“We shape our buildings; thereafter they shape us.” – Winston Churchill
This profound statement feels increasingly conflicted in today’s world, with architecture telling a tale of progress overshadowing heritage, and inclusivity giving way to exclusivity. While architecture should and does reflect societal progress, it often does so at the expense of valuable heritage.
My recent travels across India opened my eyes to an unsettling uniformity creeping into our urban landscapes. Udaipur, the city of lakes, celebrated for its intricately carved havelis, bustling ghats and vibrant bazaars now sees its delicate tapestry woven with the water, sky and stone silhouettes, fraying at the edges, pulled apart by rows of generic glass-and-concrete commercial structures. Walking through its marketplace, one is struck by a sense of déjà vu—the colourful chaos of local artisans replaced by chain stores selling the same mass-produced goods found everywhere from Chandigarh to Chennai. The architecture feels out of place- sleek, tall glass giants piercing a landscape of the gentle and curvaceous. The rise in tourism puts pressure on a city like that and this gentrification, somewhat like a plague, results in these generic buildings that clash with the city’s traditional architecture.
Far away from the reach of the same hoards of tourists, Dharamshala, high up in the Himalayas, was not remote enough to escape this. The Tibetan refugees brought with them a unique cultural vibrance. But, the amount of tourists they attracted ultimately led Dharamshala to meet the same fate. Numerous hotels and guesthouses stand tall atop the peaks, mimicking urban aesthetics rather than taking on the colours of the surrounding environment. This influx of visitors driven by the desire for ‘authenticity’ ironically contributes to homogenization. Standing in these places, you feel an odd familiarity—a sense that you could be anywhere in urban India. It is a confusing experience, caught between relief at the supposed ‘development’ and a deep mourning for the heritage being lost. These transformations are not merely cosmetic; they signify a deeper erosion of identity and culture under the guise of progress. The built environment, once a celebration of diversity, now mirrors a collective indifference to preserving what makes each place distinctive.
The story of urban development today is sadly also one of growing hostility and exclusion. Infrastructure—hailed as a marker of progress—increasingly caters to the affluent while marginalizing the poor. Public spaces are being reimagined to prioritize commercial viability and aesthetic appeal over accessibility and inclusivity. For instance, take Delhi’s Connaught Place, the central hub with its iconic colonial architecture. Bollards now line most pedestrian paths, forming narrow gaps which make navigation difficult for wheelchair users and visually impaired individuals. Another beloved landmark, Nehru Park, has benches that are deliberately designed with dividers to discourage lying down, while signs at Indira Gandhi International Airport explicitly warn against sleeping in public areas, turning spaces of transit and relaxation into controlled and restricted zones. Such components, subtle yet persistent, act as constant reminders of who belongs and who does not. Stray dogs resting in unusual public places elicit joy and attract cameras, and are regarded as symbols of existence and charm. Less fortunate people, on the other hand, are regarded as unattractive and unwelcome, with their existence obscured by hostile architecture and societal scorn. Where do they fit into this concept of modernity? Gated neighbourhoods, high-end malls, and glossy metro systems dominate the urban environment, leaving little place for individuals who do not conform to this sanitised and manicured version of modernity. The growing disparity between rich and poor is becoming inscribed into the city itself, with infrastructure acting as a physical barrier rather than a bridge.
In Amritsar, the markets around the Golden Temple which were once full of handicrafts local and food items have been replaced by chain stores and neat sidewalks. In Mumbai, the walkways of Marine Drive and Bandra Kurla Complex have neat facades and well-defined pathways providing but little shade and no drinking water facilities. These areas are more suited to the well-heeled as can be seen by the number of restaurants serving expensive meals in equally expensive surroundings. Thus, it is possible to state that the built environment tells the story of progress as a double-edged sword. On one hand, the advancement in technology and sustainability has led to positive changes. On the other hand, other such developments are rather superficial, masking social inequalities.
Architecture’s ongoing narrative depicts a society torn between ideals and realities. It reveals a world pushing for modernity but unwilling to face the consequences. The narrative that future generations tell about us will be influenced by the cities that we construct now. Will such tales depict a society that valued its history, its people, and its common humanity, or one that aimed to advance at any costs? The answer rests in how we choose to design, preserve, and inhabit our living spaces.
