Wednesday, June 11, 2025

Stone, Ivy, and Silence: A Design Lover’s Day from Hartford to Yale"

A Scenic Design Walk: From Hartford to Yale’s Quiet Corners

Some journeys stay with you—not because they’re grand, but because they’re quietly profound. This was one of them.

It began with a short road trip from Hartford to New Haven—just under an hour along the wooded stretch of I-91. The destination? Yale University. There was no agenda beyond curiosity: no scheduled tour, just a desire to walk, observe, and experience. A friendly campus connection joined for part of the visit, adding a personal layer to the walk through one of America’s most storied institutions.

The Drive: Framed by Trees and Small Towns

Setting out early, the ride wound through New England's serene towns and green corridors. By the time we reached New Haven, the day already felt rich—calm, open, and full of promise. Parking near the Yale Visitor Centre (149 Elm Street), we started our self-guided adventure into Yale’s architectural and landscape heritage.

Yale: Where Architecture and Landscape Speak in Harmony

Yale isn’t just about academic prestige—it’s a living archive of American design, where buildings and green spaces flow together in deliberate rhythm. Much of this harmony is thanks to Beatrix Farrand, one of the country’s earliest female landscape architects, who left her mark on Yale’s verdant courtyards and soft green enclaves.

Old Campus: A Living Chronicle

The walk began at Old Campus, where Connecticut Hall (built in 1750) stands quietly amid Gothic silhouettes and sweeping lawns. Mature elms frame the paths, and the space feels both grand and personal—an open expanse wrapped in leafy intimacy.

Architourist Insight: There’s a unique paradox here—broad lawns that encourage movement, framed by trees and structures that invite pause. It feels monumental and yet somehow personal.

Harkness Memorial Quadrangle: Stillness in Stone

A short stroll brought us to Harkness Memorial Quadrangle. Designed with Farrand’s sensibilities, this peaceful courtyard features ivy-draped stone walls, manicured lawns, and a softly burbling fountain. Here, the campus connection joined us briefly, sharing small anecdotes that made the space feel less like an institution and more like a community. Funny how one story can make ancient stone feel warm.

Cross Campus: Energy Meets Quiet

At Cross Campus, the mood shifted—students lounged under trees, conversations floated through the air, and a tranquil reflecting pool mirrored the architecture above. Sterling Memorial Library stood nearby, its spires catching the light in a way that blended stillness and movement in the same breath.

📸 Tip: This reflecting pool is especially photogenic during dusk. The light dances on the water and stone alike.

Science Hill: Sustainability in Design

Farther along, Science Hill showcased Yale’s modern green initiatives. Buildings blended with native landscapes, bioswales traced rainwater paths, and a stormwater retention pond sat discreetly within the terrain. Sustainability here wasn’t flashy—it was quiet, functional, and beautiful in its restraint.

Fuel and Stories: Ramen and Restoration

Midway through the day, a cosy café near campus served up steaming bowls of ramen—simple, spicy, and satisfying. Amid bites and laughter, more stories emerged from Yale’s scientific corners. Even a Neo-Gothic physics building found its place in this sensory blend of heritage and exploration.

Architectural Highlights: Past and Progress in Dialogue

Yale is a study in stylistic contrasts—Neo-Gothic drama meets Modernist innovation. Here's a quick design snapshot:

Sterling Memorial Library—Majestic and cathedral-like, anchored by a still water pool
Beinecke Rare Book Library—Minimalist, glowing marble cube of modern elegance
Yale Art Gallery (Louis Kahn)—Concrete, glass, and a tetrahedral ceiling that mark a modernist turning point
Rudolph Hall—Brutalist, bold, softened by foliage and water
Hewitt Quadrangle—A basin of calm in the heart of campus, visible from Cross Campus

And just beyond: Prospect Walk, where layered landscaping frames university views, and Pauli Murray and Benjamin Franklin Colleges blend tradition and sustainability through their brick and limestone detailing.

Landscape Architecture: The Campus’s Green Soul

Yale’s strength isn’t just in its buildings—it’s in how those buildings breathe with the land. Courtyards create rhythm, trees offer intimacy, and greenspaces bridge the academic and the human. These elements aren’t ornamental—they’re essential. They shape how one experiences movement, memory, and mood.

