Architecture should speak of its time and place but yearn for timelessness.
— Frank Gehry
Sher-i-Kashmir International Convention Centre (SKICC) was established in 1977, fifteen years after the India International Centre was established in Delhi. The campus stood as a symbol of cultural exchange and architectural sensitivity, bridging modern needs with Kashmiri traditions. The location of SKICC is quite unique. Joseph Allen Stein, the architect of the project, requested the site to be located on the banks of Dal Lake, Srinagar, overlooking the Zabarwan mountains in the backdrop and in the neighbourhood of Mughal Gardens. Sheikh Muhammad Abdullah, who was the Chief Minister of Kashmir at the time, oversaw the project himself.
The brief was simple: to make the convention centre a world-class structure and to make Kashmir a convention hub not only for India but for the rest of the world. Like most of the buildings designed by Stein, the SKICC also does not scream out loud but whispers; its elegant scale and placement are noteworthy.
More broadly, the SKICC is part of a category often neglected in heritage conversations—modern heritage. We are quick to preserve stone temples and Mughal gardens but hesitant when it comes to structures from the twentieth century.
Yet these are equally part of our story. They represent ambition, experimentation, and the optimism of a newly independent nation. Allowing them to crumble reflects not just technical neglect but also a gap in our cultural priorities. This problem is not specific to Srinagar but elsewhere as well, where these modern heritage buildings are giving way to new shabby buildings; the case of the Hall of Nations is one prime example.
The path forward is clear: SKICC needs a sensitive restoration that respects Stein’s vision while adapting the building for contemporary use. It needs architects, conservationists, and policymakers to treat it not as a relic but as a living resource. And it needs the public to see modern heritage not as an afterthought but as integral to the character of our cities.
Standing by Dal Lake, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of responsibility. This building deserves another chance. Preserving it isn’t just about saving walls—it’s about saving a way of thinking, one we can still learn from if we care enough to keep it alive.
Walking into the SKICC today as a practising architect, I was struck first by its setting. Stein knew how to let a building sit gently in a landscape. The way the structure nestles into the lakeside, its sweeping rooflines mirroring the hills behind, shows an attentiveness we rarely see in contemporary projects. The spaces open and close with a rhythm that feels almost organic—one moment intimate, the next expansive, always guiding the visitor toward the view of water and sky. One of my professor at University would say that “the most simple buildings are the most difficult to make”,
What fascinates me most is not just the design but the resilience of the idea behind it.
In a region battered by insurgency, political unrest, and natural disasters, SKICC stands firm—a rare example of large-scale intervention executed without disturbing the city’s existing fabric.
It occupies a small parcel of land within the lake, a decision that reflects sensitivity rather than ambition.
(middle) There is a lesson here for architects of today. Amid a construction industry increasingly driven by speed, cost-cutting, and spectacle, SKICC reminds us of the power of sincerity. Buildings should be anchored in their time but aspire toward timelessness. One would marvel at the craft of the building and not the brand. Stein, known for his detail, has used locally available materials and worked with local craftsmen.
(right) The terraced landscape, inspired by the nearby Chashmashahi gardens, creates a seamless integration with the surroundings. The view of Dal Lake from its large windows remains breath-taking; in the photo, one can see access to the building from the lakeside, usually done with the help of a shikhara.
Source: Intekhab Alam
But admiration quickly gives way to concern. Parts of the building are no longer in good shape, especially the Centaur Hotel area. A friend of mine told me that the hotel was bought by a leading hospitality chain. Plaster peels, structural joints strain, and insensitive repairs have chipped away at the integrity of the design. It’s not decay alone that threatens the SKICC—it’s the indifference that allows such deterioration to settle in unnoticed. As architects, we know buildings live and breathe, but without care, their life shortens fast.
The urgency to restore this structure is not about nostalgia. It’s about recognising the value of an architectural moment when modern India was finding its voice—when concrete, timber, and glass were reimagined to converse with local climate and culture. The SKICC still holds lessons in sustainability, long before the term became fashionable: the way it maximises cross-ventilation, shades its interiors, and works with the terrain instead of flattening it. To lose this building would be to erase a chapter in architectural history that still has practical relevance today.
I have often visited Stein’s buildings in New Delhi, but at SKICC his mastery is evident in every detail—from the siting on Dal Lake to the fluidity of its form. In a city with few public buildings, it rises with quiet authority while remaining deeply rooted in its landscape.
Srinagar also holds works by Achyut Kanvinde and Shivnath Prasad, each remarkable in its own right, yet many of these structures now face neglect and deterioration.
