Presenting the results of “Design Stories-Let’s Narrate Stories” one-of-a-kind competition curated by ArchValor in association with Glitz Architecture and Interiors, in which participants had to synthesize their traditional and contemporary understanding to come up with a design story.
Among the jury were Ar.Yatin Pandya, Founder FOOTPRINTS E.A.R.T.H, Ar.Kalapei Buchh, Founder SFUURRNA Akrriitt, Ar.Surinder Bahga, Founder Saakaar Foundation, Ar.Aradhana Jindal, Principal of MM School Of Architecture, and Ar.Kritika Juneja, Founder Arch Valor. In the student category, Kelvin Chan, Hongkong, won the honor, while Ar.Vishnu K. Suresh won the honor in the professional category.
Life is all about the stories we hear and the stories we tell. What’s different is how we tell them.
–Ar.Kritika Juneja
Let’s first walk through the enchanting story The QR-Clip by Kelvin Chan.
It’s 2024, 5 years since the pandemic.
For the government to keep track of financial activities at the start of the pandemic, a strategy center was constructed in 2020 in Central, HK. And now that the pandemic has receded, its focus has shifted to another project – the QR-clip.
This clip, invented to boost productivity, requires implantation in the cerebral cortex. It had been greatly supported by the government as one of the top inventions derived from the pandemic. Yet with rumors that the clip would reduce the lifespan and its surveillance potential by 10 years, hence many citizens were hesitant.
Mr. Baker, 40, has worked for the government for almost 20 years and leads a modest life. He was assigned here 3 years ago, currently helping to assess Hong Kong’s post-pandemic economy. The QR-clip also raised doubts in his mind.
Government officials became the first group to test for the clip’s accreditation. A conference room was set up as the project base. The room was known as “the QR-clip Office” with a QR code that appeared on its door. Nobody was sure what is in the room, but Mr. Baker and his colleagues were not allowed to enter without implanting the QR-clip.
Since then, a group of officers has been constantly entering the building. Twice a week they gathered in those rooms. Mr. Baker once put his ear close to the room – confidential, silent meetings were conducted. In just 2 weeks, a similar QR code was allocated to another room.
Certain portions of the building, including the library, and the pantries, have been renovated in following months. Mr. Baker was thrilled to see the old building get varnished, but he quickly got disappointed. Upon completion, QR-codes were added to every single door. “Rooms of the Privileged”, Mr. Baker sighed. For the first time he considered implanting the clip, but he immediately rejected that.
Half a year came by and it was obvious that the colleagues with the clips were dominant. A lift in the office has been reserved for the clipped colleagues, and nearly half of the building area has been QR-coded. The building had gradually been divided in two – the original vs the expanding new portion. Despite thriving rumors, internally more and more members had clipped, and each morning a long queue gathers in the lobby waiting for the reserved lift.
It’s been a year since the first room appeared. Mr. Baker, still holding doubt about the clip, gradually found himself isolated. With over two-thirds of the officers clipped, news spread about tightening the access of the remaining. Till now 2 out of 3 lifts have converted, with most lavatories QR-coded. The remaining lift only reaches 5F, inaccessible to the only non-QR-coded toilet on the top floor. With the difficulties and tightened policies, Mr. Baker no longer had a choice. A surgery room had also been included for officers who changed their minds.
The next morning, Mr. Baker headed toward the rooms for implantation.
Leaving us in mixed emotions of excitement for the new, fear of the future, respect for our people, let’s move to the next story of Ar. Vishnu and his experience of travelling to old Delhi named LAKHORI BRICKS, RUSTOM SAAB AND ME.
Travelling to Old Delhi was always a strange experience for me. Studying, travelling and understanding the country, I knew that architecture was diverse and universal. When landing at Indira Gandhi International, I didn’t anticipate a Parsi man calling a Malayali architect who based around Kerala and Pune to do a design in Old Delhi. I was wondering he got in contact with me, and when I enquired, he said one of my older friends from School of Planning & Architecture had given him the reference. He had shared the Google Location of his site, but curiously didn’t reveal any photographs. As a person who was deeply embedded into architectural history and conservation, I was concerned why so.
The cab driver took me deep into the heart of Chandni Chowk, and it was the first time that I saw this place in my life, let alone be in Delhi. When I reached the location, Jeejeebhoy Rustom, the man himself, stood with a warm smile that was very familiar to people living in Mumbai and Pune. His spectacles revealed an uncharacteristic wisdom, despite being just forty-three.
“There is a reason why I didn’t send photographs,” Rustom Saab spoke in a Delhi-slang, with his firm handshake. As he pushed opened the metal doors that was squeezed in between two silverware shops right in the middle of Chandni Chowk, we passed through a heavily shaded passageway with soil beneath our feet, soil crunching. We passed through unshaded, cold passageway, and he pointed his finger towards what was undoubedtly a trophy of the past for him.
A structure, emerged out of the ground, with flaking lime plaster, and timber joists and lakhori bricks hanging from a collapsed wall. On the ground, I could barely make out the faded Belgian tiles that were bought in during the colonial glory days. The conservationist inside me died multiple times, as I silently rummaged through a heap of bricks, metal castings and timber near the structure, witnessing the dead remains of lakhori bricks, and heavy timber brackets and jambs that decidedly reminiscent of Gujarati workmanship that I remember seeing in Ahmedabad when I was a student.
I turned towards him, and that’s when he said, “Our ancestral home had seen better days,” in pristine English. “I was travelling all life long, and recently when I decided to come back, I saw the home was in a dilapidated condition.”
“Do you want me to design a new house for you in this place?” I asked, fearing the worst. He nodded his head and said, “Of course not. I want you to design a home, but one that reminds me of the one that I just lost here.”
As I stood there contemplating, with the ruins I could feel many generations of the Rustom family passing through the spaces – smiling, lamenting, growing and passing on from this world, in the shade of the timber joists and the smell of the leaves near the windows of the building.
I whispered, “Yes, I will.”
Having traveled through the streets of old Delhi, this was certainly an enchanting experience. With this, we conclude our Design Stories journey here and will be back soon with more….