A Poetic Farewell

As the day closed and the campus glowed under an autumn sky, a line from Whitman’s Song of the Open Road came to mind:

“All parts away for the progress of souls… all that was or is apparent upon this globe… falls into niches and corners by the chemistry of time.”

Yale, with its fusion of Gothic gravitas and modernist clarity, feels like such a niche—quietly carved by time, shaped by vision, and softened by the people who walk its paths.

Have You Walked a Campus Like This?

Where have architecture and landscape left a memory for you? Share your stories in the comments—I’d love to hear how design has shaped your own journey.

References & Further Exploration

Yale Visitor Center—Details on self-guided and guided campus tours
Yale University Art Gallery—Explore Yale’s architectural timeline
Untimely Moderns by Eeva-Liisa Pelkonen— A deep dive into Yale’s design evolution
Paul Rudolph Institute—Learn about the legacy of one of Yale’s boldest modernists

Hashtags

#YaleUniversityArchitecture
#CampusDesignWalk
#ArchitecturalTravelStories
#BeatrixFarrandLandscapes
#NewHavenDayTrip

Tuesday, June 10, 2025

Names in Water: How the 9/11 Memorial Reflects Grief Through Design

Echoes of Resilience: Experiencing the 9/11 Memorial’s Waterbodies Through a Design Traveler’s Eye

A Road Trip Toward Memory

In the summer of 2018, I set off on a road trip from Hartford, Connecticut, to New York City with a group of friends. Our laughter echoed in the car, but our destination was one of solemnity: the National September 11 Memorial. As a landscape architecture enthusiast and self-professed architourist, I was especially drawn to the memorial’s twin water bodies—massive reflecting pools that silently mark the footprints of the fallen Twin Towers.

Recently, while watching Netflix’s American Manhunt: The Search for Osama bin Laden, those memories came rushing back. The series, which chronicles the intense pursuit of bin Laden, reminded me how the memorial doesn’t just commemorate tragedy—it captures a nation’s long arc of grief, resilience, and remembrance.

Water as Witness: A Landscape That Speaks

The memorial’s design is a masterclass in symbolic architecture. Created by architect Michael Arad and landscape architect Peter Walker, the twin pools—aptly named Reflecting Absence—span nearly an acre each and plunge 30 feet into a void. Water cascades endlessly down their granite sides, forming a sombre soundscape that hushes even the busiest New Yorker’s steps.

What makes the pools extraordinary isn’t just their scale but how they embody both loss and life. Over 400 swamp white oak trees surround the space, offering dappled light and a living canopy. Chosen for their strength and adaptability, these trees ground the site in quiet resilience—transforming an urban plaza into a sacred grove.

Names on the Edge: Where Memory Becomes Personal

One of the most powerful design choices lies along the pool edges: bronze parapets engraved with the names of nearly 3,000 victims from the 2001 and 1993 attacks. These names are more than memorial—they’re moments frozen in metal. Visitors often pause, run their fingers over familiar names, or leave white roses inserted delicately into the letters. Each flower marks a birthday, a memory, a promise not to forget.

The names aren’t listed at random. Arad used a principle called meaningful adjacencies, placing colleagues, friends, and even strangers who shared final moments together side by side. This thoughtful curation transforms the space from public art into a deeply human experience.

During my 2018 visit, I saw a child standing on tiptoe, reaching for a name while her parent explained its significance. It was a quiet moment—intimate, raw, unforgettable. The juxtaposition of cascading water and engraved permanence etched that scene into my memory as clearly as any drawing in my sketchbook.

A Design Narrative That Resonates

Watching American Manhunt gave new depth to my understanding of the memorial. The documentary’s narrative of relentless pursuit, justice, and closure mirrors the memorial’s design story. Standing beside those voids years ago, I felt how space can speak without words. The pools aren’t just emptiness—they’re presence. They assert, "We remember." We rebuild. We endure.

Walker’s landscape vision is equally eloquent. Slight changes in paving, gentle grades, and organic pathways guide visitors without dictating direction. It’s landscape architecture at its best—subtle, intuitive, and emotionally intelligent.

