I R connoisseur

If I’m given a book, any book, written by one of my favorite writers without a cover, I should, in eight out of ten tries, guess the author. The knack to doing this lies in knowing the writer and his style. If you depend on the story line or the plot, you might be led astray. For all writers take a break from their genre every once in a while.

You have to delve into the sentences. For it is here that the fabric of the writer’s style is woven. First you spot one use of a term or phrase that seems to ring a bell, albeit faint. Then as you move along, the sentences unravel to give you clues to his unique writing style. And soon, a paragraph or a page later, it strikes you.

I love architecture, though I know nothing about it. But like a good artist, and here I use the term liberally, I can tell a monstrosity from a work of art. No matter what the medium.

I passed one not 15 minutes ago. Driving down the Vidhan Saudha road, at the crossing I beheld what looked like a series of tall periscopes towering over the surrounding landscape. The traffic light let me dally enough to assess the building. Made with concrete slabs, this series of seemingly different periscopes, on closer inspection, turned out to be one building. I marvelled at the fragmented windows that covered the front façade of the building. I was taken in by the almost careless way the concrete slabs came together.

Corbusier came to mind. The series of windows, seamlessly guided the eye to the top of the building without giving away the point of union between two floors.

But this building had none of the socialistic trimmings that Corbusier reveals in his buildings. It had a more somber, almost evolved feel. Like a Corbusier who had realized the frivolity of frills, and left the soul intact.

Corbusier ruled out, I looked to see if it was a wannabe. There are buildings I have seen in Chandigarh that have been made post Corbusier, aping his style. And very badly, may I add. They seem to have skirted the little bursts of genius that Corbusier added to the otherwise somber ensemble that his buildings make.

Consequently, though you can’t find anything fundamentally wrong with the building, you refuse to find anything right with it either.

This building, on close scrutiny, divulged no ugly secrets. It was well thought of. And well executed. It seemed the making of another mind altogether. But in my head, I fancied they were bound by ideology.

And So I headed to the office on a Saturday to research this genius. I struck gold on the 5th Google. Charles Correa, one of India’s greatest architects. And someone who’s work I marveled at every week when I visited the British Council Library in Delhi.

And so while I write this post, my chest swells with pride. Knowing that I spotted a work of art hidden among other concrete monstrosities. Like a true connoisseur. And each time I pass it, I will wink at it and smile. Secure in the knowledge that I at least, know it’s true worth.