Changing Dynamics of Design Education in India

The story of design education in India begins with Jawaharlal Nehru's vision of modernising a nation weakened by colonial rule and centuries of feudal power. Nehru believed that India needed to enter the industrial age that was transforming the world, and he saw design as a key instrument in this national project.

To shape this vision, Nehru invited Charles and Ray Eames, whose recommendations led to the establishment of the National Institute of Design (NID) in Ahmedabad. Charles Eames authored what later became known as the Eames Report on Indian Design. However, many early Indian design educators who went on to shape NID rejected the report's emphasis on rapid industrialisation and assembly-line production. They argued that large-scale industrialisation was a distant and uncertain prospect for India.

Instead, they believed that India's villages already possessed a strong base of craft entrepreneurship. Modernising existing craft practices could generate livelihoods and economic growth more effectively than waiting for an industrial miracle. This thinking drew significant inspiration from Kamaladevi Chattopadhyaya, who played a central role in organising and advocating for India's textile and craft sectors.

NID subsequently adopted pedagogical influences from the Bauhaus and the Ulm School of Design (HfG Ulm), which had shaped modern European design education. These approaches were adapted to Indian conditions, particularly to engage with the craft sector. Early NID educators emphasised leadership, entrepreneurship, and consultancy, rather than preparing students solely for salaried employment.

At the same time, Nehru established the Industrial Design Centre (IDC) at IIT Bombay to address the needs of India's emerging manufacturing sector. IDC focused on employment-oriented industrial design, closely aligned with factories, production systems, and industrial processes.

Parallel to these developments, and mainly due to Kamaladevi Chattopadhyaya's sustained efforts, textiles—with their deep and widespread presence across India—were recognised as a distinct sector. This recognition led to the establishment of the National Institute of Fashion Technology (NIFT). Unlike NID, NIFT structured its pedagogy around market demand, exports, and cluster-based development, combining employment with consultancy and fund-management models.

As a result, three major pedagogic frameworks came to shape design education in India:

NID – focused on craft entrepreneurship and consultancy, influenced by Bauhaus and Ulm traditions, and supported by government design projects.

IDC – focused on employment within manufacturing and industrial sectors.

NIFT – focused on market-driven, export-oriented cluster development, blending employment with consultancy and fund management.

In essence, Indian design education came to revolve around three core orientations: entrepreneurship, consultancy, and employment.

However, these institutions also shared a significant limitation. They largely accepted standardisation for assembly-line production as the core principle of modern design practice. In the craft sector, this translated into an emphasis on system design—restructuring craft production to resemble industrial workflows. This approach aimed to make crafts suitable for elite and urban consumption through product enhancement, aesthetic refinement, improved communication channels, and selective use of machine tools.

Those familiar with Indian craft communities are aware that their entrepreneurial skills are often strong, as is their pride in traditional crafts and their desire for independence. The assumption that crafts needed to be reorganised primarily through industrial logic frequently overlooked these social and cultural strengths, and at times conveniently ignored them to serve sector-specific government interventions shaped by socialist policies.

In practice, design promoted largely through NID and IDC came to function as an intermediary between government, industry, and craft communities. Designers often acted as implementers of government programmes or as associates of NGOs, executing fund-based policy interventions or corporate CSR initiatives within communities and craft clusters.

The internet boom of the late 1990s began to alter this landscape. Numerous private design institutes, many specialising in service sectors, emerged across the country. Several were led or guided by retired NID and IDC faculty, effectively creating multiple "proto-NIDs" and "proto-IDCs"—modernist, sector-focused training centres.

One notable exception was Srishti Institute of Art, Design and Technology in Bengaluru. Conceived as a post-industrial and post-modern institution, Srishti focused on the service sector, rather than manufacturing. By placing art and technology at either end of design in its very name, it signalled a different pedagogic ambition. Drawing inspiration from leading Western design schools, Srishti adopted an interdisciplinary curriculum for both undergraduate and postgraduate programmes and initially refused affiliation with any university.

Srishti primarily catered to the aspirations of urban students shaped by a liberalised and globalised economy, supported by a high fee structure. Many of its graduates did not aspire to become employees of Indian companies; instead, they looked towards opportunities abroad or pursued freelance and studio-based practices.

