mud, stone, brick and timber house, 1989





Traditional mud, stone, brick and timber houses in Srinagar, Kashmir, 1989.
photo © Randolph Langenbach.


Via: 


T H E     J O U R N A L     O F     T H E  
A S S O C I A T I O N   F O R   
P R E S E R V A T I O N     T E C H N O L O G Y
© APTI, 1989
Bricks, Mortar, and Earthquakes,
by
Randolph Langenbach 


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Update 8th July, 2017:

Inder Kaw: […]this is very much our house and my father Pt. Hari Krishen Kaw standing at the entrance door after he returned from California in 1988. He is holding a cane and right leg slighted due to his surgery here in San Jose after an accident. In 1990 I met a Cal Berkeley Professor Randolph Langenbach (Also my facebook friend now) in Late Kulbhushan Gupta,s house in Oakland on a Christmas Party. After introduction and pleasantries, he inquired where I originally hailed from. Upon hearing Srinagar, he informed me about his spending two years there as Consultant on environment to Jammu and Kashmir Government and that his speciality was earthquake proof housing. He thought Kasmirian and El-Salvadorian housing were the best earthquake proof housings in the world. He explained something to do with Daji-Deewari, Viram (The long staff) and ductility etc. Upon parting he asked for my address so he would send me his research paper on the subject, he published.Three days later, a tight vanilla envelope arrived by mail and upon pulling the journal slowly from the envelope, the first thing what appeared on the glossy cover of the journal was “American preservation technology journal”, further thrust pulling the magazine out revealed the whole glossy cover page with journal name and this particular picture on the front page. […]


And BTW the house in question has been demolished by people who bought from us and a brand new structure erected taller than 4 stories house we lived in, informs my nephew Avinash Kachroo.


Avinash Kachroo The particular building of the group which formed the original household and works of Pt. Sahajram Kaw’s sons pictured here ceased to stand when I visited the very spot from where the picture was taken, in 2015 – effecting whatever little closure I needed on Kashmir (having born and raised out of Kashmir). The front building long dispossessed still stood, though extremely dilapidated.


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Govind Joo went Karr’e

Govind Joo’s house. 2008.
The family moved away in 1970s.

You don’t know the story. Khabr’e Chaey Ne. He didn’t convert.’

Umm….Khabr’e Chaey Ne. You don’t know the story. He did convert.’

I was supposed to take my Brahminical rites the next morning, and here I was, late at night, in a Pandit Community Hall in Jammu, listening to my Father and Uncles having an amusing discussion about an odd bit of family history. Did their Grand-Uncle Govind Joo Razdan or Goo’ndh Joo, as they called him, turn Christian or not?

An aunt who was married into the family in late 1970s chipped in. ‘Well, it might be true. When the Razdan’s of Chattabal sent marriage proposal for me, one of my old relatives did ask if it’s not the same Karr’e family.’ Karr’e being the pejorative term in Kashmiri for converts to Christianity.

The complete story I came across recently in ‘Tyndale-Biscoe of Kashmir: An Autobiography’ (1951):

“We were at our holiday hut at Nil Nag, in the month of August 1939, when two of our teachers, Govind Joo Razdan, a widower, Sham Lal and his wife, an old boy, Kashi Nath and his wife, asked me to baptize them. They had for years been vey keen on all kinds of social service, so I knew by their lives, as well by their words, that they were truly fit persons to be received into the Christain Church. On Sunday morning I took them to the lake and baptized them.
We, and they, of course were well aware that when they returned to Srinagar, they would have to suffer persecution from the Brahmins, and they did.
[…]
Not many days passed before we heard that the teachers whom I had baptize, were in danger from their fellow Brahmans.
Govind Razdan was the first to be attacked by hooligans while crossing one of the city bridges. Fortunately for him, one of the policemen near by was an old boy of our school and he rescued him from the angry crowd. A few days later Sham Lal was going from my house to his home in the city, after dark, when he was attacked and so badly hurt that he had to be taken to hospital. The man who was the cause of this attack was a Brahmin policeman. Then came Kashi Nath’s turn. He was employed by a motor omnibus company and was taking a bus full of Brahmans to one of the most holy places in Kashmir named Tula Mula, where goddess is supposed to live in a tank. After landing his party at the holy spot, he was attacked by the worshippers, but fortunately there were Mohammedans at hand who came to his rescue and saved him.”

