You can speak at length about saving buildings and preserving heritage, but still falter when asked something as fundamental as: "What exactly is conservation?" To ground the concept in a real-world context, we turned to two voices—both deeply immersed in the practice of protecting what truly matters.
Rahul Bhushan is an eco-architect working from the hills of Himachal Pradesh, where his team at his architectural practice, North, revives indigenous Himalayan techniques like Kathkuni and Dhajji Dewari—time-tested forms of vernacular construction.
On the other hand, Dr Jigna Desai is an Associate Professor at CEPT University and Executive Director of the Center for Heritage Conservation. Her work centres on integrating sustainability and conservation into the management of historic environments.
Drawing them out of their studios and seminar halls, we posed a few fundamental questions that often escape even the most robust conversations about conservation.
“Preserving that which cannot be built again and giving life to something that can be restored or adaptively reused” is how Bhushan defines conservation. For him, monuments and temples—structures that can no longer be recreated with today’s tools or knowledge—must be conserved with care. Adaptive reuse, he explains, allows older buildings to find new relevance while retaining their character: “Keep the charm, ditch the dust.”
Meanwhile, Desai offers a broader view: “Anything that holds significance to humanity—whether a place, event, ritual, building, music, or literature—is worth conserving.” She adds that if something is at risk of being lost, the urgency to preserve it grows even stronger.
Desai sees conservation as a "shared responsibility" when dwellings or landscapes become embedded in a society’s collective memory. “When a built environment becomes rare or irreplaceable, it becomes history—part of a region’s identity,” she says. She invokes the idea of association from environmental psychology—the deep connection people form with spaces they inhabit over time. That emotional geography, she believes, is a strong basis for conservation.
Bhushan agrees, with one key caveat: cultural context matters. “I can’t restore a building in Kerala,” he says. “You must understand the local aesthetic, the cultural vocabulary.” Without that, even the best-intentioned efforts can miss the mark.
Bhushan offers a stirring interpretation of vernacular architecture—one rooted in place, purpose, and wisdom. “It carries the intelligence of the land,” he says, noting that Kathkuni and Dhajji Dewari are not relics of the past but resilient, adaptable systems. “They consider how a house affects our body, energy, and mood,” unlike concrete boxes that only serve a function. Vernacular, for Bhushan, is not about nostalgia but harmony with the land, climate, and people.
Desai connects this to a deeper philosophy: “At the heart of conservation is a sense of belonging to place, to community, to humanity.” That belonging need not be parochial, she insists. Understanding other traditions, histories, and the living world can come from the understanding of other cultures. “Even the search for knowledge is a search for belonging.”
While she values traditional practices, she urges caution: “Let’s keep a scientific distance.” Societies have changed, she points out—we now aspire towards equity and inclusiveness, goals that may not have existed in the contexts that produced these native forms. “We must conserve them not to return to the past, but to understand it—for ourselves and future generations. We owe them that knowledge.”
When asked about the current state of conservation, both experts agreed that things are far from ideal.
Bhushan highlighted systemic flaws, particularly in restoring heritage sites like Naggar Castle in Himachal Pradesh. “The government floats large tenders, but local builders with cultural knowledge often lack the capital to bid,” he says. “As a result, conservation becomes just another contract.” He suggests radical rethinking, including clauses prioritising cultural and environmental sensibility in restoration work.
Desai, meanwhile, notes a broader shift in awareness. “When I started, no one was interested in conservation. Development was everything.” She says the mindset is changing, but not fast enough or wisely. “What worries me is that we’re not being scientific. Conservation is not just an emotional act—it’s a discipline.” She calls for more cross-pollination between the design and social sciences to understand value, community, and memory.
Conservation isn’t just about the past—it’s about the present and future. It means recognising what truly matters, what can’t be replaced, and responding with care and understanding. As Bhushan and Desai remind us, it’s not a luxury or a side concern. It’s a continuous and necessary balancing act between heritage and progress. When done thoughtfully, conservation helps ensure we don’t lose the very things that make our world richer, wiser, and more resilient for generations to come.