In 2014, government regulations required all design programmes to come under a university framework. Although Srishti retained an interdisciplinary character at its margins (except for media disciplines such as film and animation), it too gradually became a sector-oriented, modernist training institution. Its focus, however, remained firmly on the service sector rather than manufacturing.

By this stage, four major curricular models were shaping Indian design education:

NID – Sectorial, modernist, focused on craft, community, and service sectors.

IDC – Sectorial, modernist, concentrates on the industry and service sectors.

NIFT – concentrate on craft, community, consumer markets, and exports.

Srishti – interdisciplinary, post-modern in orientation, primarily serving the service sector.

The growing emphasis on the service sector across Indian design schools was primarily a consequence of the IT boom and the rapid expansion of the service economy. The service sector's share of India's GDP rose from around 31 per cent in the pre-liberalisation period to nearly 48 per cent by 2017. At the same time, industrial growth remained relatively stagnant, with the manufacturing sector remaining at 16 per cent from 1991 onwards. This stagnation steadily reduced demand for design programmes focused on manufacturing, further pushing design education towards service-sector–oriented curricula.

Indira Gandhi’s Centralisation and Its Impact on Design Education:

Between Nehru’s modernist socialist vision and the economic liberalisation of the 1990s, India underwent a significant phase under Indira Gandhi that profoundly shaped the structure and direction of design education.

The political centralisation of policy frameworks, extensive nationalisation, the expansion of public sector undertakings during the period, and the strengthening of the role of the bureaucracy, especially during the Emergency (1975–77) under Indira Gandhi, gradually turned design institutions from relatively independent academic spaces into instruments of state policy and priority.

Before this phase of centralisation, the National Institute of Design (NID) was a small institution under the Ministry of Commerce, operating on a modest budget. It survived mainly as a regional institute under the patronage of an industrial family close to the political power centre. Apart from a few notable community-based projects, NID remained limited in scale, offering mainly undergraduate and a small number of postgraduate diploma programmes. Its reach was constrained by regional dominance and a state-defined communication design operant.

As the political power became increasingly centralised under Indira Gandhi, institutions such as NID and the Industrial Design Centre (IDC) at IIT Bombay came under tighter bureaucratic control. Decision-making slowly shifted away from academic leadership towards administrative authority. For these institutes, these developments had reduced institutional autonomy by narrowing the space for experimentation and critical thinking. Design education began to align more closely with the execution of government policies rather than reflective or exploratory practices.

The rapid expansion of PSUs during the 1970s and 1980s further shaped this shift. State-led manufacturing in sectors such as heavy engineering, infrastructure, transport, energy, and telecommunications created a demand for designers who could work within rigid industrial systems. IDC, which offered only postgraduate programmes, became closely aligned with these needs. IDC's pedagogy focused on functional design, engineering compatibility, standardisation, and preparing students for employment in extensive production systems. Creativity was largely confined to solving problems within predefined industrial frameworks.

Similarly the early emphasis on leadership and craft entrepreneurship at NID, slowly gave way to a more development-oriented role. Increasingly functioned as a bridge between government policies and craft communities, NID designers were often placed in the role of implementing state-sponsored programmes, rural development schemes, and export-oriented craft initiatives. Engagement with crafts shifted from imagining independent futures for craft communities to managing state-driven modernisation priorities. Keeping System design protocol at the core, standardisation, and product enhancement aimed at elite or export markets became dominant approaches in NID design pedagogy.

Although the National Institute of Fashion Technology (NIFT) was established later, it was shaped by the same political and economic constraints. Within a centrally planned economy, Textiles were treated as a strategic sector and NIFT’s design education was organised around export promotion, market preparedness, and cluster-based development. NIFT designers were trained to function within supply chains and government-aligned market forces.

Across NID, IDC, and later NIFT, a common approach to design education emerged. Standardisation for assembly-line production came to be accepted as the core of modern design practice. Priority was given to systems thinking, workflow reorganisation, and consultancy-led projects, while critical theory, cultural independence, and speculative design were gradually sidelined. As a result, design education became administratively well organised and efficient, but increasingly cautious in its intellectual ambitions.