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passings

Winters are not easy on elderly. Bhabhi, one of my grand aunts, passed away recently. Last month, thanks to a chance visit to Jammu, I met her for the last time. It was obvious she was in much pain. Cancer isn’t easy on body. And extreme diabetes, blood pressure, don’t  make it any easier either. You live on a diet of medicines, drips and biscuits. You live on warmth of relations. That helps till a point. Till it all again comes down to a diet of medicines, drips and biscuits.

There is no ‘touch-feet-of-elders’ among Kashmiris. We hug and kiss. As I hugged her that day, even in pain, she kissed me and repeated our old joke. In my ears she said, ‘I stole you from your room while your were sleeping. Remember!’

I remember.

I once passed into sleep. When I woke up, I realized I hadn’t woken up in my room, the naya Kamra, the new room. I hadn’t woken up to the familiar sight of a Philips B&W TV, instead a smiling curly haired Baba in Saffron robes was showing me white of  his one palm from a photograph sitting cozy inside a cabinet of an almirah. But this too was a familiar sight.  I was looking at the Gods Cabinet of Bhabhi.  She was sitting in front of it, praying, lighting agarbattis, diyas, arranging and re-arranging marigold and rose petals around more than a dozen photo-frames of various gods. A silvery bracelet studded with beautiful blue and green stones jingling on her left wrist. ‘It is for pressure,’ she would always say when I would often quiz her about that strange piece of jewellery. A few years later, her son, my uncle, also got one. ‘It is for pressure,’ he says. As I looked at that bracelet, I knew I had woken up in Bhabhi’s room which was right across our naya Kamra. 

Still in a daze, I crawled my way to her and asked ‘How did I get here? Did I sleep here last night?’ She looked away from her gods and staring at my face, reading the confusion which must have been well writ on it, she replied with a straight face, ‘No. I stole you from your room while your were sleeping. At night, after you went to sleep in your room, I sneaked in and quietly picked you up and brought you here.’

‘Is that possible? If that is possible, any body can walk in and steal me at night. Am I safe? How could they let this happen!’ These troubling thoughts crept into mind. I got up with a start and ran out of the room to find my grandmother and ask her if it is true and if yes how could she let this happen. As I ran out of that room, and out of the door, the sullen darkness of a Kashmiri living room suddenly gave way to the brightness of the  glorious Kashmiri summer sun. In an instant my mind cleared. I understood the joke. I went back into her room and screamed at her ‘You are quite a thief Bhabhi!’ We laughed for sometime. Then she went back to her pooja as I sat next to her, watching in silence.

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Summer 2008.

The spot where once stood Bhabhi’s room. It is now a garden lawn or a saw mill. Just across it, my naya Kamra, my sleeping roomalthough now looking worn out, with the smoothness of its outer walls all gone. It is the only old structure that survived.

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Window Gazing in Kashmir

A Window Gazer. Kralkhod. 2008.

Guest post by Arun Jalali. 



Dear friends, let me remind you of a very cheesy past-time activity that we all indulged in with great passion growing up at downtown Srinagar; Window Gazing.

Before I begin, I want to admit, to the hard fact that the second inference of “window gazing” dawned on me only after migration to Delhi. I realized that these parts staring at someones window amounted to  an “uncultured act”  and something that ought to be corrected immediately .

But back home in Srinagar our window gazing was entirely of the reverse nature; Whenever we needed  a break, we would just sit and gaze out  from inside the window and appreciate the passing life of the day.  It was an art form. For older folks, it must have been akin to meditation.

Before I  attempt to dwell further into the subject, allow me to recreate the scene, that made Gazing-out a passionate act filled with the experience that left us with a feeling of connection and appreciation, of love rooted in the neighborhood.

Need for Gazing out:

It is said that Finnish people, the people who gave us Nokia, were prompted to mobile communications simply for the reason that harsh winters would otherwise prevent physical interaction. We in Kashmir perhaps as a society must have been in similar frame of mind when as a solution we indulged in “Window Gazing” as  the medium of communication.

