tations. I felt among us an almost tense desire to be respectful, if not reverent, but an impulse to make jokes that would break that same tension seemed to leave the
monk unimpressed.
Following the yoga session, another monk led us to a large lecture hal . The
structure was built of compressed earth bocks, and an outdoor corridor wrapped
around its full length, providing shade and enabling a sense of constant contact
with the outside. Once inside the lecture hal , however, the atmosphere was dim
and poorly lit. We took our seats.
The next two hours saw the lighter emotions of the early morning turn to a
clearer frustration. For the full session, a speaker delivered a lecture that seemed completely disconnected from the theme of the visit. Entitled, “Overcoming
Anger,” the content focused on techniques of anger control and the ways to prac-
tice “the art of happiness.” The claims made throughout the lecture were vague,
and left unattached in any explicit way to a specific philosophy.
We were all aware that Govardhan is an ISKON undertaking, so in some ways
we all expected some amount of orientation to its philosophy, especial y insofar as it was related to the story of the site itself. Yet we sat in a lecture hal , left to gaze outward toward the environment and the larger grounds, feeling as if we might be
experiencing some kind of nonspecific recruitment.
During a short tea break and a moment outside, we shared brief conversations
and affirmed our puzzlement. Yet we’d only begun the weekend program, not to
mention the day, so we returned to the classroom with the shared hope that the
topics would soon shift to environmental architecture, or at least consciousness as it related to good design.
The next lecture was called “Stress Management,” and as it went on the faculty
grew, somewhat ironical y, restless and impatient. I wrote in my notebook that we
all seemed increasingly stressed out; we had yet to discuss anything overtly related to environmental architecture. Like the others, I felt distracted by a keen desire to
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Consciousness and Indian-ness 125
go outside and explore the grounds. When the lunch break final y arrived, collec-
tive relief followed us quickly out of the hall and into the larger vil age.
In the afternoon we made our first guided visit to the larger eco-village, begin-
ning, unsurprisingly, at the extensive cowshed. The head of the cowshed greeted
us to explain that the core mission of Govardhan, and a pivotal aspect of its spiritual and ecological philosophy, is cow “protection.” The cowshed structure was
therefore a kind of dual center: it served both spiritual and sustainability goals. He continued to explain that, with the right number of cows to balance the human
population in the ashram, human needs for food and energy could be met sus-
tainably. While Govardhan had not yet achieved full self-sufficiency, our host told us that its ultimate objective was to provide for all of the vil age’s needs, and to process all of its wastes. In this way, ultimately, the vil age sought to operate with a ful y closed nutrient loop.
By this point in the day our full group was assembled, and we represented
a wide range of faith traditions and identities. Among us were Muslims, Jains,
Christians, and Parsis, as well as Hindus whose identification with Hinduism
spanned a broad continuum. We were well aware of the profound symbolism of
the cow in Hindu tradition, but also acutely mindful that an exclusive and often
violent mobilization of orthodox ideas of cow protection was active, to tragic
effect, in many parts of India.
Although we had not yet heard any direct references to ISKON in the morning
seminars, touring the cowshed and walking through the eco-village reinforced the
ideology of the devotees we were among. The same could be said of Auroville, to
be sure, insofar as its members are also devotees of a specific spiritual philosophy and members of an ashram. Yet the dual fact that our program had, to that point,
featured very little explicitly environmental content, and that the aesthetics and practices of the ashram created such a clear distinction between us as visitors and our hosts, the monks, gave this study tour a discernably different valence. Those
present in Auroville tended to dress differently from one another, for instance,
creating a general feeling of relative cosmopolitanism. By contrast, the Govardhan residents with whom we interacted were all men, and nearly all were monks
dressed in white, saffron, or red robes. Even this simple uniformity marked us as
unmistakable outsiders.
When I asked an RSIEA faculty member what she thought of the site at that
point, her reply came slowly, as though she was seeking a way to be both respect-
ful and appropriately critical. She offered that the most important thing to her was that students coming to Govardhan would be exposed to an alternative model of
living, one that formed a social basis for ecological y sound commitments. “Even
if the efforts are not perfect,” she said, “the experience of being in a place that is organized so differently is extremely valuable. Most of the students have never been to a place like this,” she said, and the exposure to it would attune them to
126 Consciousness and Indian-ness
what is possible in the world. Although it went unsaid between us, there was an
overt feeling of orthodoxy and extremity in Govardhan that, for a variety of com-
plex reasons, we had avoided confronting in Auroville. Here, the premise of an
expansive and inclusive “Indian” identity, which linked to the consciousness-good
design duality, seemed far less tenable. At the same time, faculty members repeat-
edly expressed to me their confidence in the students’ capacity to engage the experience critical y and selectively. In other words, faculty members felt that there was still a crucial, political y neutral message about sustainability embedded in the experience of Govardhan, and it was that environmental consciousness that made
this study tour valuable.