Architourist Tips: Make the Most of Your Visit

Planning your own visit to the 9/11 Memorial? Here’s how to make it meaningful:

🕊️ Visit early in the morning to absorb the space before crowds arrive.
📓 Sketch or photograph the interplay of light, water, and stone—each angle tells a different story.
🌳 Slow down and read the names. Notice the quiet rituals of remembrance.
🚉 Don’t miss the Oculus, Santiago Calatrava’s soaring transportation hub nearby—an architectural contrast that punctuates the plaza.
🏛️ Explore the 9/11 Museum, where exhibits like Revealed: The Hunt for Bin Laden and personal artefacts like a Navy SEAL’s shirt from Operation Neptune Spear expand the historical narrative.

A Line That Lingers

As I stood beside the North Pool, I recalled a haunting line by poet Nida Fazli: “Har ek pal mein ek sadi ka safar hai”— Each moment holds the journey of a century. That’s exactly what the memorial embodies. Each ripple of water is a story, each engraved name a universe. It’s a space where memory flows continuously, echoing resilience across generations.

🔗 Further Exploration

📣 Have You Been? Share Your Story

Have you visited the 9/11 Memorial? Did a particular moment, name, or design element stay with you? Share your reflections in the comments—or post your own sketch or photo tribute using #DesignMemory #911Memorial.

Sunday, June 8, 2025

“Time Travel in Mumbai? Welcome to Khotachiwadi’s Colonial Charm”

Khotachiwadi Diaries: A Portuguese Time Capsule in Mumbai’s Concrete Jungle

As an architourist, I seek cities within cities—places where time lingers and every brick hums a forgotten song. My recent walk through Khotachiwadi, a quietly tucked-away heritage pocket in Girgaon, felt exactly like that. A living, breathing museum of Portuguese-style homes and Konkani grace, it instantly transported me to the leafy boulevards of Pondicherry’s White Town—but with a distinctly Mumbai twist.

A Heritage Hamlet with a Soul

Khotachiwadi, established in the late 1700s by Dadoba Waman Khot, still carries his legacy in its name—‘wadi’ being the Marathi word for orchard. Over time, East Indian Christians infused the neighborhood with Portuguese architectural details: sloping Mangalore-tiled roofs, teak verandas, and colorful facades that look straight out of a postcard. As I strolled its cobbled lanes, I couldn’t help but recall the pastel villas of Pondicherry—with their European elegance mingling seamlessly with Indian textures.

Yet Khotachiwadi stands apart. Unlike the grid-patterned White Town, this neighborhood grew organically. Shrines, crosses, and overhanging plants line its winding paths, nurturing a more intimate connection between home, street, and soul.

Khotachiwadi and Pondicherry: Colonial Cousins?

Both these heritage zones—Pondicherry and Khotachiwadi—wear their colonial histories openly. While one flaunts French Baroque elegance, the other celebrates Portuguese vernacular charm. Yet both share something deeper: a sense of place where architecture, community, and culture still hold hands. The Christmas festivities in Khotachiwadi rival the Chitra Pournami or Bastille Day celebrations of Puducherry, proving that heritage here is as much about people as it is about buildings.

Why Architourists Shouldn’t Miss Khotachiwadi

🕰️ Time Travel Through Architecture
Explore some of the last 28 standing heritage bungalows, including fashion designer James Ferreira’s ancestral home, still whispering stories through carved wood and weathered walls.

🏘️ A Living, Breathing Village
Chat with locals like Willy Felizardo, whose home is an artwork of mosaics and memories. In Khotachiwadi, heritage isn't displayed—it’s lived.

🏙️ Escape Mumbai Without Leaving It

A short walk from Charni Road station, and you’re in a different world. Quiet lanes, vintage staircases, and the scent of old wood replace Mumbai’s urban roar.

🗺️ Guided Cultural Immersions
Take a heritage walk curated by Breakfree Journeys or André Baptista. Or visit 47-A Design Gallery, which fuses design, architecture, and social history in compelling exhibits.

📸 A Photographer’s Wonderland
Color-drenched walls, quirky details, and perfect light during dawn or dusk make this a favorite spot for travel photographers—especially during Christmas, when the village twinkles with magic.

⚠️ Preservation in Peril
Once a declared heritage precinct, Khotachiwadi lost that status in 2006. High-rises loom on its borders, and with just 28 heritage homes left, this oasis is under threat. Supporting local efforts like the Khotachiwadi Heritage Trust helps preserve what remains.

