WEDNESDAY, MAY 15, 2024
VIVEK MENEZES
PANJIM: Earlier this year, just a few days after it was inaugurated by MK Stalin, this writer visited the Keeladi Museum outside Madurai in Tamil Nadu. Built across two acres, this pristine low-rise complex of buildings is the superbly conceived showcase for thousands of artefacts from an extraordinary archaeological site nearby. Since 2015, digs there have kept on producing more evidence of a rich Sangam Era urban civilisation starting almost 3000 years ago, which has revolutionised what we know about the very earliest Indians. Now, this lovely new space has been constructed to be what the CM says is “a fitting tribute to our ancient Tamils, their workmanship and life.”
In many ways, Tamil Nadu feels like an alternate reality to the rest of the country. It sits atop numerous categories: most industrialised State, but also agriculturally dominant, number one in everything from coconut to banana to cloves. There is almost unbelievable gender parity, including nearly half of the country’s entire total of professionally employed women.
In all this, of course, there is a profoundly painful contrast of quality of governance with Goa, but the deep sense of shame one felt at Keeladi – now flooding back after the debacle at Kala Academy – will never leave this writer. It took Tamil Nadu less than three years to bring to life this sensitively curated, brilliantly democratic free museum after then-CM Edappadi Palaniswami laid its foundation stone. Read this and weep: the state PWD (which, highly admirably, has its own heritage wing) barely overshot its estimate of Rs 12.2 crore, and the entire project was finished for Rs 18.43 crore.
Highly competent Tamil Nadu built an important contemporary Indian cultural landmark by spending that much money, but how much will it cost to fully destroy one? Piles of cash started disappearing almost 20 years ago, says passionate young architect Tahir Noronha: “It began in 2004 with Rs 23 crore “renovations”, for which Charles Correa offered to take up the work, but it was awarded to a Mumbai-based architect who finished his in just three months. One consequence of rushing was the unscientific layering of a waterproofing course on top of the existing layer, which overloaded the slabs. The building suffered, and started showing signs of distress through cracks and bends that appeared over the next decade. But these structural issues were neglected, and the damages were painted over.”
Noronha is only 27 – he graduated from Goa College of Architecture in 2018 – and worked at the Charles Correa Foundation (CCF) in Fontainhas for four years before pursuing further studies in Urban and Regional Planning at the University of Michigan, where his research focuses on adapting historic buildings and cities to climate change through policy and planning. Last month, he started duties as a part-time planner for the City of Detroit, assisting the government with formulating and enforcing regulations. All this has given him valuable perspective on what has been happening back home in Panjim, and so I emailed him after this week’s disaster.
Back in 2019, after the government made its first bid to demolish parts of Kala Academy, Noronha recalls, “The people of Goa raised their voices, and three structural audits gave the building a clean chit. However, all three called for holistic repair rather than the cosmetic solutions applied earlier. Once the decision was made to repair, it was enshrined in a consent judgment by the Hon. HC of Bombay at Goa in PILSM 2/2019. Now, with their demolition halted, the state started to get secretive.”
Noronha says, “CCF and IIT Madras jointly proposed overseeing the work at a cost of Rs 15 lakh, (with CCF waiving its fees and IIT maintaining its standard institutional rates.) Unfortunately, that proposal was dismissed, and Rs 49-crore work order was issued for consulting and undertaking the work. This inflated to Rs 59 crore the following year. It does not seem like the specialised agency followed basic protocols, neglecting necessary assessments and overlooking standard conservation practices. CCF alerted the government to this several times, even appealing to appoint a private conservation architect to take responsibility for the work and make the plans public.”
Nothing positive came of those anxious warnings - now proven 100% right – and what happened instead is thorough blundering. Noronha reminds us: “All three structural audits indicated the critical areas were terraces, roof slabs, and the open-air auditorium (which has collapsed). These needed the most care and attention, and a sensitive approach. The repair methodology is unclear, but if the renovations of the building were not finished, why was the scaffolding removed? In Goa, any competent architect or engineer knows the monsoon brings additional threats, imposing additional load on a building. It was all the more imperative for the slabs to be propped up with scaffolding until the engineer was convinced that they could handle all the weight. To not do so is negligence, not only by the contractor but equally by the PWD who took responsibility to supervise the work.”
Noronha was asked whether he had learned something useful for Goa in the US. He said, “Working in Detroit's government, I've noticed the importance of constant communication with residents, activists, and stakeholders. We think and consult three times before proposing anything, because it’s the only way to achieve lasting results. Kala Academy is unique among modern Indian buildings because it captures the similarly democratic and inclusive vision of Bhausaheb Bandodkar. Every Goan has fond memories of being there because of the architectural openness and inclusive programming. Compare it to any Ravindra Bhavan, for example, and it’s easily evident that they are not the same. While the nature of the US, with low election turnouts - and Michigan’s role as a swing state - might play some part in the public-first approach we take in Detroit, it’s vital that Goa too must not lose sight of the importance of trust and accountability.”