Later, the same faculty member confided that she was not impressed with some
of the underlying spiritual messages that came through as the workshop went on.
“At ISKON, they start with shared values,” she said, “and so in some ways meet-
ing the challenge of running an eco-village is easier.” Furthermore, the affinities between members of the ashram were not fundamental y anchored to environmental values, per se, in contrast, perhaps, with the experience at Auroville.
The second day involved extensive tours of the grounds and built structures.
A session at the main assembly hall highlighted its interconnected environmental
features: constructed of compressed earth blocks, il uminated largely by natural
day lighting, cooled by low-energy cooling technologies and powered by solar, this was a building that seemed to fulfill a long list of desirable environmental attributes. We learned here that vermicomposting, on-site wastewater treatment, and
the use of biogas all figured in the environmental supply-waste chains throughout
the eco-village.
On the mid-morning tour across the vil age grounds, our monk guide began
to connect Govardhan’s built form to a narrative of “Indian” history and identity.
“You see,” he said, “the traditional lifestyle was logical and eco-friendly. We want to show people that this lifestyle was not for a lack of knowledge; instead, they had great knowledge that was lost when we became an industrial society.” He stopped
walking, and addresse
d himself to the full group:
Stress is the number one killer of people today. Why? Because we live in a greed
culture. We have lost connection with Mother Earth. Since the Industrial Revolution she has become a wife to be exploited. Everything we needed to know we knew in
ancient times, before industrial society broke our relationship to the earth. For us, the earth is Bhumi Devi. Our goal is a harmonious life.
In some ways, this logic resonated with a similar set of points we’d encountered
in Auroville, yet again, in this guise the group was both interested and uneasy.
Though the logic of recovering values and technologies humanity had known
through deep history was consistent, the inclusive potential to claim that history as one’s heritage did not. Here, “Indian-ness” was a much more difficult category to
disentangle from a reflexive awareness of the sociopolitical life of this same logic.
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Consciousness and Indian-ness 127
The group shuffled onward for another visit to the cowshed, and the monk
stopped before entering to deliver an extended talk about the “basis of the Vedic
lifestyle.” “In traditional society, he began, people depended on two elements: cow and land.” Cows and land formed a “perfect circle” for fulfilling the needs of human life. The manure was a source of fuel, and a rich form of soil nutrition—that is, a natural fertilizer. Unlike other forms of excrement, which the Vedas deplore as
pol uting, cow manure, he told us, is revered and “auspicious;” it is a soil nutrient that long predates chemical fertilizers. It is also the foundation of biogas, which powers much of the ashram, and an ancient disinfectant. He continued to describe
the use of dung for plastering floors and wal s, and its extensive use, along with cow urine, as an antibacterial agent in Auyervedic medicine. And of course, he
said as if in an afterthought, cows provide milk.
In a switch from historical tradition to contemporary technology, our guide
encouraged us to “see for ourselves,” not only here but by consulting Govardhan’s
extensive website. Much later, curious to follow his advice, I found the ashram’s
extensive archive of articles, essays, and other materials. Among titles such as,
“Land and Cow: the Green Miracle,” and “Land and Cow: a Perfect Sustainable
System,” I read:
One only needs to turn the clock back by few decades and glance
over into the lifestyle of Traditional India.
Life in traditional India was purely centered around the culture of fulfilling one’s needs and not one’s unlimited wants. And two things played a vital role in setting up such a sustainable lifestyle—Land and Cow. Unlike the modern Industrial systems, Land and Cow form a perfectly sustainable system that can fulfill the needs of the human society. The output of a Cow barn is manure, which is a first class organic fertilizer and acts as an input for the agricultural land. And the output of the agricultural land, the grasses and fodder, act as an excellent Cow feed, thus supporting the Cow barn. Thus we see that these two systems are self-sufficient sustainable systems that can go on if properly taken care of. And the byproducts of these two systems namely milk and other dairy products, electricity through biogas, various cosmetic and medical products from Cow dung and urine, vegetables, fruits and grains are essential for mankind’s survival. 30
Once again, we entered Govardhan’s well ordered, kept, and pleasant cowshed, and
for over an hour, students and faculty wandered, almost adoringly, through the
structure. Many posed for pictures with the cows, and the entire group seemed to
linger to enjoy being among these impressive, and undeniably beautiful, animals.
Our urban origins compelled some slightly awkward, and sometimes sentimen-
tal y charmed, giggles as students and faculty moved from shed to shed. Some
gestured as if to lovingly pet the cows; others recited all of their “cute” attributes.
Among the animals, the sociopolitical sting that accompanied the phrase, “cow
protection” nearly vanished.