The effects of this period continued long after economic liberalisation. Even as private institutions emerged and markets opened up, many design schools retained bureaucratic structures, modernist-industrial assumptions, and rigid sector-based divisions.Indira Gandhi's Centralisation and Its Impact on Design Education:

Between Nehru's modernist socialist vision and the economic liberalisation of the 1990s, India underwent a significant phase under Indira Gandhi that profoundly shaped the structure and direction of design education.

The political centralisation of policy frameworks, extensive nationalisation, the expansion of public sector undertakings during the period, and the strengthening of the role of the bureaucracy, especially during the Emergency (1975–77) under Indira Gandhi, gradually turned design institutions from relatively independent academic spaces into instruments of state policy and priority.

Before this phase of centralisation, the National Institute of Design (NID) was a small institution under the Ministry of Commerce, operating on a modest budget. It survived mainly as a regional institute under the patronage of an industrial family close to the political power centre. Apart from a few notable community-based projects, NID remained limited in scale, offering mainly undergraduate and a small number of postgraduate diploma programmes. Its reach was constrained by regional dominance and a state-defined communication design operation.

As the political power became increasingly centralised under Indira Gandhi, institutions such as NID and the Industrial Design Centre (IDC) at IIT Bombay came under tighter bureaucratic control. Decision-making slowly shifted away from academic leadership towards administrative authority. For these institutes, these developments had reduced institutional autonomy by narrowing the space for experimentation and critical thinking. Design education began to align more closely with the execution of government policies rather than reflective or exploratory practices.

The rapid expansion of PSUs during the 1970s and 1980s further shaped this shift. State-led manufacturing in sectors such as heavy engineering, infrastructure, transport, energy, and telecommunications created a demand for designers who could work within rigid industrial systems. IDC, which offered only postgraduate programmes, became closely aligned with these needs. IDC's pedagogy focused on functional design, engineering compatibility, standardisation, and preparing students for employment in extensive production systems. Creativity was confined mainly to solving problems within predefined industrial frameworks.

Similarly, the early emphasis on leadership and craft entrepreneurship at NID slowly gave way to a more development-oriented role. Increasingly functioning as a bridge between government policies and craft communities, NID designers were often placed in the role of implementing state-sponsored programmes, rural development schemes, and export-oriented craft initiatives. Engagement with crafts shifted from imagining independent futures for craft communities to managing state-driven modernisation priorities. Keeping System design protocol at the core, standardisation, and product enhancement aimed at elite or export markets became dominant approaches in NID design pedagogy.

Although the National Institute of Fashion Technology (NIFT) was established later, it was shaped by the same political and economic conditions. Within a centrally planned economy, Textiles were treated as a strategic sector, and NIFT’s design education was organised around export promotion, market preparedness, and cluster-based development. NIFT designers were trained to function within supply chains and government-aligned market forces.

Across NID, IDC, and later NIFT, a common approach to design education emerged. Standardisation for assembly-line production came to be accepted as the core of modern design practice. Priority was given to systems thinking, workflow reorganisation, and consultancy-led projects, while critical theory, cultural independence, and speculative design were gradually sidelined. As a result, design education became administratively well organised and efficient, but increasingly cautious in its intellectual ambitions.

The effects of this period continued long after economic liberalisation. Even as private institutions emerged and markets opened up, many design schools retained bureaucratic structures, modernist-industrial assumptions, and rigid sector-based curriculum.

Human-Centred Design Across Indian, European and Indigenous Traditions

Long before contemporary design theory formalised the term “human-centred design”, many cultures had already developed sophisticated ways of shaping buildings, objects, and environments around human life. What differs across traditions is not whether humans were central, but how humans were understood: as individuals, as embodied beings in specific contexts, or as members of a living community.

In Indian traditions such as Śilpa Śāstra and Vāstu Śāstra, design was deeply rooted in everyday human existence. Buildings, tools, sculptures, and settlements were conceived in relation to the human body, daily rituals, climate, geography, and social organisation. Proportions were not abstract measurements but were derived from bodily units such as the hasta (hand), angula (finger), and tāla. These bodily measures were linked to a broader cosmic order, where human life was seen as part of a larger rhythm connecting nature, time, and the universe.

Designers and craftsmen did not conduct surveys or usability studies in the modern sense. Instead, they lived within the same social and cultural worlds as the people they designed for. Apprenticeship and community practices handed over the knowledge . A temple, a house, or a tool was not designed for an abstract “user” but for a specific way of living, worshipping, working, and coexisting with the environment. Human-centredness in this context was embedded, experiential, and ethical, rather than analytical.

