Settlement Study 2025-26

The Architecture of Patterned Light

The first place that made me notice light as an architectural presence rather than just an environmental condition was the jaalis of Amer Fort. Standing inside those dim sandstone rooms, I remember how the filtered sunlight arrived not as brightness but as texture broken, patterned, constantly shifting with the sun. The lattice didn’t simply shade the space; it choreographed it. The interior felt alive in a way that could only be understood by being there. Standing in those shadowed interiors, the sunlight felt almost handmade, passing through each carved opening like a quiet performance.

As I moved through other sites during the settlement study, I began recognising this same dialogue between architecture and illumination, each place speaking in its own vocabulary of light. At Nahargarh Fort, the courtyards felt almost overexposed after the intimate shadows of Amer. Here, light wasn’t filtered but invited boldly, washing over the stone and carving out sharp edges on every surface. Yet it was often the jarokhas that offered a moment of relief projecting outward like small shaded balconies where the sun softened again. Standing inside one, the light arrived at an angle, calmer and more measured, framing the landscape through a carved aperture. The fort’s openness made me aware of light as scale, how a vast, unbroken sky can expand even the densest cluster of walls.

At Hawa Mahal, the relationship between architecture and light felt uniquely delicate. The building’s spatial arrangement - multiple courtyards , stacked chambers, and tiered elevations guided daylight in a way that made it feel almost weightless. The hundreds of jarokhas along the façade didn’t just puncture the wall; they served as tiny theatres of illumination. Standing behind one, I could feel how the breeze and brightness entered together. The coloured glass windows amplified this effect by casting quiet stains of colour onto the interior surfaces. Even the courtyards and small water bodies played their part, cooling the air so that the light felt softer. Moving through these spaces, I realised how deliberately the building choreographs sensory experience. In Hawa Mahal, illumination isn’t simply a by-product of openings; it is a carefully shaped atmosphere, where architecture and light coexist in a state of constant, gentle motion.

Jodha Bai Palace , Agra introduced a gentler register of light compared to the patterned shadows of Amer. Here, the spatial arrangement carried light differently , not filtered or patterned, but softened. The palace’s inward-looking courtyards allowed the sun to descend gently, as if the architecture were protecting the light itself. I remember walking through the thresholds between chambers: the brightness outside dissolving into a hushed coolness within. The chhatris on the terrace became some of the most memorable points of encounter: elevated pockets of shade where light filtered through from all sides yet never overwhelmed.

Fatehpur Sikri, Agra felt like a continuation of this conversation with light, but on a different scale. The spaces unfold in a sequence of plazas, plinths, arcades, and narrow passages each shaping illumination in its own tempo. In the vast courtyards, sunlight spread unrestrained, stretching shadows thin across the white marble. Yet just a few steps away, the colonnaded verandahs caught that same light, breaking it into stripes that moved across the floor with the afternoon. The jalis here felt noticeably different from those at Amer; they did not pattern light into intricate motifs, but softened it into a warm, hazy glow. Instead of creating sharp textures on the floor, these stone screens acted more like veils diffusing brightness, quietening it.

Jawahar Kala Kendra, Jaipur shifted this relationship again. Its thick red walls framed light with a deliberateness that felt almost meditative. Unlike the organic, historical play of light in the forts, here it was orchestrated with geometries casting long shadows that stretched across courtyards. I remember sitting in the central courtyard, where the towering boundary walls offered shade so complete that the heat seemed to pause. 

As I explored further in the artist residency area, the stepped terraces and railing-like built forms showed a different character of illumination. Light slid along the angular surfaces, catching every shift in level and turning circulation spaces into changing gradients of shadow and brightness. The punctured openings and deep recesses along the red façades acted almost like contemporary jaalis, not ornamental but intentional frames for viewing.Even without intricate latticework, these apertures filtered light with the same quiet intelligence I had seen in Jaipur’s traditional buildings.

In Chandigarh’s Tower of Shadows, this understanding sharpened into clarity.Le Corbusier’s structure didn’t just shade or filter; it choreographed the sun scientifically, poetically, and almost stubbornly.  Inside that structure, light wasn’t merely shaped, it was disciplined. Every shadow felt intentional, every beam the result of a negotiation between form and sun. Standing there, I could trace the same principles I had felt elsewhere: the patterning of Amer, the gentleness of Jodha Bai, the exposure of Nahargarh, the slivers of Hawa Mahal, the framing of JKK all brought together in one silent but exacting demonstration.

Across all these places, what stayed with me wasn’t just the architecture but the way light revealed the architecture. It shaped how I navigated spaces, how I paused, how I felt scale, material, and even temperature. More than any single architectural element, light became the thread that tied my experiences together. By the end of the study, I realised I wasn’t just observing buildings , I was observing their relationship with the sun. And in each location, that relationship became a unique narrative.