When asked why he became an architect, Charles Correa (1930-2015), one of India’s most prominent architects, would relate it to his fascination, as a child, with toy trains. His daughter, Nondita Correa Mehrotra, whom I spoke to over a video call from Boston, where she lives with her husband architect and Harvard professor, Rahul Mehrotra, told me, “Charles had a huge passion for trains. He could read architectural plans easily because of his childhood obsession with drawing complicated train layouts. Nothing was linear to him.”

Charles Correa was born in 1930, in Secunderabad (now a part of Greater Hyderabad). He grew up in a Christian family from Goa, a former Portuguese colony, where many Indians had been converted to Christianity and taken Westernised names. Charles’s father, an accountant, passed away a week before he was born. His mother was left with him and three much older siblings. When Charles was five, the family moved to the house of his mother’s father, a doctor in Bombay (now Mumbai). Charles started studying architecture in Bombay and then continued in America, first at the University of Michigan and then at MIT, graduating with a Master of Architecture in 1955.

Before coming back to India, Charles travelled extensively in Europe. He started his practice in 1958 after a short stint at the office of architect GM Bhūta and Associates in Bombay. Among many of his buildings, two stand out—the Gandhi Memorial, regarded by many architects as the preeminent piece of architecture in the country, and Kanchanjunga Apartments (Mumbai, 1983), a high-rise of luxury interlocking villas in the sky. From 1970-75, Charles was a Chief Architect for New Bombay (Navi Mumbai). It was a self-initiated pro bono position to counteract the city’s growing north by expanding eastward, across the harbour which was achieved on a more modest scale than planned.

Charles closed his practice in 2011 and started his foundation the same year in Goa. It houses the archives—scans of the original drawings, photographs, models, correspondence, publications and films. The original drawings and some of the models are now part of the RIBA Archives in London. The foundation organises conferences and exhibitions, publishes books, and works on saving some of Charles' buildings. Part of its mission is to continue building a professional community through public forums and producing documentary films about cities. After Charles Correa passed away the trustees of the foundation approached Nondita to run it. She studied architecture at the University of Michigan and GSD where she met Rahul Mehrotra who finished earlier and worked for Correa before starting his practice, Rahul Mehrotra Architects. Now, in addition to teaching, Nondita works at the RMA’s Boston office.

Vladimir Belogolovsky (VB): When did you first become aware of your father’s occupation and how did it influence your decision to study architecture?

Nondita Correa Mehrotra (NCM): When I was little, we lived in many places throughout Bombay. When I was seven, my parents bought a unit in the Sonmarg Apartments tower that Charles designed; it was built in 1966 and we moved there in 1968. My mother, Monika still lives there. The original 28 coop owners had a say in how their apartments would be designed. There are two three-bedroom apartments per floor. Each is a two-level unit opening to three sides. The building was a version of the earlier Cosmopolis Apartments project that was never realised and a model of what became a more famous Kanchanjunga Apartments.

I remember spending much time at the office, drawing and building models. My younger brother also spent many hours drawing there. Charles loved it when children played at the office. We also visited construction sites in Bombay, Ahmedabad, and Delhi. As a child, I imagined becoming a landscape architect, which is funny because now I teach in the landscape architecture department at RISD. I always loved how buildings interact with the ground. When I decided to study architecture, in a way, I told my parents; I didn’t ask them.

VB: You worked at your father’s office for many years, right?

NCM: Initially I worked there for three years between my degrees and then from 1990 onwards until the office was closed in 2011. Since I moved with Rahul to the US in 2003, I kept working for my father remotely. By 2011, Charles did not want to start a new building without knowing whether he could finish it. And he did not want buildings to be designed under his name without him. He was a hands-on designer, drawing and checking everything. He would not delegate design to others. [Laughs.] The office was quite small; it never had more than 11-12 architects.

He loved ideas and different approaches to the same problem. Charles would draw and redraw constantly. Whenever we thought we were at a point when the scheme was finalised, he would say, “It doesn’t sit right. What if we do it this way?” He was drawing non-stop. Sometimes he would flip the whole thing and say, “Look what happens if we flip it!” His mind was always working. It was an amazing experience to see architecture through his eyes and listen to him speak about cities. Charles was a humanist. How to make the city work for the poor was always on his mind.

