The art, architecture, design, literature, and oral history of any given place reflect its past and present experiences. These experiences, spanning several centuries and numerous civilizations, are crucial as they help in the understanding of human evolution, and grant people a culture to belong to, a tradition to pride over, customs to relate to, and archaic follies to ponder over. The uniqueness of these historical artifacts and stories lies in their distinctness from each other.

However, with the surge of industrialization and the ease in availability of everything everywhere, this particular distinctness is starting to get lost. The propagation of similar values, trends, products, styles, food habits and architecture across the globe has managed to unify the world in a way that it now looks and acts in the same manner. This homogenization has led to the forgetfulness of unique techniques and traditions that have been employed for centuries in the said region.

This implicit forgetfulness has, unfortunately, also seeped into other parts of our profession. A mildly battered historical structure now must be repaired using the same materials as before so as not to leave any trace of the upheaval. The Humayun’s tomb in the capital city of India has been restored in such an impeccable manner that it seems that the structure has held through in the same manner for the past four centuries. The erasure of traces of vulnerability and glorification of achievements and milestones has been the easiest and most sought-after method of conservation. This kind of route of conservation negates the events and experiences that happened around a structure or in a given space, thus, giving importance only to material heritage.

Today, when one visits the Residency in Lucknow, the bullet-and-cannon-scarred brick walls and the blown-out roof of the derelict structure almost immediately remind us of the six-month siege that happened there in 1857. This upheaval also serves as a reminder to the subsequent events whose physical remains are scant or non-existent, namely, the large-scale destruction of prominent structures in Lucknow that was undertaken by the Britishers to satiate their vengeance and to ensure that no revolts would be undertaken by Indians in future. A similar emotion is felt when one looks at the bullet throbbed walls of the Jallianwalah Bagh in Amritsar.

The holes on the walls of the Taj Mahal, too, bear witness to the relentless looting done by the Britishers. In all these examples, we can see that it is not the wholesomeness of a structure that pricks our emotions, but the voids, the damages, and the destruction that remind us of all kinds of events in history.

One can arguably state that the immediate reaction after any natural or man-made catastrophe is to dust out any physical trace of the incident that one may find, retaining the memories of the horrific incident mostly in memory and sometimes in writing or art. The spontaneous pushing away or forgetting of difficult events both in our private lives as well as society has ensured the collective obliviousness of the people towards their own history. When one does not see physical traces of acts of violence stemming from systemic injustices and racial as well as gendered biases, one may assume that they do not exist.

However, the presence of spaces and structures-- that have the ability to make the visitor uncomfortable, either by the conservation of the material remains of past ravages or by representing past atrocities, injustices, and grief in art, architecture, or literature—is of utmost importance.

In order to ensure that past atrocities do not reoccur in the future, should we not design and conserve structures that comfort the distraught and make the privileged uncomfortable?

A good example of the same is the Jewish Museum by Daniel Libeskind. The complex may look ordinary at first glimpse, but the eeriness, discomfort, and grief that the place exudes introduce people to the reality of the Holocaust in a sharply visceral way. These spaces and structures serve the dual purpose of remembrance and accountability.

Normally, when we talk about heritage, we tend to take the apolitical route. But, are history and politics separable?

"A lucid example of this stems from Ranchi, a place that's synonymous with 'home'." The city has always carried an air of tension about it. The shops and the streets would start emptying as soon as the sun would go down, religious congregations would mostly be avoided and the tone of discussion around religion was mostly hushed. However, after an extended period of time, these happenings are no more an anomaly and have been adopted by people without question.

But, if one were to delve into the history of this little town, one would discover that the city witnessed one of the bloodiest communal riots of the nation in 1967, which was experienced by many first-generation Indians post-independence, in Ranchi. So, then, how did these incidents not translate into anecdotal re-tellings in households?

It seems like the older generation has chosen to forget the painful incident like a bad dream. The younger ones, in the absence of physical traces or commemorative features alluding to the riots, have also never questioned the same.

In the wake of the recent anti-CAA protests that have gripped the country since late 2019, and the communal riots that ravaged parts of Delhi in February 2020, the discussion and introspection surrounding such incidents have once again found a place in the households of Indians.

This introspection forces one to question the lack of tangible spaces of loss, conflict, and resistance around us. Although people have begun discussions around events like the 1967 riots, there is still no tangible presence of the same in our cities, barring a few monuments or artifacts. In the absence of a place of commemoration, description, or reference in local literature and art, these events will continue to remain lost to future generations.

One of the many things that made the anti-CAA protests so powerful was the tangible quality of the protest. These protests, which initially started off in universities like Jamia Millia Islamia and Aligarh Muslim University soon spread organically across the country in the form of sit-ins, marches, and the introduction of viral art, poems, and songs of dissent that were drawn on all walls and sung on all stages. It attracted people from all walks of life, from all ideologies to sit and witness as the resistance grew. The partial road blockage around protest sites meant that every passer-by was confronted with the voices of resistance every day. The smaller interventions of mobile libraries, temporary eateries, and art installations managed to communicate the idea and intent of the resistance without laying a heavy hand on the visitor or passer-by. 

This particular example also prompts towards the presence of space, not necessarily built, but one that attracts people to express, to remember, and to discuss. New Delhi, the capital of India, is known to have held several protests from across the country. But, what is it that attracts people to the capital other than its political relevance?

Perhaps, the presence of places like the India Gate compound, Jantar Mantar, Red Fort, and Chandni Chowk and their history of providing inclusivity to people in moments of celebration and distress, alike, is what attracts people to mourn, communicate, remember, defy or celebrate both personal and public events.

But, what if the accessibility to these spaces gets restricted?

One of the main points of discussion around the recently finalized Central Vista Project is about the change in land-use of the area, such that around 80 acres of land that was previously open to the general public will now be restricted. Is the loss of a space that has for decades been the center of so many protests, not an example of curbing voices?

A more subtle act that also prompts a similar fate, is that of the removal of resistance art from the walls of the Jamia University, during the lockdown in early 2020. It serves as a metaphor for the erasure of all of history where atrocities were conducted and people resisted. It is an example of the deletion of our heritage. The slow return to normal life will now be met with a pre-resistance street, as well. The lack of physical spaces of resistance will guarantee that the resistance be forgotten soon.

When spaces of remembrance and voids that attract democratic voices are non-existent in the formal planning of cities, should we not informally create such spaces?

Author: Ar. Almas Sadique

Note: The views expressed are the personal opinions of the Author.