Practical Tips for Your Visit

🚉 Getting There: Western Railway to Charni Road, then a quick walk into Girgaon’s maze.
⏰ Best Time: Early mornings for golden-hour photos or late afternoons for light and shadow play. Christmas is a must-see.
🧭 Tour Options: Join heritage walks by Breakfree Journeys, or contact Chatterjee & Lal for deeper insights.
🙏 Be Respectful: It’s a lived-in neighborhood, not a museum—smile, ask, and engage gently.
🧳 Nearby Spots: Pair your visit with Girgaum Chowpatty, Mani Bhavan, or a sunset on Marine Drive.

Final Thought: Saving Stories, One Walk at a Time

Much like Pondicherry’s White Town, Khotachiwadi is a story stitched from colonial threads, told in the vernacular of its people. Conservation architect Vikas Dilawari likens it to “iron slowly rusting”—strong at its core but slowly wearing away. Still, hope glimmers in passionate locals, cultural curators, and curious travellers

like us.

So if you believe in walking through history instead of just reading about it, Khotachiwadi is your kind of place. Each staircase, balcony, and broken mosaic has a tale to tell—and they’re waiting for you to listen.

🧭 Follow me for more architourism adventures, as I uncover the world’s most soulful heritage enclaves—one lane, one home, one heartbeat at a time.

#HeritageWalks #MumbaiHiddenGems #ColonialArchitecture #ArchitourismIndia #Khotachiwadi

Thursday, June 5, 2025

“Autism-Friendly Airports: Inside Dubai and Bengaluru’s Inclusive Travel Innovations”

Explore how Dubai and Bengaluru airports are setting new standards in neurodiverse-friendly travel through sensory design, digital tools, and inclusive architecture.

An architourist’s exploration of design rooted in empathy and accessibility

Airports are rarely synonymous with calm. For most travellers, they’re loud, hectic, and overstimulating—a gauntlet of sensory inputs. For neurodivergent individuals, particularly those with autism, the intensity can transform travel into a deeply stressful experience.

As an architourist, I seek out places where design transcends aesthetics—where architecture becomes a tool for empathy. On recent visits to Dubai International Airport (DXB) and Bengaluru’s Kempegowda International Airport (BLR), I witnessed two compelling, culturally distinct approaches to inclusive travel. Though separated by geography and scale, both airports are reimagining how public infrastructure can respond to neurodiverse needs—through thoughtful design, human-centred tech, and sensory-aware planning.

Dubai International Airport (DXB): Designing at Global Scale

At DXB, I arrived expecting grandeur—and got it. Terminal 3 is a sci-fi dream: gleaming steel, colossal spans, and immaculate efficiency. But beneath the spectacle lies a quieter triumph—accessibility embedded into the architecture, not bolted on as an afterthought.

The World’s First Autism-Certified International Airport

In December 2023, DXB earned the distinction of being the world’s first Certified Autism Centre™ from the IBCCES. It’s a status earned not by design alone, but by orchestrating an ecosystem of empathy—where signage, staff training, and services all speak the same inclusive language.

The Sunflower Lanyard: Quiet Visibility

At help desks in all terminals, travellers can request sunflower lanyards—a discreet but powerful signal that the wearer may need extra support. What impressed me most was the seamless integration of these identifiers into the airport’s flow. "Autism Friendly Route" signs—marked with sunflower icons—guide passengers through check-in, security, and boarding. The wayfinding is bold yet elegant, offering predictability, a crucial comfort for autistic individuals.

Digital Planning Tools: UX Meets Travel

DXB also shines in its digital offerings. The Travel Planner—a visual, step-by-step journey guide—felt like navigating a well-designed app: clean, intuitive, and respectful of diverse processing needs. Emirates’ Travel Safari, expanded to 17 cities by 2024, allows children with autism to rehearse airport journeys in advance. It’s the design-world equivalent of user testing—a proactive way to reduce anxiety by increasing familiarity.

The Assisted Travel Lounge: A Sensory Haven

In Terminal 2, I stepped into the Assisted Travel Lounge and immediately felt the sensory shift. Muted lighting, sound-absorbing finishes, and soft, tactile furniture created an atmosphere of calm—not unlike dark mode for physical space. It echoed current research in neuroarchitectural design, which prioritises sensory neutrality and adaptive comfort.

