation on precious stone. Kahn’s interest in nature seems to have worked on several levels, from geometrical patterns of growth and change to an idealistic conception of nature as a model for architecture. For an interpretation, see, for example, Florian Sauter, “Mettre la nature en oeuvre,” pp. *** ff. in the present volume. For Kahn’s geometry, see Rafael Moneo, “Geometria como unica morada” [Geometry as unique abode]; for his conception of architecture as cosa mentale see Juan Navarro Baldeweg, “Del silencio a la luz” [From silence to light]; for his sensitivity to light, see Martin Filler, “El Emperador de la luz. Louis Kahn Veinte Anos Despues” [The Emperor of Light. Louis Kahn Twenty Years Later], all in Arquitectura y Vivienda 44, op. cit.10 For the Baths of Caracalla, see Kahn, “Talks with Students,” 1964, in Alessandra Latour, Louis I. Kahn. L’Uomo, il maestro, Rome, Edizioni Kappa, 1986, p. 173. For classical underpinnings in Kahn, see William J. R. Curtis, “Principle versus Pastiche: Perspectives on Some Recent Classicisms,” and “Modern Transformations of Classicism,” in Architectural Review, N° 1050 London, August 1984; and Curtis, “Om att transformera Palladio” [On transforming Palladio], in Christer Ekelund, ed., Palladio Idag, exhibition catalogue, Stockholm, Liber Forlag, 1985. The Assembly layout as a whole bears comparison with the University of Virginia (1821) by Thomas Jefferson with its Pantheon library at the head (itself indebted to Palladio); in Kahn’s case the abstracted “Pantheon” takes on the significance of head of state, if not a caput mundi. Discussions on Kahn sometimes refer to Rudolf Wittkower’s Architectural Principles in the Age of Humanism, London, Warburg Institute, 1949, in particular the symbolic analysis of circular church plans. Kahn had a roving eye and was probably just as interested in earlier Italian examples such as the fifth-century Church of San Lorenzo in Milan with its rotation of side niches and its attached elements. 11 For Kahn and south-west France, see for example Bernard Cattlar, “Louis I. Kahn. Albi. Carcassonne. Ronchamp. Otterlo 1959,” Plan Libre 27, Toulouse, Cahier Central, 2004, p. 6-11. Anant Raje, in conversations with the author in Ahmedabad (1984–87), often recalled the importance of the fortress at Salses to Kahn. Salses was built in 1497–1502 by FerdinandII of Aragon and Isabel of Castille to repel the French. The architect/engineer was Francisco Ramirez Lopez who had studied the ventilation shafts and light wells of the Alhambra. Castel del Monte was built in 1240 by the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II of Hohenstaufen and combined references to the Holy Sepulchre with an octagonal plan; it was in effect a sacred fortress. 12 Frank Lloyd Wright, “In the Cause of Architecture,” Architectural Record, New York, 1908. For the service towers of the Larkin Building see Kenneth Frampton, Studies in Tectonic Culture: The Poetics of Construction in Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Architecture, Cambridge, Mass., MIT Press, 1995. See also Curtis, “The Presence of Absence,” on Wright’s interest in primary geometries and “first principles.” Kahn’s North American pedigree also included Louis Sullivan and H. H. Richardson who in his time synthesized beaux-arts planning procedures with the

