Many people spend their entire lives believing that the arts and music are completely different from the hard sciences, which include physics, chemistry, engineering, and even architecture. But are they really? Enter architect Salauddin Ahmed’s Atelier Robin Architects (ARA) in Hazaribagh and marvel in the atelier’s (French for studio) all-white, lofty, and expansive interior. You will see that architecture is not truly that far from art, if at all. Walking into Salauddin’s studio was in part equivalent to getting a glimpse of his inner workings: neat, geometrically perfect, and symmetrical. Aside from the conference room, which doubles as a miniature gallery, paintings and his sketchbooks are neatly spread out in the spatial atelier, where voices echo. Salauddin, a creator as well, designed most of the fixtures and furniture in the studio.
But what sets ARA’s principal architect apart from the other practitioners in the industry?
His schooling is in the US. His decade-and-a-half-long stay in the US, where he studied architecture at the University of Pennsylvania, in his career-forming phase exposed him to elements of his trade that are otherwise tough to attain in Bangladesh. “I didn’t come here to settle down. I came here to try it out. During my time away from here and being involved academically, I met architect, urbanist, and architectural historian Kazi Khaleed Ashraf. He influenced me to try out my trade in Bangladesh, as there were many opportunities here when I was starting out professionally, circa 1995. Then I did discover the vastness of the architectural practice in Bangladesh,” Salauddin said, explaining why he stayed back.
Then he went on to compare architecture with music, alluding to how Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart perfected music from the age of four for the love of music—not commercialisation or leaving behind a vast collection but simply a legacy. “If an architect is just building buildings at an existential level, then,” he retorted, “it’s not architecture at all. Architecture is in the conscious and the subconscious; that is the vastness of architectural practice.”
As Dhaka expands northward, homogenous residential buildings are popping out everywhere. People need a place to live, yes, but these buildings are just mere cages with the most basic elements that do not remotely enhance the art of living. The schooling our young architects are receiving just deals with hyper-commercial ways of living—ways in which more buildings and apartments can be crammed into the ever-so-dwindling space of Dhaka. “The application of laws, codes, and the conduct of architecture are barely taken into consideration by the authority. All the authority cares for, almost in a military fashion, is that the buildings conform to straight lines and extremely basic designs.
They are not bothered by the emotional contact that architecture bears with the art of living. Habitats that enhance the beauty of living are underscored as a passion project, and they simply don’t make a lot of money. The number of architects presently practicing is sky-high, but that number needs to be threefold as high. However, they also have the mammoth task of dictating to society how architecture works.
Bangladeshi architect and urban planner Muzharul Islam embodies that ideal concept of architecture. Later on, a school was set up to learn and then unlearn Muzharul Islam to create room for fresher ideas. That has been a successful way forward, a tried and tested system through which many contemporary architects of renown have come forward. But a few exceptions cannot be an example. In a country like Bangladesh, one or two exceptions will not do,” he explained it in detail.
In all sincerity, Salauddin stressed emphatically the importance of ‘averageness’. “The word average carries a negative meaning in our society. But it has been proven that a person who carries themselves with the average air is the most attractive. However, the importance of averageness is not taught at an academic level. For example, all circles don’t have to be spherical. There is beauty in a slightly elliptical and average circle as well.” This city should represent an old ‘kantha’ that is average and not gaudy, so that everyone feels a level of comfort and familiarity, thus explaining averageness. Most Dhaka residents cannot afford such luxury, which makes an average approach go hand in hand with architecture: turning an empty lot into a home.
“Dhaka is growing, but as an orphan,” Salauddin said morosely.
Although much opportunity is not there to salvage Dhaka anymore from its systematic ruination, “possibilities” are, however, still there. His atelier is proof of that! Walking through the mazes of what used to be the heart of the now-removed tannery industry in Hazaribagh leads to his studio. A 15-foot gate, which could almost function as a castle drawbridge, welcomes you into the imposing interior. One would be left in awe that such a magnificent studio can be set up in a relic of a retired tannery. To Salauddin, it is the will and temperament that matter. “It’s a part of my ensemble: I take immense personal struggle to show someone the possibility.”
Getting back on the matter of urban design, he spoke briefly about how it is done in successful cosmopolitan cities, one in which he once resided for a while. He elaborated, “Everybody here wants a south-facing veranda. Okay, but his neighbour might be deprived of the southern wind if he takes up all the space. In New York, for example, there’s a code: your building cannot project two hours of shadow on any surface in an eight-hour window.
If you cast a shadow long enough, the adjacent building will need more heating capacity in the cold and get much less sun during the day. Your design form has to respect the many constituencies of urban design. This is impossible to even imagine in Dhaka.”
The long conversation ended on a beautiful note. He said, “Ninety percent of the landscape of Bangladesh is the most beautiful in every direction you can look at it.” Any architect needs to understand their backyard, which is the rest of our country. Without that knowledge, it’ll be utterly difficult to create architecture. You can mass produce buildings, but to give birth to architecture, one just has to know their backyard and has to reach out to all possible corners of the country, discover and rediscover their backyard, and be inspired.”
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