The everyday reality of tending, grooming, feeding, cleaning, and caring for
the cows was not the visit’s emphasis; the shed was instead a spectacle meant to
128 Consciousness and Indian-ness
animate the romantic story of cow-human harmony, and to provide an opportu-
nity to revere and show gratitude to the creatures. Our monk’s comments framed
the animals as actual repositories, if not guardians, of an aspect of the ancient
wisdom of good design.
We continued to the ashram kitchen, where monks offered explanations of the
vil age biogas system and a chance to hand-churn milk. The program concluded
at the site’s extensive waste-treatment and plant nursery complex, called the Soil Biotechnology Plant. Here, yet another monk offered a slightly modified description of the perfection of “traditional” Vedic lifeways, hinting at their social complexities and exclusions: since in the past, human waste was collected by a particular social group (which he did not name), he told us, and since this work degraded and marginalized that group, the Govardhan community recognized the need to manage the human waste at the ashram and eco-village in a different way. The monk
explained that relying on water as a basis for waste transport and decomposition
systems was inefficient at this site, so the Govardhan model relies on soil microbes as the principle decomposition agent. The ashram’s waste treatment system and its
extensive plant nursery are in this way interlinked, and comprise a large complex
that, like a composting toilet, creates plant fertilizers from human waste inputs.31
The comment at the Soil Biotechnology Plant offered the group a passing, but
nevertheless overt, acknowledgment that the social systems that accompanied
the version of Vedic lifeways we encountered at Govardhan had not been perfect
across the long sweep from ancient history to the present. Yet the experience of the site remained qualitatively different, and in the end was considered far less “effective” than the study tour to Auroville for imparting RSIEA’s pedagogical vision
of good design. After the trip ended, faculty assured me that it was unlikely that future environmental architecture student groups would return.
Govardhan offered both contrast and consistency, then, to Auroville. Constant,
clear referencing of Vedic “wisdom” and “tradition” made it impossible to ful y
separate the contemporary symbolics of Indian national and Maharashtra state
politics from our experience of this place, and therefore almost impossible to
glean an appropriately expansive and accessible notion of Indian-ness that could
strengthen good design. It was far more difficult to encounter Govardhan as a
place where the environmental objectives and values that its residents espoused
could be regarded as somehow secular or secularizing, to say nothing of universal.
The core message—to seek in precolonial history the remedies of all postcolonial
modern problems—fel flat and unconvincing at Govardhan, even if that same
logic had enjoyed traction at other moments in RSIEA training, and in other set-
tings. Perhaps here, it was impossible to simply foreground environmental reflex-
ivity, suspend sociopolitical reflexivity, and proceed to build a sociality with its basis in a shared idea of good design.
• • •
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Consciousness and Indian-ness 129
Figure 11. Students and faculty on the field study tour of
Govardhan Eco-village listening to their guide describe the
sust
ainability features of one of the site’s main buildings. Photo
by the author.
Ever since the classic work of scholars such as Wolfe (1982), Hobsbawm and
Ranger (1983), Anderson (1983), and others, political ecologists have taken interest in the ways that ideas and practices conventional y accepted as “traditional” and
“historical” are invented, and reinvented, for the time and context within which
they are mobilized. Each historical element invoked and retold is aggregated for
the present, fused to power relations and specific sociopolitical objectives that may reinforce, or may aim to contest, dominant patterns of power and authority. In
130 Consciousness and Indian-ness
matters related to environmental change, we often invoke scientific knowledge and
environmental “awareness” to inform a list of choices for action, but it is through dominant and contested historical narratives that social actors assign meaning and stakes to the environmental actions they undertake. Nature is not only made, then, but also made meaningful, in part through these everyday retellings of the histories and identity attributes that matter.
Any version of a historical basis for a concept of Indian-ness that accompa-
nies a concept of good design carries with it an implicit politics, made known
through what is explicitly identified and narrated, but made equal y important by
what is left unsaid, who is excluded, and which issues are simply ignored. In the
particular case of architectural form and nationalist narrative in India, this is well demonstrated, and has been convincingly argued, across a range of colonial and
postcolonial cases. 32
RSIEA’s environmental architectural agenda, particularly when it came to build-
ing an environmental affinity group, required a historical basis for sustainability, a social capacity for broad-reaching inclusion, and a set of meanings that gave environmental architecture its urgency and purpose. The wide range of backgrounds
and identities students brought with them prior to the program needed a singular,
coherent ideology of belonging, not only to forge a strong collective, but to inspire that collective to move from theoretical commitment to actual praxis. RSIEA’s narrative of Indian good design and its history could not afford to marginalize its
Building Green: Environmental Architects and the Struggle for Sustainability in Mumbai Page 24