Emirates: Extending Inclusion In-Flight

The design ethic doesn’t end on the ground. In January 2025, Emirates became the world’s first Autism Certified Airline™, with 30,000+ staff trained in autism support. Sensory kits onboard, autism-friendly media on the ice system, and crew sensitivity elevate the flying experience into something genuinely humane.

Kempegowda International Airport (BLR): A Biophilic Response in India

By contrast, Bengaluru’s Kempegowda Airport (BLR) offers an entirely different—yet equally vital—interpretation of accessibility. Terminal 2, inaugurated in 2023, is a biophilic masterpiece. Lush green walls, bamboo textures, and natural light transform the airport into a meditative forest walk. This isn’t just good design—it’s a sensory strategy.

Bengaluru’s Kempegowda International Airport introduces India’s first sensory room for neurodivergent passengers

In March 2025, BLR introduced India’s first airport sensory room, developed in collaboration with Incluzza, a disability inclusion organisation. Tucked near the 080 International Lounge, it’s a thoughtfully curated space with adjustable lighting, interactive projections, ball pits, and sensory toys—an architectural UX lab for the nervous system.

Research suggests that even 15–30 minutes in such sensory-adaptive spaces can significantly reduce travel stress. As I lingered inside, I felt it too: a clarity of mind, a drop in background tension. It’s design that meets people where they are, rather than forcing them to adapt.

Progress in Motion

BLR’s journey isn’t without its setbacks. A 2023 incident involving an autistic teenager’s denied boarding made national headlines—but also became a catalyst for change. The airport responded by creating a Disability Inclusion Office and ramping up staff training. Still, digital tools remain a gap—BLR lacks the preparatory resources that DXB excels in. A mobile-friendly sensory guide or pre-visit simulation could be the next leap forward.

Two Models of Inclusive Design

Comparing the two, DXB feels like a fully optimised platform—systemic, integrated, and forward-thinking. BLR, meanwhile, is like a beautifully crafted niche app—intentional, sensory-focused, but not yet scaled to the full user journey.

What connects them is a commitment to user-friendly environments. Both airports reflect emerging global principles: predictability, sensory control, visual clarity, and above all, respect for neurodiversity.

Final Boarding Call: Design as Empathy

As an architourist, what I discovered in Dubai and Bengaluru wasn’t just infrastructure—it was architecture shaped by care. These airports are reminders that inclusion begins long before the boarding gate—in the floor plans, the signs, the lanyards, and the quiet rooms where a child can breathe easier.

Inclusive design isn’t an upgrade. It’s the baseline for a world where everyone deserves to move freely—without fear, confusion, or overload. Whether through lush sensory rooms or seamless digital walkthroughs, DXB and BLR are lighting the runway for airports everywhere.

✈️ Have you experienced inclusive design in an airport or public space? Share your reflections—I’d love to hear your thoughts on how travel can become more welcoming for all.

Hashtags:

#AutismFriendly #InclusiveDesign #Neurodiversity #UserFriendlyTravel #EmpathyInDesign

Wednesday, June 4, 2025

Why Tanner Fountain is a Must-See for Landscape Architecture Lovers

Where Mist Becomes Memory: A Joyful Encounter with Tanner Fountain at Harvard

“हर पत्थर मुस्कुराता है, हर बूंद कुछ कहती है,
ये जगह हवा में कहानी बुनती है।”
— Inspired by Nida Fazli

I came to Cambridge to visit my sister-in-law. What I didn’t expect was to stumble upon a space so quietly magical that it felt less like a landscape and more like a celebration of presence. As an architect and curious wanderer, I’m always on the lookout for places that invite emotion. Tanner Fountain did just that—not with grandeur, but with joy.

Tucked near the heart of Harvard University, this circular landscape designed by Peter Walker and Joan Brigham in 1984 isn’t your usual fountain. There’s no dramatic water jet or sculptural centrepiece. Instead, you find 159 timeworn boulders, misting fine sprays of water in warm months and exhaling steam in winter. It’s a sensory experience that dances with the seasons and whispers to your inner child.

Whispers of Water and Stone

Born from a request for a low-maintenance water feature, Walker responded not with plumbing complexity but with poetic restraint. The design uses no basin, no standing water. Just rings of granite stones and 32 tiny nozzles that let mist rise like breath. In winter, steam from Harvard’s heating system brings warmth to the cold air.

