An Invitation To Pause

World Heritage Week — Through My Lens

By Dr Anindita Roy

Every November, World Heritage Week arrives like a gentle reminder — an invitation to pause, to look closer, and to listen to the stories that our built and natural environments whisper. For me, someone who moves between interiors, neighbourhood activism, and cultural storytelling, this week becomes less of an “event” and more of a mood. A way of seeing. A slow exhale.

Cruising through South Delhi area, my own microcosm of history and migration, I’m reminded that heritage is not always carved in sandstone or perched on misty hills. Sometimes, it hides in a hand-moulded balustrade, an old-style terrazzo floor, a neighbourhood club building that has seen five decades of music rehearsals and adda. Heritage is the way the afternoon sun filters through jaali patterns on a vintage staircase; it is the comforting geometry of old Delhi homes that never tried to impress but always tried to shelter.

This week, as I scroll through my design references, I catch myself revisiting tea-estate bungalows in Makaibari and Mirik — structures that quietly carry the weight of colonial encounters, indigenous craftsmanship, and mountain weather. Their sloped roofs, timber frames, and open verandahs speak of an architecture born from negotiation: between man and monsoon, between land and labour, between aesthetics and endurance. They are not just structures; they’re living memory maps.

But heritage isn’t only about preservation. It’s also about participation. About the small, persistent rituals that keep a place alive. The women in embroidery collectives who pass stitches down generations. The potter who still shapes clay near the weekly market. The elderly gentleman who insists on maintaining the old mango tree because “eta toh para’r itihash”. These quiet custodians protect heritage far more effectively than any plaque or policy.

As a consultant, I often see modern interiors chasing novelty at the cost of context. Yet, World Heritage Week nudges me back to what truly matters: authenticity, rootedness, and the invisible emotional architecture of places. Good design doesn’t erase heritage; it dialogues with it. It invites the past to sit comfortably in the present.

Perhaps, more than anything, this week reminds me that heritage is not static. It breathes through us — in the stories we retell, the materials we choose, the neighbourhoods we defend, the memories we honour. And so, every year, World Heritage Week becomes a personal vow: to observe more deeply, to document more diligently, and to preserve with intention. Because the world may be changing rapidly, but our heritage — in all its fragile, layered beauty — deserves to be carried forward with care.