My Architect: A Son's Journey Page #10

---

But he'd just say,

"I'm not in the office,

"so tell them such and such,

"or tell them you don't know where I am.

So, you know, whatever. He would

tell me what to do, and I just did it.

So you... you

remember, then,

the day that Lou left

for India the last time?

Oh, yes, yes. You were here

to see Lou off with your mother.

Yeah. How did you know that?

Well, I was in the office with you,

because we couldn't

push him out the door.

I came to the office because

I knew he wouldn't...

he'd miss his plane.

And he did the same thing.

He changed his clothes

in the room where

the Xerox machine was

and came walking out

all disheveled and left

money... foreign currency from

another country... all over the place.

And you and your mother

literally had to push

him into the taxicab.

And once he got in the

cab, then I could go home.

My own memory of that

night is somewhat different.

He was working on the model

for the Capital of Bangladesh.

We left him at the

office at around 10:00.

He waved down to me from

the top of the stairs.

The last thing I saw

of him was his hand.

"Dearest boy o' mine,

"the architecture seems like

gingerbread bakery to us.

"To the people of the East,

it's an expression of delight.

"I think of you always

and with all my love.

"Daddy.

"P.S.:
Your father does not

feel much like a conquering hero.

"Someday I hope to be able to teach you

to be a better man than I."

My first day in India,

I was chased by an insane monkey

and contracted dysentery.

I can't imagine how my father

made this trip so many times,

a 73-year-old man

traveling alone.

He spent most of his time here

with an architect named Doshi.

He's the one who invited

Lou to come to Ahmedabad

and build the Indian

Institute of Management.

On the day before he died,

Lou toured the building

and had his last dinner

with Doshi and his family.

It was March 16th, 1974.

For us, Lou's visit

was always a very

exciting moment...

great anxiety as well as anticipation

of learning something

more and appreciation.

There are very few people

you will find anywhere

who will talk about

matter in spiritual terms.

Nothingness mattered to him.

Silence mattered to him.

The enigma of light mattered to him.

So those... those are

not normal parlance.

Those are not normal discourses,

but these were the ones which we liked,

and he talked about it.

And when somebody understands this,

he cannot be an ordinary person.

He has to be a highly cultivated soul

whom we call guru.

We call him a yogi.

And that is why I think,

for us, he was from here.

I have a feeling that he was

really reaching, you know,

his higher level... just to reach

recognition and understanding.

In India, we always say

that nobody dies. They

go to the next world.

It's a transition.

The body dies.

The soul doesn't die.

The consciousness doesn't die.

And Kahn had... Lou

had reached that stage

of super consciousness, where, for him,

everything was alive,

and everything was in the

stage of transformation.

And as I know that you were

waiting for him to come back,

he has not come back as yet.

But he's there watching, blessing,

and wishing.

So I just feel that...

you have to...

If you go into silence,

you will hear him.

Definitely, you'll hear his voice.

I am very, very sure.

Doshi was right.

For a moment, I felt

the way I did as a kid,

that maybe he just disappeared

and that I'd see him again.

If he was anywhere, he'd be here.

I just want to make my last remark

in reverence to the

work that has been done

by architects of the past.

What was, has always been.

What is, has always been,

and what will be has always been.

Such is the nature of beginning.

I'm making a documentary film

about the building,

- about the architect.

- About the building?

We are the morning walkers

who come all the time here

and enjoy the walking,

scenic beauty, and atmosphere.

And this is the nicest

place of Bangladesh.

- We are proud of it.

- You're proud of it?

Oh, yes.

The nationality made upon this.

Do you know anything

about the architect?

- Architect?

- Mr. Lou Kahn.

I've heard... I've

heard about him.

He's a top-ranking architect.

Well, actually, I'm here

because I'm the architect's son.

He was my father.

That Louie Farrakhan.

No, not Louie Farrakhan. Louie Kahn.

Louie Kahn. Yeah,

you're the son of Kahn?

Nice to meet you.

Your father, is he alive?

No, he's been dead for 25 years.

We are very pleased to welcome you.

The parliament building

and capital complex

took 23 years to build,

the same as the Taj Mahal.

It was all done by hand,

thousands of workers carrying baskets

of concrete on their heads,

climbing up and down bamboo scaffolding.

During Bangladesh's war for independence

from Pakistan in 1971,

the enemy pilots didn't

bother bombing it,

because they thought

it was an ancient ruin.

The complex was finally

finished in 1983,

nine years after Lou

died in Penn Station.

He never saw it finished, Bob.

- He didn't?

- No.

He never saw this.

Just taking pictures?

Yeah, we've been here now for

about five days,

and... it's...

- Five days?

- Yeah.

That's a lot of pictures, then.

But do you think they'll really

capture the quality of this building

in terms of space, light, the volumes,

and the layering of his

spaces, those ambiguities?

Well, I don't know, Mr. Wares.

When you think about this film,

I probably have at the most

ten minutes.

Oh, God, this is...

this is... don't tell me that.

- Ten minutes for this building?

- Probably.

I see; I think it's...

I think it's... the

whole thing is very...

very useless, because you cannot treat

this building like this.

It was almost impossible,

a building for a country like ours.

In 30, 50 years back, it was nothing,

only paddy fields.

And since we invited him here,

he felt that he has

got a responsibility.

He wanted to be Moses here.

He gave us democracy.

He is not a political man.

But in disguise,

he has given us the

institution for democracy

from where we can rise.

And that weight is so relevant.

He didn't care

for how much money this country has

or whether he

will able to ever...

ever finish this building.

But somehow

he has been able to

do it, build it here.

And this is the largest project he has,

got, in here,

the poorest country in

the world. So I think...

- It cost him his life.

- Yeah. He paid.

He paid his life for this,

and that is why he is great,

and we'll remember him.

But he was also human.

Now, his failure to

satisfy the family life

is an inevitable

association of great people,

but I think his son will understand this

and will have no sense of grudge

or a sense of being neglected, I think.

He cared in a very different manner,

but it takes a lot of

time to understand that.

In social aspect of his life,

he was just like a child.

He was not at all matured.

He would not say no to anything.

And that is why we got

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes