The secrets of design: How a door gives us insight into cultures
As I travel, I sometimes encounter how social customs and practices are reflected in architecture. You may have noticed how in Persian and Indian culture, these kind of doors with metal loops exist. Yes, they are useful in locking the doors securely, but they served a more social purpose as well.
These cultures often have had strict rules about inter — gender interactions. Right from the ghoonghat to the veil, to having separate areas for socialisation in weddings, and even separate praying areas — the demarcation lines and modes of interaction have been pretty clear.
These door loops are an extension of the same rules weaved into everyday life. Each loop is made up of a different alloy, to ensure they sound differently when hit against the wood of the door panel. The left to indicate that a woman is at the door and the right to indicate a man is at the door. In some places, there was a certain difference in colour as well between the two loops. So if a man knocked the door, from the sound it made, the woman inside would know that a man is at the door and she would send a man in the house to receive him. In case, no man is present in the house, she would come to the door and say ‘No man’ and the male visitor would turn away to come at a later time. This ensured that the social mores of the time were maintained.
But what about these doors themselves? Why are they so short and narrow to begin with? Historically, the people of Central Asia are not short or stocky by any means — they were tall, known to be fierce warriors and were built to last in battle. So why would you create a door unsuited for the entry of your own people?
This is because the door is a transitional point from community space (city, town, village) to personal space (the home). A front door is designed in such a way that it does not give immediate access to domestic quarters, but lead to a vestibule, or a lobby. Hence, the doors are always made below the average persons’ eye level. This is to prevent the interior from being exposed to the outside world once a front door is opened. So even if you are passing by, and you try to peek in, you’ll only be able to see a part of the courtyard, and your view will almost always be a wall, rather than another door in the living quarters.
Additionally, it was supposed to be a social leveller. The small size of the external doors represents modesty, which is also demonstrated in the lack of decorations on not only the door, but the external windows as well.
It is very difficult, therefore, to judge the level of wealth or poverty of the houses from their external appearance. The principle was also is in line with the tenants of Islam i.e. For Allah, all his subjects are equal. The size of the doors served yet another purpose for the most transient member of the home: the traveler.
Centuries ago, travel was slower, as people traveled on foot and horseback, and often solo. On June 14, 1325, at the age of 21, Ibn Battuta rode out of Tangier on a donkey, the start of his journey to Mecca. he was quite alone, as illustrated by this passage from The Travels of Ibn Battuta, his detailed account of his wanderings:
“I set out alone, having neither fellow-traveler in whose companionship I might find cheer, nor caravan whose party I might join”
Hence, whenever a weary traveler reached town and sought shelter, it was important that he was able to do so quickly. By ensuring that the all the external doors in a town looked the same, the traveler could knock any door and expect the hospitality of the host. Each host was to provide for the traveler according to their means. Hence, this ensured that neither the traveler would always knock on wealthy homes, nor would hosts would the hosts be pressured to go beyond their means. As subjects of Allah, everyone was to give and receive without expectation.
Now think about the modern doors we see in standalone houses these days. They are large, ornate and always give away the social status of its occupants, easily demonstrated by the size of the house, cars etc. In modern times, we are more concerned about signalling our wealth. As I experienced the warm hospitality of Uzbeks, even on their trains, I realized that even centuries later, they still hold on to the values of treating a traveler, a fellow human being with all the love and care possible within their means. The doors are always open.
This post is a part of the larger series of posts under ‘Tales from the Silk Road’. Follow me for my stories on travel in Central Asia.