It’s a design that does more by doing less—a perfect blend of sculpture, sustainability, and social space.

How Tanner Fountain Celebrates Space

Tanner Fountain isn’t loud or flashy—it’s quietly joyful. The granite stones, salvaged from New England farms, are more than just material; they’re storytellers. Weathered and warm, they invite people to sit, lean, or gather. These are not barriers or boundaries—they’re companions. There's something almost human about them, as if each stone is smiling back.

As the seasons change, so does the mood of the space. In spring and summer, mist dances in sunlight, creating rainbow glimmers that toddlers run through and couples capture in selfies. Come winter, it transforms again—this time into a dreamscape where gentle steam rises like breath, softening the cold with a surreal glow. It's a place that never looks the same twice.

Peter Walker’s minimalist design is what makes it magical. By doing less, it gives more—more space to feel, more room to play. This is landscape as art, but it’s also art you can walk through, pause in, or simply laugh beside. It welcomes spontaneity—readers with books, thinkers in mid-thought, or someone just standing still to feel the mist.

And behind all the play is a brilliant eco-conscious mind. There’s no need for draining or scrubbing. The mist returns quietly to the earth, and in colder months, the steam is warmed using reused heat. It’s a gentle masterclass in sustainable, sensory design.

No wonder the ASLA Landmark Award in 2008 went to this quiet marvel. Tanner Fountain isn’t just a space—it’s a celebration of simplicity, sustainability, and pure delight.

Where Harvard Shines and the River Sings

A few steps away lies the Charles River waterfront, stretching with green lawns and open skies. Where the river tells a grand, flowing tale, Tanner Fountain adds shimmer—a chamber music to the river’s symphony. Together, they form a balanced urban rhythm—one expansive and powerful, the other soft and radiant.

For anyone exploring Cambridge, this pairing is unmissable. Harvard may be known for its academics, but its landscapes sing in their own language.

Tips for Architourists

📍 Location: At the intersection of Harvard Yard, Memorial Hall, and the Science Centre.
🚇 Getting There: Hop on the Red Line to Harvard Square—it’s a 5-minute walk.
📅 Best Time to Visit: Late spring to early fall for the mist and rainbow sparkles. Winter for the haunting beauty of rising steam.
📷 Pro Tip: Capture the fountain at golden hour. The mist lights up like a halo.
🧭 What to Observe: Notice the material transitions, how people move and interact, and how sunlight filters through mist—perfect for sketching, photography, or reflection.

Final Thoughts: A Space That Laughs With You

As architects, we often look for big gestures and bold moves. But some of the most touching spaces are the ones that whisper. Tanner Fountain doesn’t demand attention—it wins your heart through warmth, movement, and elemental simplicity.

It reminded me of a line by Harivansh Rai Bachchan:
“कुछ बात है कि हस्ती, मिटती नहीं हमारी...”
(“There’s something within that keeps us from fading…”)

This place has that something. It doesn’t fade into the background. It stays in your senses—the cool mist, the glowing stones, the soft smile of a passing stranger. It’s designed not just for the eye but for the soul.

And in the gentle shimmer of sunlight on stone, you remember what good design feels like—it feels like happiness.

“रौशनी की कोई किरण जब पानी पे थिरकती है,
पत्थरों में भी गीत उठते हैं।”
— Gulzar
(“When a ray of light dances on water,
Even stones begin to sing.”)

#Tags

#TannerFountain #HarvardArchitecture #LandscapeDesign #PeterWalker #CambridgeDesign #MinimalistSpaces #EcoArchitecture #PublicArt #HarvardLandscapes #SustainableDesign #DesignThatHeals #UrbanJoy #NidaFazli #GulzarPoetry #HarivanshRaiBachchan #IndianArchitourist #ArchitectsAbroad #CharlesRiverWalks #MistMagic #DesignPoetry

Monday, June 2, 2025

Discovering the Quiet Power of Majid Majidi’s Films: A Journey Through Silence and Emotion

Explore how Majid Majidi’s poetic cinema uses silence and subtle storytelling to create deeply emotional experiences beyond words.