1 Paul Ricoeur, “Universal Civilization and National Cultures,” 1961, in History and Truth, Evanston, Northwestern University Press, 1965, p. 277.2 For resonances with the past, see William J. R. Curtis, “Authenticity, Abstraction and the Ancient Sense, Le Corbusier’s and Louis Kahn’s Ideas of Parliament,” Perspecta 20, Yale, 1983, p. 181-194. For post-colonial conceptions of “identity” and reinterpretations of national, regional, and international traditions, see Curtis, “Towards an Authentic Regionalism,” Mimar 19, Singapore, Concept Media, January 1986, p. 24-31; also Curtis, “Modernism and the Search for Indian Identity,” Architectural Review, London, August 1987, p. 33 ff. 3 Kazi K. Ashraf, “Muzharul Islam, Kahn and Architecture in Bangladesh,” Mimar 31, Singapore, Concept Media, 1989, pp. 55–63. Among the intellectual traditions inherited by modern Bengal were those of the so- called Bengali Renaissance (late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries) which combined modern western rationalism with a rediscovery and reasses- sment of the spiritual roots of Hinduism in the region, in part through the translation of texts written in Sanskrit (e.g. the Rigveda, c. 1500 BC). Muzharul Islam’s outlook combined secularism with a deep interest in the ancient traditions of his country. 4 For the commission and design process sketches, see Heinz Ronner, Sharad Jhaveri, and Alessandro Vasella, “Sher-e-Banglanagar—National Capitol, Dacca, Bangladesh,” in Louis I. Kahn, Complete Work 1935–74, Basel, Birkhauser, 1985; and David B. Brownlee and David G. Delong, “Selected Buildings and Projects, Sher-e-Bangla Nagar, Capital of Bangladesh,” in Louis I. Kahn: In the Realm of Architecture, New York, Rizzoli, 1992, pp. 374 ff; for principally geometrical analysis, see Klaus-Peter Gast, Louis I. Kahn: The Idea of Order, Basel, Birkhauser, 1998, pp. 99 ff; see also Kazi Khaleed Ashraf and Saif Ul Haque, Sherbanglanagar. Louis I. Kahn and the Making of a Capital Complex, exhibition catalogue, Dhaka, Bangladesh National Museum, 2002. 5 For centralized plans and long-term historical resonances, see Curtis, “Cosmos y estado: la Asemblea Nacional de Dhaka” [Cosmos and State: The National Assembly in Dhaka], Arquitectura y Vivienda 44, special issue on Louis Kahn, Madrid, 1993, p. 16-21; see also Curtis, “The Presence of Absence, Louis Kahn and Modern Monumentality,” PTAH, Helsinki, Alvar Aalto Academy, 2002, p. 21-33. The historiography of architecture sometimes stresses disjunctions and separate style phases, and sometimes emphasizes continuities and constants of so-called “Indianness”. For a more nuanced idea of Indian tradition as a dynamic development combining several temporal “layers,” general formulae and unique inventions, imports and transformations, universal qualities, and local accents, see Curtis, “The Construction of the East, Myths of Indian Archi - tecture,” Times Literary Supplement, London, August 30, 1991, p. 16-17.6 In fact the parasol roof was a compromise. Kahn’s original solution for the roof combined four concrete planes crossing at the centre with circular openings in a ring around the edges. This reiteration of the themes of the building would have been more satisfactory visually and conceptually, but it proved to be too heavy. In any event, there is a conflict in the main chamber between the requirements of a directional and convivial room for discussion and debate, and the rather overbearing and insistent centralized geometry. One cannot say for certain that Kahn’s “umbrella” solution was supposed to refer back to ancient Buddhist imagery, but he was aware of the importance of Buddhism in ancient Bengal (e.g. the Pala Empire, 750–1120) and of key remains such as the monastic complex at Paharpur (eighth century) with its fringe of cells around the rectangular perimeter and its cruciform stupa at the centre—in effect, a variant of a mandala plan.



