Some people worship Rajnikanth…..I worship Charles Correa. I have been his devotee for more than two decades, starting from the time I was at architectural school in the eighties. I must have been in the second year of school when I started noticing his work, and it was love at first sight for me. From being nerdy and studious, I went on to being (still) nerdy and fanatical. You were either with me or against me, depending on how much you loved his work. I wandered about like a madwoman looking for the buildings he had designed. When I had exhausted all possibilities in Delhi, I sanctioned one whole vacation in Mumbai to looking for ‘Correa’ buildings. My aunt stayed in Borivli and my uncle at Cuffe Parade. These two, and then every relative or friend on that route was requisitioned to help me ferret out these buildings.
Once when the great man visited my college, a friend who had trained at his office and knew about my obsession, took me along to meet him. Mr.Correa was most gracious, showing no signs of disgust at my goggle-eyed gawping. Later when he spoke to the students inside the auditorium, he was attacked repeatedly for his LIC building that had just been completed. I wanted to stand up and shout out – For Heaven’ sake, leave the man alone! He is allowed some mistakes – he is human too!!
I never said it, though. After all, for me, he was God.*
Through my student years, all means, fair or foul, were employed to get closer to my idol. I pestered my great-uncle Raman who knew him from his Ann Arbor days to wheedle out a summer training at his office. I could not make it that summer for some reason, and I got a mighty wallop from my great-uncle for having called out a favour and then wasting it. When it was finally time for my legitimate training, I wrote triumphantly to Charles Correa and Associates – what joy! – and as I happened to be in Mumbai, I was called in for an interview. It must have been nerves, compounded by the sight of the Almighty himself, but I fumbled and fouled up that interview. I went home, wept buckets, and waited disconsolately for the inevitable rejection. It came soon enough, on impeccable creamy parchment – We regret…..
Well, that was the day I summoned all my foolish, fanciful, hero-worshipping sentiments, wrapped them tightly in a bundle and threw it out of my life. I moved on, moved cities, moved jobs, got married, started a family, started a practice. I saw every building that Correa built in every city I visited, but it was with a kind of mature detachment. I was over that madness.
Or so I thought.
Years later, as I started having more time to myself, I started reading again with a passion. I caught up with old friends – Mumford, Tanizaki, Rasmussen – and formed some new ones. Somewhere along the way, I picked up my well-thumbed ‘The New Landscape’ and ‘A Place in the Shade’ and read them once more. As I read through those books, I felt again the stirrings of my long-buried, infantile admiration for Correa. Even after a good twenty years, every word in ‘The New Landscape’ spoke to me as eloquently as it had when I first read it.
I began looking up his writings obsessively on the internet. I devoured every word. This time it was a love affair with his writings, his ideas, and as I read on, I felt optimistic about my own growing interest in writing. If Correa had not put down these ideas into books and articles, would we have been able to access his brilliant mind as intimately? I felt assured that perhaps there was sense in putting down the thoughts that relentlessly crowded my mind. Perhaps architects do read after all.
With the same madness that had taken over me many years ago, I started once more the attempts to reach Correa. Each time I was rebuffed. I finally got to see him on stage at an event in Bangalore. After the initial shock of seeing how much he had aged, I was gratified to see that his beautiful spirit had not dimmed. His voice was gone, victim to the infamous Bangalore weather, but he was firing all cylinders. I wanted to call out to him, Mr.Correa! You must wear socks and shoes in the evening. The cold night air is really bad for you. If I could, I would have got him some potent, homemade, ginger ‘kashayam’ but, of course, there was no way I could reach him. (Someone else with greater ‘powwa’ managed to get across some ginger tea to him. Well…)
So, here I was again, having come full circle, and strangely enough, no nearer my goal of meeting the great man. I accept in all humility that it is a childish obsession; and perhaps it is a childish notion that some of that greatness could somehow rub off on me.
But, hey – some people worship Rajnikanth. I worship Charles Correa.
* In his defense, he used the glass in the most intelligent manner possible. That entire facade was oriented North, and from outside, the glass reflected Connaught Place; from inside, one saw for the first time the awe inspiring spectacle of the entire colonnade from an elevation. Contrast this with the asinine glass-fronted buildings that one sees nowadays, 50 metres across and 10 storeys high, all facing Westward towards the blazing tropical sun. Jesus.
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