A Cinematic Silence: Discovering Majid Majidi with My Father

Some films don’t just entertain—they sit with you, quietly, like a memory that never fades. After 2013, during those quiet, reflective afternoons when life had slowed down just enough, my elder brother, my father, and I often gathered to watch films that didn’t need much dialogue. That’s how we stumbled upon Majid Majidi’s Children of Heaven (1997). There were no dramatic declarations, no soaring background scores—just silences, glances, and the quiet resilience of everyday people. And that was enough.

We weren’t chasing thrillers or big-screen grandeur. What we sought, without naming it, was something honest—something that spoke to our sensibilities. My father, newly retired, found ease in Majidi’s slower rhythm. The three of us, seated in a sunlit room with an old pedestal fan humming, watched in silence as Zahra’s shoe floated down a narrow stream. We didn’t need to speak. The emotion was suspended in the room with us.

It was only later, during my Film Appreciation Workshop at FTII, that I understood why these films affected us so deeply. Iranian cinema, as explained in Hamid Naficy’s A Social History of Iranian Cinema, thrives on narrative silences. These pauses, rooted in Persian storytelling traditions, aren’t gaps—they are textures. In Baran (2001), Lateef’s unspoken affection unfolds through everyday gestures: a glance, a hesitation, the weight of doing the right thing. My brother and I would notice how Majidi allowed moments to linger, the way Persian poetry does. As an architect, I found that silence wasn’t emptiness—it was space with meaning, much like courtyards in traditional homes.

Light, Space, and Visual Verse

Majidi’s use of light and space is where I truly connected—as both viewer and architect. In The Colour of Paradise (1999), Mohammad’s fingers brushing through golden wheat fields felt like a painting. Those shots didn’t just frame nature—they felt reverent. Through FTII, I had studied Indian masters like Satyajit Ray, whose Apu Trilogy uses framing as emotional storytelling. Majidi does the same, his camera soaking in sunlight and shadow as if the world itself is reciting a poem.

The long takes in The Song of Sparrows (2008), with birds darting through dusty skies, echoed something personal. I was reminded of the spaces from my childhood in Bhagyanagar— the lanes, the quiet rooftops where life moved in soft pulses. As New Lines Magazine beautifully noted, “The key to understanding Iran is poetry,” and Majidi’s visuals pulse with that poetic rhythm. Every pause, every slow pan, carries the weight of an entire verse.

What We Watched Without Explaining

What we shared was not analysis, but presence. In Children of Heaven, as Ali ran barefoot through the streets, we saw more than a boy chasing a prize. My father didn’t offer commentary, but his stillness said enough. We all understood what it meant to carry responsibility silently. Majidi’s films didn’t need to be explained—they invited us to feel. Baran’s rain-soaked silence, its quiet dignity, brought us even closer. We didn’t talk much after these films. And yet, those were the most meaningful conversations we never had.

My FTII training taught me to appreciate minimalism in cinema—not just as an aesthetic but as a philosophy. Like Ray’s focus on daily life, Majidi centres the unnoticed. His characters don’t perform—they simply are. That authenticity stayed with me, both as a viewer and as a woman architect navigating tradition and self-expression. In his films, I saw a balance I also seek—in built spaces, in cultural identity, and in life.

Where Cinema Became Home

These screenings became more than just watching movies—they turned into meaningful rituals. My father embraced the quiet with gentle curiosity. My brother found a deep appreciation for the subtlety and nuance in the films. For me, Majidi’s visuals felt like architectural poetry, with every frame carefully composed. His films became a shared Divān—not through words, but through images and silences that spoke more powerfully than any dialogue.

Majidi doesn’t simply tell stories; he invites you to step inside and truly experience them. Those summer afternoons spent watching his films felt like entering a special space together. Though we often sat in silence, our connection was strong and present. Perhaps that is the true magic of cinema—to create a space where emotions can be felt without needing explanation.

Majid Majidi: 5 Must-Watch Films That Speak Beyond Words

Children of Heaven (1997)
A tender story of sibling love and innocence, following a brother and sister navigating life’s challenges over a lost pair of shoes. Its simple narrative and poetic visuals make it a timeless classic.
The Color of Paradise (1999)
This film explores the world through the eyes of a blind boy, blending nature’s beauty with themes of love, faith, and family bonds, all captured through Majidi’s signature lyrical cinematography.
Baran (2001)
A quiet tale of compassion and sacrifice set in a harsh environment, focusing on a young man’s unspoken love for a refugee girl. The film’s minimal dialogue emphasises emotional depth through gestures and glances.
The Song of Sparrows (2008)
A moving story about a man’s struggle to protect his family and values amidst the challenges of modernisation, highlighted by Majidi’s poetic use of natural light and symbolic imagery.
Muhammad: The Messenger of God (2015)
A visually stunning epic that chronicles the early life of the Prophet Muhammad, showcasing Majidi’s ability to blend history, spirituality, and breathtaking visuals.

