An architectural link between masala dosas and war: The unlikely potentials of Otto Koenigsberger’s shrinking heritage

[excerpt] In my experience, the process of conducting architectural historical research is not smooth. It cannot be accurately planned in advanced, or broken down into a precise schedule of hours to be spent in archives and libraries. It is a messy undertaking, an ungainly stumbling from one potential source of information to another, whereby unlikely connections are unearthed and dirty data are harvested. Cleaned up, cross-checked and organized into a narrative form, the ensuing collage is less the result of the rigorous proving of an objective hypothesis than an attempt to understand the significance of a portion of interwoven past realities that have been pasted together subjectively. As well as addressing the foibles of historical research, this work-in-progress paper attempts to address the consequences of some of the paradoxes such research can uncover.

My research on Otto Koenigsberger’s architectural and planning work in India began with a trip to London, where I hoped to find an archive. According to the University College London website, material pertaining to Koenigsberger was kept at an address in Hampstead–300 West End Lane. Expecting a branch of the UCL library, I was very surprised to discover what appeared to be a private residence. I was even more startled when an elderly woman with a shock of unruly white hair and a sceptical look in her eye opened the door. After a flustered introduction on my part, and having convinced her that no, I was not looking for a job, she beckoned me inside.

Hung prominently on an elegant pale grey wall between bookcases and patio doors, in what looked very much like a living room, was a striking photographic portrait of Nehru, erstwhile Prime Minister of India. “That’s Nehru,” I spluttered, pointing in his general direction. “Well, yes,” she replied, as if it went without saying. It was then that I slowly began to realise that the custodian of the archive was not a librarian, but Otto Koenigsberger’s widow, Renate Koenigsberger.

As the scepticism waned and a trust between us grew, over the next few years Renate gradually revealed Otto Koenigsberger’s archive to me, allowing me to photograph the contents and 'appropriate' them for myself. Renate’s organisational system was not particularly methodical. There were ancient portfolios stuffed behind filing cabinets, boxes of old snapshots and box-files of papers and yellowing correspondence distributed around her home. A box containing material relating to what Koenigsberger perceived as his biggest professional failure was hidden at the back of her wardrobe. Few drawings had survived, and there was no catalogue of works.

Because of the incomplete nature of the archival material, an important part of my evolving research methodology has been to find, visit and document as many of Koenigsberger’s buildings as possible, the majority of which he built between 1939 and 1948 in Bangalore, south India. Due to the lack of historical maps, limited local knowledge and impenetrable (for me at least) local archives, as well as the tremendous growth the city has experienced1 and constraints in time and budget, fulfilling this objective has not been easy, but it has been highly enjoyable. The sense of gratification to be had, for example, in finally marching up a hill towards a Koenigsberger-designed Tuberculosis Sanatorium, having scanned and studied out-of-focus black and white negatives, consulted books and articles, talked with local architects and retired doctors, scrutinized google maps, battled through rush hour traffic in an auto rickshaw and successfully convinced the driver to drop me off in a far flung corner of the sprawling grounds of the National Institute of Mental Health and Neurosciences, is perhaps not one that can be shared, but is unparalleled, nonetheless. Much as I would have liked to, my intrepidness did not extend to inspecting the interior of the sanatorium, which still functions as a treatment centre for TB - there are limits.

While most of my forays into the endangered realm of Bangalore’s architectural heritage resulted in the discovery of buildings by Koenigsberger in various states of obliteration, renovation, modification and reincarnation, I was generally intrigued and surprised by what I found. In many cases I was glad to see that Koenigsberger’s work continued to serve a purpose, albeit in a changed form to what he had originally intended. The transformation of one building, however, shocked me. The uncovering of its story, the process of which underscores the haphazard character of architectural historical research, provoked me to consider the reuse of buildings and whether there is such a thing as inappropriate appropriation.