VB: Your father’s first project was the Gandhi Memorial in Ahmedabad, inaugurated by Jawaharlal Nehru in 1963. Charles was 32 when it opened. How did he get such a prestigious commission?

NCM: While Charles was still at Bhūta’s office the office took part in the design competition for Raj Ghat, the final resting place of Mahatma Gandhi. They submitted two schemes—one by Bhūta’s son and the other by Charles. The one by Vanu Bhūta won and was realised. But the one by Charles was also noted. It was based on a cluster of units for people to move through and the idea that each generation could add something new and reconnect with Gandhi. One of the jurors, Kasturbhai Lalbhai, a trustee of Gandhi’s archive, liked it a lot. He said it was fresh and different. When the idea of building the Gandhi Memorial, which also houses the archives, was first discussed, he came to Bhūta’s office to speak to Charles. That was around 1956-57. When Charles decided to leave the firm, the client wanted the project to be completed by Charles. He was just 28 but already very confident. He was set on finding Indian modern architecture. It had to come from the DNA of Indian built form, particularly the courtyard, the centre of Indian lifestyle and architecture. He was searching for the appropriate tectonic response and how to take it into the future.

VB: Was Le Corbusier his mentor?

NCM: He was influenced by Corb and wrote about him in an essay Report from Chandigarh that was published in Architectural Review in 1964. Many young architects visited Chandigarh in the 1950s-60s when Corb was there—it was a real pilgrimage. On one such trip, both of my parents met Le Corbusier. He was deservedly arrogant [Laughs.] My mother, Monika was the only woman there, so Corb walked with her, and all the other men were trailing behind them. They were on the construction site at a higher ground from observing the secretariat building and other structures rising. It looked fantastic. He stood at full height, turned to my mother, and said, “Madam, at times like these, aren’t you proud to be the wife of an architect!?” [Laughs.]

VB: What was your mother’s role in your father’s career?

NCM: They were both very supportive of each other. They had a beautiful relationship. Monika's father was a doctor; she studied microbiology in college and became a science teacher. After they married, she became fascinated by abstract weavings. She sees tapestries as an art form, not merely a craft, and has exhibited her experimental work internationally. Her tapestries are in permanent collections of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, MoMA, Tate Modern, and M+ in Hong Kong.

VB: How would you summarise your father’s intentions in architecture and what were some of his main principles and ideas? 

NCM: Designing for the Indian climate and yet, being very careful with energy consumption were key issues for him. He was looking at ways to improve cross-ventilation. His "tube house" prototype, built in Ahmedabad for the Gujarat Housing Board, was developed as a model for conserving energy. It was a competition to propose incremental growth. Each family would get a narrow lot—3.6 m x 16 m.

VB: Like a train car.

NCM: Exactly! [Laughs.]

VB: And similar to Corb’s Marseille Block apartments.

NCM: But putting that on the ground with a small courtyard, a sleeping loft, and configured for the most effective cross ventilation. His clustered layout achieved the same density that the competition asked for. Jane Drew, an English modernist architect and town planner who worked in Chandigarh was on the jury. She advocated for this project to win the prize. He was always trying to bring equity to society through his housing projects.

VB: His other concept was, of course, "open-to-sky space."

NCM: You can see it from the first project, the memorial. “Form follows climate” was another idea. That was very relevant, particularly during the energy crisis in the West in the 1970s. He liked to rationalise his architecture. For example, his ECIL Office Complex in Hyderabad built in 1968 has a two-inch deep roof water pool to help cool itself. Malaysian architect, Ken Yeang told my dad in Kuala Lumpur, “Charles, you are my hero because of your ECIL Building.” The building was the inspiration for his research in the passive cooling approach. 

VB: What do you remember most about your father?

NCM: He combined so many opposites; he was strong yet soft. He was a family man and had a very successful career, not only in terms of his private practice but also as far as his concerns for urban planning and building a professional community in India. He loved music, films, books, and all kinds of stories and narratives, and had a great sense of humour! Education was important to him and he always encouraged everyone to continue their studies. He established student scholarships, lecture funds, and design studios at many institutions, including both of his alma maters.

He also had a foul temper; he could fly off the handle in rage [Laughs.] Because he wanted things to be done exactly how he saw them. He didn’t like hearing excuses. But then he would always feel sorry for the person he yelled at. He was larger than life. He had such a strong personality.