The Act:

Memories of a typical “Window Gazing” for us would today read something like following:

  1. Observing the pedestrians.
  2. If your house be on a river bank, watching the river flow and the boats.
  3. Listening to Radio Commentary for better reception would always be better near the window.
  4. Watching the snow fall.
  5. Watching a neighborhood fight.
  6. If you be ill and parents not letting you to go out; a consolation would be  a view through the window of friends playing in the angun, yard.
  7. Watching old men and women passing their days.
  8. Making important announcements and listening to important announcements.
  9. During lunch time – Vidya Bhavan class mates would “window gaze” across the river to see the activities of girls college; back benchers had the premium view.
  10. List is endless …..

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To this list I would like to add a memory shared by my father. Sometimes, he used to sit on the window to watch Katij (Barn Swallow) chase and evade passing cars and people.

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Update: Additional Input and a beautiful old photograph from D.N. Kaul Ji shared via email by Arun Jalali Ji. ‘Buethuk dari- dakas’ is a term that I too have heard from my elders but only now I understand its meaning.

There used to be various types of windows in a Kashmiri pandit’s house.

1. Front Facade Windows – These windows would open to the common or slightly bifurcated compounds of cluster of neighbour’s houses. The window ledges were designed to maintain the height of window size to suite a normal adult to rest his/her arms on window frame while sitting over there. While as, a child guard (Dum-dier) was also fixed. The window ledge were well furnished to make the sitting comfortable for the long sittings. The window gazing from front facade windows were not apprehended as peeping or probing, Because all neighbours around had already recognized it at the back of their mind. Knowingly or unknowingly these windows were used for many purposes:

a. Security purpose (a vigil) – as was required.

b. Keeping eye on visitors or tresspasser and any day to day activities, in any of the neighbours’ house – for good intentions or in some cases for inquisitiveness.

c. For spitting, coughing out or creating hullabaloo, to dilute the quietness of winter hours (which used to be very depressing at times).

d. Window gazing was very beneficial to older persons to keep their blood pressure under control.

2. Back Facade Windows – These windows at the back of the houses were generally opening to either a street (Kocha) or far neighbours’ house. Gazing from these windows of course would not be etiquette. Generally gentlemen would not gaze from these windows. It was done very rarely and only when actually need be. Yes if young boys or girls would be caught gazing, they would be scolded by elders ( buethuk dari- dakas).

3. Windows at the upper story’s Cantilever (Dubb Deir ) – Gazing from these windows was for panorama. One would gaze at far away house, street, like in Srinagar-Jehlem or Kutt Koal River. One would gaze at stars or moon -faraway snow Cladded Mountains, roofs of other houses.

4. Wogha (Roshan dan)- These used to be very small window on a height, not easily reachable

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Old House on Jhelum, Aabi Guzar

From the looks of that towel left for drying on the window sill, somebody actually lives in that house.
Update: The place is known as Aabi Guzar. Apparently at this place people used to pay taxes for using the water ways. 2010.

Update:
Notice the design.

Drawn by  H.R. Pirie for P. Pirie’s ‘Kashmir; the land of streams and solitudes’ (1908).

Kuluf

They put big metal padlocks on the unanimous wooden door fitted in the outer mud wall to their mud-bricked house whose beams were composed of parts of dead old trees, deodars, god-trees that fooled themselves into believing that they were still alive, a believe that this particular timber would hold for a hundred years, a belief that would make it bleed resin year after year. This simple act of theirs now seems so disturbingly ludicrous.

My grandfather got these two big padlocks thanks to his government job. Originally the locks were meant to be used for some governmental store, and as government departments tend to be a bit lenient in these matters, somehow the office ended up buying some extra locks which were dutifully and equally distributed among the employees of the department. That’s how he got indentical two brass ‘Hitler’ padlocks. The two locks served him well for many years even if they were never fully utilized to their big potential as the main door to the house was never required to be locked – it was always open. So these two padlocks were mostly used as room locks. Then one morning of they were put to a proper use. That morning one of these two locks was used to chain the main door and the other was put on the latch of the heaviest trunk. One of them reached Jammu and the other was never heard from again. The one now in Jammu is every night stays put on an Iron door to the cement and mortar house built  in frames of iron.