References

New Lines Magazine, “The Key to Understanding Iran Is Poetry”, 2023
A Social History of Iranian Cinema, Volume 4, Hamid Naficy, Duke University Press, 2012
Modern Iranian Poetry in Translation, Michigan Quarterly Review, 2015
Sacred Persian Verse, www.sacredpersianverse.com
Four Love Poems from Iran, World Literature Today, 2016
FTII Film Appreciation Workshop, Pune, 2025
The Art of Indian Cinema: A Study of Narrative Traditions, Film Companion, 2024
History of Film – Indian Cinema, Bollywood, Silent Films, Britannica, 2025

Sunday, June 1, 2025

An Architect’s Reflection: Bahá’í Temples, Waterbodies, and the Language of Light

Whispers in Stone and Water: A Journey Between Two Bahá’í Temples

As an architourist, I don’t just travel to see buildings—I travel to feel them. I seek spaces that breathe, that speak not in noise but in quiet gestures. Some places don’t need to shout; they whisper. And two such whispers still echo in my soul: the Bahá’í Houses of Worship in Chicago and Delhi. They are not just architectural feats—they are sanctuaries where water, light, and silence converge.

🌊 The Temple That Watches the Lake – Wilmette, Illinois

Just outside Chicago, in Wilmette, the Bahá’í Temple rises gently beside the vast, breathing body of Lake Michigan. Built in 1953 by architect Louis Bourgeois, it was the first Bahá’í temple in the Western world—a nine-sided marvel wrapped in delicate tracery. From afar, it seems spun from lace. Up close, it feels like a dream standing still.

“It’s not just a building—it’s a deep breath.”

The gardens surrounding it slope toward the lake as if guiding you to reflect. The water, glimmering and endless, doesn’t just frame the temple—it completes it. Each ripple feels like a hymn. Each gust of wind through the trees, a gentle invocation.

Inside, there are no religious symbols. No statues. No rituals. Just light, diffused through intricate patterns, casting moving prayers on the floor. Here, architecture doesn’t impose—it invites. It becomes a vessel for reflection.

“Silence has never sounded so profound.”

📍 Plan your visit to the Bahá’í Temple in Chicago

🌸 A Lotus in the Heart of Delhi

Over two decades ago, I stood in awe before the Lotus Temple in New Delhi. I was young—curious, wide-eyed, perhaps too small to understand the full meaning. Yet even then, something shifted. The calm I felt that day remains with me.

Opened in 1986 and designed by Fariborz Sahba, this House of Worship is shaped like a lotus flower—27 white marble petals unfurling into the sky. In Indian culture, the lotus stands for purity, peace, and resilience. The temple seems to float, rooted in silence amidst the city’s ceaseless hum.

Surrounding it are nine still pools—mirrors that hold the temple’s reflection like memory cupped in water. They do more than cool the space; they amplify its essence. Together, marble and water create an atmosphere not just seen, but felt.

Inside, like its sister in Chicago, there is no religious iconography. Just light, air, and openness. And silence—glorious, golden silence.

“In a city that rarely stops, the lotus asked me to.”

📍 Explore the Lotus Temple in Delhi

🌍 Two Temples, One Stillness

Though separated by continents, these two temples share a single soul. Their waters—Lake Michigan’s expansive presence and Delhi’s quiet pools—mirror not only their structures but also their messages. They remind us that serenity isn't something we seek outside; it's something we return to inside.

As an architourist, I see these spaces not just as designs but as invitations. To pause. To reflect. To simply be.

🌐 If You’d Like to Wander, Begin Here

✨ And As Rumi Once said,

“I have been a seeker and I still am,
But I stopped asking the books and the stars.
I started listening to the teaching of my Soul.”
— Rumi

These temples—one blooming, one standing watch—remind us of that inner voice. In stone, in still water, and in sacred silence, they speak the language of peace.