Prasad Shetty

Note 01

“When the woman who cooks in my house tells me, ‘Your one room is as big as my entire house’, I am forced to confront the scale of inequality I live within. I imagine her home: a single cramped room shared by five people, with a tiny window that barely allows light or air. The kitchen occupies a corner of the same space, leaving just enough room to stand and cook. There is no storage, so belongings spill into every available edge, making movement difficult. Everyone sleeps on the floor; there is no separation of functions or privacy. The roof is temporary, offering little protection from heat or rain. Water and electricity are unreliable, and the lack of ventilation makes the space suffocating, especially in summer.”

Note 02

“When I visited an informal settlement near Sodawala Lane in Borivali, I encountered a landscape of precarity embedded within a seemingly well-developed neighbourhood. Located beside a nala, the settlement is dense, with narrow lanes, poor sanitation, and limited access to water. Houses are tightly packed, with little light or ventilation, and the area remains hidden from the main road. The terrain is uneven and hilly, without proper pathways, making movement difficult, especially for the elderly or those carrying goods. During the monsoon, the ground becomes dangerously slippery, and water flows downhill, causing erosion and flooding. Emergency access is nearly impossible, and the absence of street lighting makes nights unsafe. A garbage collector from my housing society lives here, and I find myself questioning why such essential labour is met with neglect rather than dignity.”

Note 03

“When I observed the redevelopment of Shreepati Arcade in CP Tank, I began to see how architecture can actively produce inequality. The project separates old tenants and new residents into different buildings, each reflecting unequal access and privilege. The older residents must enter through a narrow, poorly lit passage, often blocked by parked vehicles, leaving no room for emergency access. Their shops are pushed into less visible areas, with little light or ventilation, reducing both comfort and livelihood opportunities. In contrast, the newer sections enjoy open access, visibility, and better infrastructure. I read this not as an accident, but as a deliberate spatial ordering, where built form determines who is seen, who is valued, and who is marginalised.”

Note 04

“When I studied Natwar Parikh Compound, I began to understand how large-scale housing can embed inequality into everyday life. Built to resettle displaced populations from across Mumbai, it accommodates thousands of residents, yet its design neglects their lived realities. Buildings are placed extremely close together, leaving almost no open space, cutting off light, airflow, and opportunities for social interaction. In such density, shared spaces become essential, yet here their absence forces constant negotiation and conflict—over parking, vending, and gathering. I see how prioritising the number of housing units over the quality of living transforms daily life into a struggle. The layout itself produces tension, making inequality not just visible, but inescapable.”

Note 05

Note 06

“When I observe the watchmen in my building, I begin to question the conditions under which care and security are provided. They spend long hours in small cabins, expected to remain alert day and night, yet they have no proper place to rest. They often sleep on chairs or in the lobby, leading to fatigue, discomfort, and long-term health issues. Constant exposure to dust, pollution, rain, and harsh weather further affects their well-being. I find myself asking how someone responsible for our safety is denied even the most basic conditions for rest and health, and what this reveals about how we value such labour. “

Note 07

“When I walk through Kalbadevi’s cloth and paper markets, I notice the mathadi kamgars who sustain the entire system through their labour. They lift, carry, and move goods constantly, yet the spaces they work in deny them dignity. Raised plinths at shop entrances act as subtle barriers, keeping them outside even when space is available within. These edges quietly enforce who belongs and who does not. At night, I see workers resting on handcarts or along thresholds, now fitted with metal grills that prevent even temporary shelter. I begin to understand how architecture itself can exclude—how the city depends on their labour while refusing them space, using built form to reinforce invisible hierarchies.”