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Update: Remembered, there are places in Maharashtra, around Kohlapur, where people call lock a Kuluf. A bit learnt from an old Kohlapuri woman in Nagpur. 

A house in Kralkhod

Contributed by my Mamaji Roshan Lal Das. Lots of personal history and great insight on how a house was built in Kashmir. The photographs of the house were taken by me when I visited the place with my mother in June 2008 .

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In the hoary past, most of the Kashmiri Pandits used to live in and around the dulcet and fertile area of Rajvatika, the present Rainawari. The Brahmins of Rajvatika exercised considerable influence during the period of late Hindu kings. During forties of 19th century, a family bearing surname ‘Choudhry’ lived in chodury bhag area of Rainawari.

It was the period of Sikh rule in Kashmir. One Hemant Choudhry of this clan left for greener pastures of Lahore. He worked as an accounts assistant to the father of a future prime minister of Kashmir. As years went by, Hemant became an ascetic and as his name spread, he was re-named Hemant Sadh by his Kashmiri neighbors who all lived in Kashmiri mohalla of Lahore, Sadh being the Kashmiri equivalent of Sadhoo.

Later on, with the initiation of Dogra rule, Hemant Choudhry, now Hemant Sadh relocated to Srinagar buying a House at Aga hamam in Habba Kadal. Hemant Choudhry had grown old. He went to his old boss whose son had now become Prime Minister – Dewan Badrinath, and asked for a job for his son Narayan Sadh. Narayan Sadh was offered a job as estate officer for prime minister’s landed estates. (Dewan Badrinath built a mansion in Kralkhod which was in ruins during my time and grabbed by one Wahab Makaya.)

Dewan Badrinath was not a Kashmiri and hence faced lot of difficulty in pronouncing the surname of Narayan Sadh. He suggested him to change his surname to Das. It was done and all the office records were changed accordingly. That is how my clan changed from Sadh to Das.

Narayan Das got married and had a son and a daughter but his wife died while delivering a third child. Days rolled by and Narayan Das was always on the move inspecting landed estates of his employer. He was now getting old. During those days fifty was considered old.

Harmiain is a sylvanic village in tehsil Shopian. It is lying at the plain of mountains leading to Aharbal and Kosernag Lake. The village is surrounded on all sides by a brook with icy waters.

Dewan Badrinath had huge landed estate in Harmain also and it was being looked after by a Rajput family (that grabbed it after his death). Once while touring this village, Narayan Das was bedazzled by the sight of a beautiful girl taking bath in a brook. She had perfect olive oil skin and a perfect complexion devoid of any swarthiness, which otherwise was believed to be the most common tone for villager people. The girl was seventeen and  known as Haer – a bird which would mean Finch in English. The girls had been so named because of her impressive brown eyes. Proposals were sent to the girl’s parents through the emissaries. The girls parents were initially reluctant but in the end, being overwhelmed by the man’s status, gave in.

Marriage was solemnized with great pomp and show at Srinagar. Within couple of years Narayan was sent to Ladakh for survey of prime minister’s estates over there. It was not an easy task back then to travel all the way to Ladakh. Those days one had to travel on horses and the journey could turn dangerous. While returning from Ladakh, Narayan fell from his horse on the slopes of Zojilla Mountain. Hooves of horses broke his slide down the slopes but the fall caused him some severe injuries and by the time Narayan reached Srinagar, he had developed gangrene. He died and Haer became a widow by the age of nineteen. She was pregnant at the time.

Soon she delivered a male child who was named Shivji. This child was brought up with great care and love. He grew up, did his matriculation – which was a rarity and a feat those days. He became a Babu in the office of chief engineer Appleford. Shivji typed with great dexterity and a Remington typewriter could always be found by his side – his great personal possession.