assessment see Sarah Williams Goldhagen, “Situating the Democratic Way of Life,” in Louis Kahn’s Situated Modernism, Yale University Press, 2001, pp. 164 ff. For an interpretation stressing the provision of a popular civic space in the surroundings, and a model for “delta urbanism,” see Ashraf and Ul Haque, Sherbanglanagar, Bangladesh, LOKA Publications, 2002. During the Regionalism event of December 1985 (see note 14 above) local opinion was divided between those who perceived the Assembly as a foreign object, and those who perceived it as a focal point of identity and continuity. By degrees the building has been absorbed into the collective consciousness of society as a national symbol. For example, it appeared with other national emblems such as the Martyrs’ Memorial at Savar (commemorating those who died in the Bangladesh Liberation War of 1971) on the back of the ten-taka banknote specially issued in the year 2000. 18 For Le Corbusier and the Ahmedabad context, see Curtis, Le Corbusier: Ideas and Forms, Oxford 1986, chapter 14, “The Merchants of Ahmedabad.” 19 For details of the commission see Doshi, Paths Uncharted, 2011; for the roles of Doshi and Anant Raje in the design of the Indian Institute of Management see Carter Wiseman, Louis I. Kahn: Beyond Time and Style, A Life in Architecture, New York, Norton, 2007.20 For the planning stages and drawings of IIM Ahmedabad see Ronner, Jhaveri, and Vasella, 1985, and Brownlee and Delong, 1992, p. 368. See also Christian Devillers, “L’Indian Institute of Management, Ahmedabad 1962–1974 di Louis Kahn,” Casabella, September 1990, pp. 37 ff.; Klaus-Peter Gast, Louis I. Kahn: The Idea of Order, Basel, Birkhauser, 1998, pp. 113 ff., and Kathleen James, “Form versus Function: The Importance of the Indian Institute of Management in the development of Louis Kahn’s Courtyard Architecture,” Journal of Architectural Education, N° 49, September 1995, p. 38-49. See also Kathleen James- Chakraborty, ‘Architecture of the Cold War. Louis Kahn and Edward Durrell Stone in South Asia’, Anke Köth, Kai Krauskopf, and Andreas Schwarting (eds), Building America: Eine grosse Erzählung, Dresden: Thele, 2008, pp 169-182. Between 1983 and 1988 the author was often in India, particularly in Ahmedabad, and sometimes stayed at IIM in the extension designed by Anant Raje. 21 See Kahn, “On Philosophical Horizons,” AIA Journal, vol. xxxiii, no. 6, June 1960, pp. 99–100; also Jan C. Rowan, “Wanting to Be,” Progressive Architecture, 1961, pp. 130–49. The notion of “thoughtful spaces” recurs in Kahn’s writings: see also Alexandra Tyng, Beginnings: Louis I. Kahn’s Philosophy of Architecture, New York, 1984.22 William J. R. Curtis, “L’Université, la Ville et l’Habitat Collectif: encore quelques réflexions sur un thème de l’Architecture moderne,” Archithèse 14, June 1975.23 See William J. R. Curtis, “Modernism, Nature, Tradition: Aalto’s Mythical Landscapes,” in Marja-Riitta Norri, ed., Alvar Aalto in Seven Buildings: Interpretations of an Architect’s Work, Helsinki, Museum of Finnish Architecture, 1998. See also Curtis, Denys Lasdun: Architecture, City, Landscape, London, Phaidon Press, 1994. Kahn and Lasdun each developed independently an interest in diagonal entries and volumes angled at 45°; see, for example, Lasdun’s Hallfield Primary School, London, 1951, which is virtually the plan of the University of East Anglia in miniature. For other loose parallels with IIM, see A. Smithson, “Team Ten Primer 1953–62,” Architectural Design 12, Special Issue, pp. 559–600, and O. Newman, ed., CIAM 59 in Otterlo, Stuttgart, 1961.24 The renewed interest in traditions of Indian architecture on the part of young Indian architects preceded the arrival of Kahn but he added relevant schemata for analysis and transformation in modern terms. See Sherban Cantacuzino, Charles Correa, Singapore, 1984, and Correa, “The Roots of Architecture,” Conspectus, Delhi, 1965. Each individual made his own “reading” of the many levels of the Indian past: Raj Rewal, for example, was drawn to urban spaces, courtyard types, interlocking terraces, and post and