In Europe, the idea of human-centred design developed along a different historical path. During the Renaissance period, humanism placed the human figure at the centre of knowledge and representation. Artists such as Leonardo da Vinci explored proportion, anatomy, and geometry to understand the human body as a harmonious system. The famous idea of the human body as the “measure of all things” reflected a shift away from purely theological explanations towards human reason and observation. This emphasis on the human form later influenced modern design movements.

In the early twentieth century, institutions such as the Bauhaus translated human-centred thinking into principles of functionality, ergonomics, and efficiency. Design aimed to serve human needs, particularly in the context of mass production and industrial society. Furniture, housing, and everyday objects were designed to be functional, affordable, and suitable for large populations on a standardised assembly line production. This approach relied on the idea of a universal human being and the differences of culture, class, climate, and social practice were often simplified or ignored in favour of standardisation.

While this model was effective for industrial production, it sometimes reduced human experience to measurable functions and averages, rather than lived reality.

Traditional knowledge systems offer a distinct understanding of human-centred design, one that does not treat people as isolated or independent users. Instead, human life is understood as deeply interconnected, shaped by family, community, environment, and time. Design decisions in these traditions emerged from knowledge that was handed down and refined over generations.

This knowledge was rarely formalised through abstract theories or universal models. Rather, it was carried through stories, rituals, seasonal practices, and everyday acts of making and use.

The Chines Ambassador Fu Cong, the head of mission to the European industry roundtable in one of his talk mentioned that Indigenous traditional contexts, the value of a tool, structure, or settlement was not judged by how efficiently it served an individual alone. Its true worth lay in how well it supported shared life, strengthened social relationships, and maintained balance with the natural world. Design was inseparable from ecological awareness, as materials, forms, and methods were chosen with an understanding of long-term environmental impact.

A design was considered successful when it enabled the community to endure across generations and allowed the environment to remain healthy and regenerative. Human needs were never separated from collective responsibility. Care for people, land, and resources formed a single ethical framework, where design functioned not as a solution for individuals, but as a sustaining practice for life as a whole.

The key difference between these traditions lies in how “the human” is understood. Indian and Indigenous traditions worked with situated humans—people embedded in specific climates, cultures, rituals, and social relationships. Design emerged from lived contexts and mutual dependence. In contrast, European modernism increasingly pursued the idea of a universal human, abstracted from place and culture, suited to industrial production planning where standardisation is the priority.

Unfortunately for such assumptions, there is a growing recognition that abstract and universal solutions are inadequate when designers respond to global challenges such as climate change and rapid technological transformation. Increasingly, designers are acknowledging that the differences between these approaches matter deeply for future of design.

Revisiting Indian and other Indigenous traditions reminds us that genuinely human-centred design must be contextual, embodied, ethical, and relational. It must be grounded not only in human needs, but in the ways people live together, share responsibilities, and coexist with their environments.

Through the Lens of the Past: A Philosophical Inquiry into the Universe's Temporal Existence

Introduction: Seeing the Universe Through the Past

Every act of seeing, every perception we cherish, every interaction we undertake, is already over by the time it interacts with us. The photons that illuminate the world around us, the waves that convey sound, the neurons that fire in our brains,  all unfold through intervals of time that separate cause and effect. When we gaze at the night sky, we are witnesses not to the stars as they exist now, but to light that left them perhaps millions or billions of years ago. In that sense, the universe presents itself to us as a gallery of memory, a cosmos of its own recollection.

This recognition is not merely a poetic observation about the cosmos; it is a profound statement about existence itself. The finite speed of light,  the fastest messenger we know,  ensures that no interaction occurs instantaneously. Every exchange of energy, matter, or information traverses a temporal gap, however brief. Consequently, nothing in the universe interacts in the present. The "now," which we habitually take for granted, is forever inaccessible as a moment of immediate connection.

This essay seeks to explore the philosophical implications of a universe governed by temporal mediation. Through thought experiments and reflections on physics, this essay examines a paradoxical reality: a cosmos that is simultaneously still and dynamic, present and past, inert and alive. At the heart of this inquiry lies a simple question: if every interaction occurs through the past, what does it mean to exist?

