Architecture as Mountain Intelligence

In the western Himalayas, architecture is inseparable from terrain, weather, labour, and time. Slopes shift visibly. Timber absorbs moisture across seasons, something a carpenter reads in the grain as evidence of what the land has endured. Settlements expand unevenly under tourism pressure. Craft knowledge circulates through hands rather than drawings. To build here is to negotiate climate precarity, cultural inheritance, and the lived economies of craft—at once fragile and deeply skilled. For North Studio, a Himachal-based collective led by architect and researcher Rahul Bhushan, architecture is not the production of objects but the cultivation of a total ecosystem: of knowledge, method, livelihood, and time.

Bhushan speaks about the region in terms that move beyond conventional professional training. “The Himalayas are raw, wild, and cosmically alive,” he says. Living and building here, he explains, reshapes a person before it produces architecture. “The mountains taught me values first—patience, humility, consciousness, and a deep sensitivity to all that is life.” Architecture, in his words, becomes “the physical expression of these inner principles.” He describes it as a process of alignment—between land, material, labour, and responsibility—rather than the formula of architectural ambition: build more, build loud.

Traditional Knowledge Systems

Indigenous technical knowledge is crucial, agile, hyper-local, and central to North’s practice. Kath-Khuni—a traditional Himachali technique of alternating timber and stone courses that interlock without mortar—revealed an architecture that is both seismically resilient and materially frugal. Dhajji Dewari uses a timber lattice with masonry infill that allows controlled movement during earthquakes. “These systems are not traditions of the past; they are roots,” Bhushan says. He frames them as outcomes of generations of trial, error, and lived experience. In the context of flash floods, landslides, hazardous air quality, and extreme seasonal shifts, he sees their relevance intensifying. Taq, a Kashmiri system of timber-laced brick or stone masonry, demonstrates how flexibility, not rigidity, protects a home during seismic events. Koti Banal, from Uttarkashi, shows the power of verticality and precise load distribution in high-risk terrain. This rigorous study of indigenous methods reframes craftspeople as engineers, theorists, and custodians of embodied knowledge. It is this epistemic shift—valuing local intelligence as design intelligence—that anchors North’s work today.

Of Collaboration and Upgrades

Experimentation on site complements this kind of research. The Dhajji Cabin, built on North’s estate, adapts the Dhajji Dewari system into an unconventional form using local wood and stone. Presented by the studio as carbon-negative, the project functioned as a live test of material potential, craft collaboration, and construction sequencing. Bhushan notes that while the local karigars were deeply familiar with the technique, the form itself was new territory. The project relied on iterative problem-solving and shared decision-making, demonstrating how inherited systems can support contemporary environmental goals.

This collaborative model extends into North’s Training and Livelihood Program, which focuses on sustaining craft economies through skill development, design literacy, and long-term livelihood pathways. Structured around regional centres and post-training opportunities, the program addresses the precarity faced by craftspeople as mechanised construction and concrete structures become more widespread. For Bhushan, craft remains central to resilience. “For the future, it’s not just building buildings,” he says, “but building teams of artisans, collectives of knowledge-holders, and communities who carry these values forward.”