Phenomenology in architecture is a philosophy that puts our senses and lived experiences first. It moves beyond abstract blueprints or simple functionality to focus on how a space actually feels. Drawing from the work of thinkers like Edmund Husserl and Maurice Merleau-Ponty, this approach suggests that a building isn't just an object we look at, but a medium that shapes how we perceive reality. Instead of asking how this looks (visual aesthetics), a phenomenologist asks how it feels. It prioritizes the grit of materials, the dance of light and shadow, the way sound travels, and how our bodies move through a doorway. The goal is to create a place with a soul, rather than just a hollow space.

To bring this to life, architects like Juhani Pallasmaa and Peter Zumthor focus heavily on atmosphere and materiality. In his book The Eyes of the Skin, Pallasmaa argues that modern design is too obsessed with the eyes, neglecting our other senses. A phenomenological design might use heavy, cold stone to make us feel grounded, or warm, fragrant wood to create a sense of intimacy. By using natural light to mark the passing of time or moving water to create specific sounds, architects try to tap into deep-seated memories and emotional responses. The ultimate aim is poetic dwelling—a state where a building resonates with the human spirit and connects us deeply to our surroundings.

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Adalaj ni vav, Batris Kotha ni vav, and Jethabhai ni vav showcase the evolution of Gujarat’s water architecture. Adalaj(1498) epitomizes the medieval Indo-Islamic peak with its five storey, intricately carved octagonal structure. Conversely, Kapadvanj’s Batris Kotha(1120) is defined by its massive scale and distinctive 32-niche design(kothas) rather than the dense floral sculpture found in Adalaj. Isanpur’s Jethabhai ni vav(1860) differs significantly as a modern revival; constructed centuries later using reclaimed materials from older forts, it represents the resourceful twilight of this tradition compared to the original, purpose-built grandeur of the former two.

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The structural differences between the three stepwells create distinct visual environments that force the human eye to adapt in unique ways.

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In Adalaj, the light enters at a steep angle but is baffled by the multiple floors, preventing direct glare from reaching the bottom. As one descends, the light fades into a smooth, dappled gradient. This gradual transition, forces the pupils to dilate slowly, a physiological shift that often triggers a relaxation response, moving the body from the high-alert tension of the bright surface to the calm. In contrast, the Batris Kotha ni vav, is a structure defined by two distinct vertical towers separated by a large void. These gaps allow shafts of strong light to penetrate deeper, creating bands of high contrast rather than a smooth gradient. The eye must constantly adjust between bright sunlit patches and deep shadows. This rhythmic contrast heightens the sense of depth and verticality, making the descent feel more dramatic and stimulating than Adalaj. Jethabhai ni vav, is a compact sequence of covered pavilions, where the light acts as a guide, highlighting the specific bays sequentially. The light serves an orienting function, keeping the visitor focused on the path ahead. It creates an intimate atmosphere where the visual connection to the water source is maintained, grounding the visitor’s sense of direction.

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The three structures utilize the stack effect and evaporative cooling, acting as natural air conditioners.

 

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In Adalaj, the massive stone volume and intricate lattice of pillars slow down the wind, filtering it and air circulates through multiple horizontal layers. The Batris Kotha ni vav has large open scoops between the towers that allow for a more sweeping airflow and air looping deeply into the void before rising. At Jethabhai ni vav, the airflow is rhythmic, entering at each pavilion opening. Entering these spaces from the arid surface, creates an immediate thermal shock. The cool air which is denser and pools at the bottom near the water, rapidly lowers the skin temperature.

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Adolf Loos, in his book Ornament and Crime, expresses his thoughts against ornamentation stating that enormous damage and devastation would be caused in aesthetic development by the revival of ornamentation. He talks about his discovery : The evolution of culture is synonymous with the removal of ornament from utilitarian objects. His views tell us that no ornament can any longer be made today by anyone who lives on our cultural level. Art has taken the place of ornament and the absence of ornament has brought the other arts to unsuspected heights. Freedom from ornament is a sign of spiritual strength. 

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But the ornamentation within these stepwells serves a role far greater than simple decoration; it dictates the very texture of the space and the visitor’s connection to history. This is most evident in Adalaj ni vav, where the intricate carving acts as a spiritual language. Carvings like the Kalpavriksha(tree of life) and Ami Khumbor(pot of nectar) are woven into a stone tapestry that not only fractures light into a shifting skin but also bears the tactile memory of five centuries; surfaces smoothed by human touch transform a functional descent into a sacred, living journey. In sharp contrast, Batris Kotha ni vav presents a more muscular, pragmatic aesthetic. Its visual identity relies not on symbolic delicacy, but on the rhythmic modulation of its architecture, using deep recesses and massive arches to create a play of shadow and scale. Jethabhai ni vav completes the narrative as an eclectic collage. Constructed using spoila salvaged from older monuments, it offers an assembled beauty that, while distinct from Adalaj’s cohesive spirituality, provides a rich layered dialogue between the past and the present.

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The evolution of these stepwells reflects a poignant transition from a vital social infrastructure to a venerated heritage. Adalaj ni vav has ascended to the status of a global icon, yet it remains a powerful critique of today’s utilitarian projects; though now frozen in time as a museum spectacle, it endures a carefully crafted vessel of light and shadow, reminding us of an era when public works were sanctuaries that cared for the human spirit rather than mere functional necessities. Conversely, Batris Kotha ni vav retains the aura of a regional relic, offering a raw, uncommercialized mystery that sits quietly in the shadow of encroaching urban development. Most poignant is the fate of Jethabhai ni vav, an urban survivor, that nearly vanished beneath Ahmedabad's industrial sprawl. Today, it stands as a restored island of history, fighting to maintain a pocket of silence amidst the relentless tide of concrete and twenty-first century noise.

 

Ultimately these stepwells stand as enduring narratives written in stone, bridging the gap between their ornate pasts and their silent presents. Whether through the spiritual filigree of Adalaj, the muscular rhythm of Batris Kotha, or the resilient collage of Jethabhai, the architecture persists as a steadfast witness to history, While their waters have receded and their original social clamor has faded into the hushed reverence of heritage sites, their distinct visual textures continue to offer a profound critique of the present. They remind us that true infrastructure is never merely about utility; it is an art form that sustains the human spirit, carrying the memory of a community across the centuries even as the city transforms around it.

 

References :

(Pallasmaa 2012, #)

(Zumthor 2006, #)

(Loos 1998, #)