transformation of medieval examples. 13 Kahn: “If there is anyone who can freeze the dream it is Le Corbusier,” cited in Balkrishna Doshi, Paths Uncharted, Ahmedabad, Vastu Shilpa Foundation, 2011, p. 320. Doshi has often recalled to the author that when Le Corbusier died in August 1965, Kahn said to him: “Who shall I work for now?” For Le Corbusier’s works in India and the symbolism of Chandigarh see William J. R. Curtis, Le Corbusier: Ideas and Forms, Oxford, Phaidon, 1986, chapter 13, “The Symbolism of Chandigarh”; also, on Le Corbusier’s works in India, “L’ancien dans le moderne,” in Architectures en Inde, Paris, Electa Moniteur, 1985 [English version in Architecture in India, Paris, Moniteur, 1985]; see also Curtis, “Abstractions et Représentations: le Capitole de Chandigarh, paysage de symboles,” in “Le Corbusier, L’Atelier Intérieur,” Cahiers de la recherche architecturale et urbaine 22/23, Paris, Editions du Patrimoine, 2008. 14 See William J. R. Curtis, Modern Architecture, Mythical Landscapes and Ancient Ruins, Annual Soane Lecture, London, Sir John Soane’s Museum, 1997, for comparison of readings of ancient ruins from diverse civilizations by Kahn, Le Corbusier, Wright, Aalto, and Utzon. For Kahn see also Vincent Scully, “Louis I. Kahn and the Ruins of Rome,” Modern Architecture and Other Essays, ed. and intro. Neil Levine, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 2003, pp. 298 ff. 15 In December 1985 the author gave a lecture in Dacca suggesting the fusion of modern forms, the geometry of Moghul tombs, local archetypes, and aboriginal memories, and questioning the local community about the appropriateness of the building: see William J. R. Curtis, “Session 3 on Regionalism,” December 17–22, 1985, in Suha Ozkan, ed., Exploring Architecture in Islamic Cultures 2: Regionalism in Architecture, Aga Khan Award for Architecture, Singapore, Concept Media, 1986; for interventions on Kahn, see pp. 73 ff., 116 ff. and 187 ff. At the same event, Muzharul Islam, Kazi Khaleed Ashraf, and Saif Ul Haque spoke together: “Introducing Bangladesh—a Case for Regionalism,” p. 23 ff. The Assembly received the Aga Khan Award for Architecture in 1989 but only after being turned down in dubious circumstances in 1986; see Curtis, “‘Third World Myths and First World Fashions,’ review of Aga Khan Awards 1986,” Architectural Record, New York, January 1987.16 For Kahn’s reaction to the this temple see Doshi, Paths Uncharted, 2011, p. 296. For Buddhist echoes, the Bengali brick mosque tradition, and bamboo huts, see Curtis, “The Presence of Absence.” The mimetic transposition of woven partition screens in huts into solid walls and durable materials in monumental architecture recalls Gottfried Semper’s notion of the origins of enclosures in weavings and fabrics; see his Die vier Elemente der Baukunst, Braunschweig, 1851. In the Moghul period (particularly the seventeenth century) the distinctive bow roof of Bengali huts was transposed into a stone roof form which spread westwards across the empire. Both Le Corbusier in Chandigarh and Kahn in Dacca were interested in architectural traditions long before the arrival of Islam (which may have suited the theme of “Eternal India” in the first case, but perhaps sat less well with the ideology of the Islamic State of Pakistan in the second case). However, Kahn’s radar seems to have picked up aspects of mandala planning from Buddhist periods, not only in Dacca but also in West Pakistan, in his unbuilt project for an Assembly in Islamabad (1963). With the creation of Bangladesh, the interest in ancient roots and continuities in the country took on a new meaning within the already well- defined parameters of Bengali cultural nationalism. See also note 14 above. 17 For the establishment of reductivist historical myths in post-colonial nationalism see Clifford Geertz, “Essentialism and Epochalism,” The Interpretation of Cultures, New York, 1973, pp. 243 ff. For sceptical evaluations of the political stance and social reality of Kahn’s Assembly see Sten Nilsson, The New Capitals of India, Pakistan and Bangladesh, Lund, Studentlitteratur, 1973, and Lawrence Vale, Architecture, Power and National Identity, London, Routledge, 1992. For a more positive