In 1917, there was a great fire in and around Agahamam area of Habba Kadal. Shivji’s house too was engulfed in flames. Luckily the family had a chunk of land in Kralkhod .The mother and son started building a new house, this time on a much bigger scale. But when the work started Shivji was transferred to Ladakh. The widow had to build that house on her own. She put in all her savings into building that house. The house was complete at the end of year 1918 and it cost my great-grandmother all the savings of her life, around Rs.4000, a princely sum those days.

The house was nearly two thousand two hundred square feet in area and four storeys high – a massive building by modern standards. The foundation was laid in tonnes of broken stones. Those days Portland cement was a luxury that only a Maharaja could afford. The damp proof coating over the plinth was laid in form of wooden beams. In this case, the beams were nearly one foot by one foot thick and that too without hinges or knots. The pillars were raised in uneven stones joined in mud which with time turned out to be a major defect.

The upper storeys were built in thin square bricks which were known as ‘maharaji’ bricks which were supported by wooden beams. One room on the second floor was plastered with polished mud splattered with straw (I still wonder how they did it). And one room on third storey was polished in mud and somehow painted green, on completion this room offered a strange shine that exists even now. I still don’t know what sort of paint they used those days. This particular room was used as ‘Dewan Khan‘ – or the drawing room. The second and third storey had a retiring room which remained warm even in cold winters. These were called as ‘shainsheen‘ in Kashmiri.

The uppermost storey, as in most of Kashmiri houses, acted as summer retreat (Kay’nee in Kashmiri). The house had two balconies (zoon dab) which offered a panoramic views of Eastern Mountains and Northern mountains viz Mahadev peak, Zabarwan range and Shankracharya Hill in the east and Harmokh range and Hari Parbat hill in the north.

In 1954, the zoon dabs were dismantled and a single elongated one was rebuilt instead. I had a narrow escape at the time of this renovation; a couple of bricks nearly fell on me.

Those days the roofs were thatched and waterproofed by birch leaves (known in Kashmiri as burza). As the clay turf turned heavy during rains and snow, tresses had to be very strong and weight bearing. To achieve this strength thick wooden plank transected by huge logs were used. These logs used to be almost a foot in diameter.

Those days when Deodar wood was cheap, the outer latticed windows, known as panjra in the local lingo, were built. The panjra work was an indigenous one. Laths were fixed into one another. No nails or glue was used as the laths supported each by exerting pressure on the wooden frame. A few wooden nails were used in some cases of thick laths. Years ago, I was surprised one day on seeing a small piece of paper ‘Times of India ‘ dated 1916,  stuck to a panjra. The paper must have been glued there as insulation during severe winter of 1931, the year Jehlum completely froze. A few panjras still remained when we sold the house in 1975.

Years passed by and next generation viz my father and two paternal uncles shared the house. As often happens, there were frequent quarrels amongst them. The fights continued into my generation as well. Due to inherent defect in the founding pillars built up of uneven stones joined by mud, during Sixties, the house started bending from western side.

In 1973, a decision was taken to repair the house. It was a hard and a risky decision. The house could tumble down during repairs. An old carpenter, one of the carpenters who had built the Budshah Bridge, along with his brash young son took the responsibility of repairing the old house. Wooden poles nearly 30 feet in length were used as props (known as ‘pandas‘ in the local lingo). The ground floor was completely dismantled and the rest of the floors were now resting fully on these props. There was an earthquake once but the house managed to survive it. Four feet by two feet pillars were re-built in lime and brick powder. This combination of Lime and brick powder had been in use right from medieval period and I feel it was stronger than expensive cements of today. The lentils on the pillars were supported by wooden planks of hardwood known locally as Kikar.

It took nearly 6 months to repair the house. When the last prop was being removed the mason took to his heels. Later when we asked the reason, he said that he was not sure that the pillars will withstand the weight of the old building. The house was finally sold out to a rich boatman in year 1975.

In April 1993, I saw a photograph of our house on fire in the newspaper ‘Times Of India’. A timber seller in neighborhood had become a police informer (Mukhbir) Militants lit his store on fire which soon engulfed the whole neighborhood including our house. Luckily only the upper storey was burnt down.

The house was still standing tall when I last saw it in 2005 – a good eighty seven years after it had first been built by my great-grandmother.

Roshon, the great-grandson of ‘Haer’
June, 2010

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