Swarkul by Girish Doshi: an architectural jugalbandi

“Architecture comes to few as a gift, to most of us
it comes as a desire to do it well.”

Glenn Murcutt

As architects, we build on precedents and history, on the work of others and our own, adding one layer at a time, aiming to better what came before us. But architecture is an incredibly difficult discipline, and this is easier said than done. As Glenn Murcutt put it, “Architecture comes to few as a gift, to most of us it comes as a desire to do it well.”

More than any other creative field, the process of architecture is contextual, circumstantial, and unpredictable. This is why the journey of an architect is often called a practice, in which one responds to context, works with challenges, and develops processes that lead to desired outcomes.

Girish Doshi is an architect whose life’s work can be seen through the lens of such a continuum, aware that the process is not a destination, but a path with no end. Unlike his guru and mentor, the celebrated architect Balkrishna Doshi, who said he never designed the same building twice, each of Girish’s projects evolves from a constantly developing system and approach. Studying his work at a time when the search for the new and the desire to be different is celebrated without critique or conscience, his perseverance in refining an approach and method with a singular mindset, is in and of itself a radical act.

It is a path of courage, conviction, deep faith, and immense patience. It is not a reflection of a lack of creative impetus or of clients without means, but a belief in an approach that focuses on structural frugality, spatial clarity, and restraint. A lifelong quest for beauty in simplicity and the connected spatial experience, the antithesis of material extravaganza and formal gymnastics. Restraint does not mean a lack of possibility, but a quietly confident control over one’s design choices and resources at hand. When one builds with the intention of doing just enough, it usually is more than enough.

On a sunny and cool morning not long ago in Pune, I was given an impromptu tour of Girish’s recently completed house named Swarkul. As we were leaving, realising I had experienced something special, I turned to him and said I felt this was his best work yet. It was only later, in the quiet of a still moment that I understood why I felt so.

One of the phrases I use while attempting to describe my own endeavour as an architect is that the practice searches for an appropriate response to the challenges and complexities of the projects and places we work in. ‘Appropriate response,’ simultaneously simple and grand, but also vague and presumptuous. What defines an appropriate response? How does one achieve it? Can there even be a singular answer to that question? Visiting Swarkul gave me a glimpse into how someone else has answered that question within the constraints and complexities of their own experience.

Swarkul lies on the edge of town tucked away off the highway amidst new multi-family housing, in the sort of non-descript place one encounters on the fringes of most Indian cities. The brief asked for a home for the family of a celebrated Hindustani classical vocalist, with additional spaces for practice and teaching, and residential rooms for his students while they studied and lived with him for extended periods of time. While this may seem to be a straightforward ask, it is only in the final resolution of the brief as built space that one realises that the simple and obvious can fool one into believing it was easy.

The main floor is anchored by the music and practice room to the north and the dining space in the south. Between the two stretches the living room in an open uninterrupted plan. The black stone floor which connects each space, polished just enough to be uneven and smooth, feels temple-like underfoot. Sitting at the large communal dining table, looking across the length of the house, through the living space to the music room and beyond to the view outside, one can easily forget where one is. This space is at the heart of the house.

Flanking this central living – dining space are the bedrooms to the west and the kitchen to the east. Keep the door of Panditji’s bedroom ajar and he can hear students practicing, making it easy to guide and correct, physically blurring the lines of teaching and learning, rest and repetition.

Two staircases lead to separate wings on the floor above: one with spacious rooms for the children, and another with residential spaces for visiting students. Each space has its own identity and autonomy, allowing for choices in how much one wants to engage with the happenings of the household. Between these is the most public of spaces in the building: Aahata, an open-air performance space with terraced seating, allowing for events and festival celebrations to happen.

The amalgam of dichotomous spaces, simultaneously private and public, intimate and expansive, domestic and performative, and the clarity and seeming ease with which they come together is the essence of the experience of this house.

Like the client whose daily practice begins at 4 am, Girish’s sadhana has been one of constant and repetitive riyaaz, honing his ideas and abilities until they reach their fullest potential. It is not a search for the new, but a refinement and continued exploration of a path that has emerged one building at a time.

While a design is often conceived around a big idea, projects with multiple ideas typically have unresolved parts, are additive, and incoherent. At Swarkul a complex brief has been brought to life in a manner that is hard to refute. It is the physical embodiment of the shraddha (deep reverence) and saburi (infinite patience) that have been lifelong companions of both the architect and the client, manifesting seamless and simultaneously as a home, an ashram, and a temple for learning, in a kind of architectural jugalbandi.

Gallery:

Drawings:

Photography Credits: Abhishek Chavhan