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lintel structures (Moghul, Rajput and vernacular). See Raj Rewal, “The Relevance of Tradition in Indian Architecture,” in Architecture in India, 1985, pp. 12–27. See also William J. R. Curtis, “Architecture Moderne, Racines Indiennes,” in Raj Rewal: Architecture Climatique, Editions Moniteur, Paris, 1986 [published in English as “Modern Architecture, Indian Roots,” in Architecture + Design, New Delhi, 1989, pp. 42 ff.].25 The Chetana Research Group was founded in 1983 and one of its main aims was to foster architecture appropriate to the conditions of Bangladesh, by means of seminars, exhibitions, publications, and built examples. Some members of the group have been influenced by Kahn’s principles and by the notion of transforming them to deal better with the tropical climate and the values of Bengali culture. In all these respects, Muzharul Islam has been a principal mentor. 26 For Doshi’s understanding of Kahn and Le Corbusier see for example Doshi, interview with Carmen Kagal (1987) for the Festival of India exhibition “Vistara”: “Le Corbusier and Louis I. Kahn: Acrobat and Yogi,” reprinted Ahmedabad, Vastu Shilpa Foundation, 2007; see also Doshi, Paths Uncharted, 2011. For Doshi’s philosophy and forms see also William J. R. Curtis, Balkrishna Doshi: An Architecture for India, Ahmedabad, Mapin Press, and New York, Rizzoli, 1988. The film made by Nathaniel Kahn, “My Architect, a Son’s Journey” (2003), gave heavy emphasis to Kahn’s interactions with the Indian sub-continent and included the testimony of Doshi. 27 Anant Raje, “Continuation of a Language” (1987), in Anant Raje Architect: Works 1971–2009, New Delhi, Tulika, forthcoming 2012; for Raje’s reading of Kahn see also Raje, “Building on Tradition,” in Architecture + Design, November–December 1987, and Raje, “From the Legislative Assembly Building within the Government Center in Dhaka- Bangladesh to the Indian Institute of Management Ahmedabad India (1962–1976),” JABS, vol. 117, August 2002, Special Issue, “The World of Indian Architecture,” pp. 16 ff.; see also Raje, “A Sense of Order, Mandu” (text with Raje’s sketches of the ruins of Mandu) in Gautam Bhatia, ed., Silent Spaces and Other Stories of Architecture, New Delhi, Penguin Books India, 1994, pp. 70–77. For Raje’s Indian Institute of Forestry Management see William J. R. Curtis, “Addendum: Search for Substance, Recent World Architecture,” in Modern Architecture Since 1900, 2nd edn, London, Phaidon, 1987, pp. 389 ff. 28 For the transformation of seminal works see William J. R. Curtis, “Le Corbusier, objectif et miroir,” in Le Corbusier: voyages, rayonnement international, Paris, Fondation Le Corbusier, 1997, pp. 49 ff. For Kahn, modern architecture in India, and the dissemination of prototypes across frontiers in a modern tradition of diverse strands, see Curtis, Modern Architecture Since 1900, 3rd edn, London, Phaidon, 1996, especially pp. 513 ff., pp. 567 ff. and pp. 635 ff. 29 Ernst Binfield Havell, Indian Architecture: its psychology, structure and history from the first Muhammadan invasion to the present day, London, John Murray, 1913. Havell maintained that there was an essential underlying identity to Indian art which always succeeded in absorbing and transforming foreign influences. The preoccupation with “Indianness” in the 1980s risked being hijacked by a post-modern reversion to facile quotations from the past, including a light play with mandala-shaped plans but without an effective transformation. In the 1990s the political forces of Hindu fundamentalism posed another challenge as they implied an untenable return to the forms of the eleventh century prior to the first Muslim invasions. The architectural re-interpretation of local traditions required the lens of modern and cosmopolitan forms: see Curtis, “Towards an Authentic Regionalism,” 1986, cited in note 2 above.

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