The Thought Experiment: Mirrors in Time

Imagine two mirrors, A and B, facing one another in space. At time t0, a flash of light departs from mirror A toward mirror B. The light takes a finite duration t = t1-t0 to reach its target. This journey, seemingly trivial in elementary physics, conceals a profound truth about relational existence.

At the moment the light departs from A, mirror B exists, fully formed in the presence of t0. Yet B cannot "know" of A's action until the light arrives. Likewise, any reflection from B will require another temporal interval to return to A. Thus, each mirror experiences the other only as it was, never as it is. Replace these mirrors with two people, two atoms, or two galaxies, and the principle remains unchanged: interactions occur only through the past.

This simple experiment illuminates a paradox: the universe is composed of entities that exist independently in the present but communicate exclusively via past interactions. The "present" becomes a realm of silent, self-contained existence, while relational reality, the interactions, is forever mediated by time.

The Paradox of the Present

If every interaction unfolds through the past, what then constitutes the "present"? Is it a convenient fiction, a mathematical abstraction, or a fundamental mode of being?

In the mirror scenario, t0 represents the self-contained existence of each mirror. The mirrors exist, but they do not interact in that instant. Mutual reality emerges only after light has traversed the distance between them. This introduces a radical duality: each entity exists in the present for itself but with others only through memory.

Viewed philosophically, this suggests that the universe is a constellation of "temporal islands," each entity inhabiting a private present yet interconnected through delayed relationships. Existence, then, is dual: it is simultaneously self-contained and relationally mediated. In such a universe, motion, causation, and interaction are never truly immediate. The present becomes an inert frontier, a moment of being unaccompanied by doing.

Our conventional understanding of existence equates being with interaction. To exist is to act, to influence, to relate. Yet if every relation is temporally delayed, the present cannot be identified with action. It is instead a condition of potentiality, a silent canvas upon which temporal processes paint the evolving cosmos.

Space as Static and Active

From this perspective, space assumes a dual nature: it is both static and active. The non-divisible present, t0, represents space as a frozen totality. All matter and energy exist as a single, indivisible configuration. No motion occurs, no forces act, no change transpires, for change requires duration. This is the inert face of reality, the stage upon which all temporal activity is eventually projected.

Yet extend beyond the instantaneous t0 into a finite interval t1−t0, and the universe bursts into motion. Light travels, particles collide, forces manifest, and interactions unfold. This is the dynamic face of reality, the world we experience directly.

Thus, the universe simultaneously is and becomes. Static and dynamic, inert and active, indivisible and divisible — these are not separate realities but complementary modes of existence. Their tension generates the fabric of temporal and material reality, blurring the boundary between physics and metaphysics.

The Non-Divisible and the Divisible: Two Modes of Time

Time itself exhibits duality in this framework. The instantaneous present, t0 , is non-divisible. Like a mathematical point, it exists without extension. Measurement, causation, and change are impossible within this singularity.

In contrast, any finite interval t1−t0 is divisible. It is measurable, analysable, and subject to change. Within this temporal span, motion occurs, interactions propagate, and the universe unfolds as a sequence of causally linked events.

The interplay of non-divisible and divisible time mirrors ancient philosophical dichotomies. In Vedantic thought, Brahman represents the timeless absolute, while Maya embodies temporal phenomena. Western philosophy, from Parmenides to Heraclitus, similarly grapples with the concepts of being and becoming. Here, the duality is reconciled: the universe is simultaneously static and flowing, singular and manifold, eternal and transient.

The Inert Universe and the Limits of Physical Law

At the instantaneous present, physical law itself becomes paradoxical. Motion requires duration, force requires difference, and energy transfer requires intervals. Newtonian mechanics, Einstein's relativity, and quantum dynamics all presuppose temporal extension.

At t0 , these laws are temporarily suspended. The universe exists in a condition of pure, inert totality, a singular point of unmediated being. It is a state in which the rules of change do not apply. Paradoxically, it is this very inertness that enables the dynamic unfolding of reality. The laws of physics govern transitions, not the instants they connect.

This insight sheds light on cosmological and quantum enigmas. Singularities, wave function collapse, and other anomalies may be glimpses of the universe confronting its non-divisible present. In these moments, existence transcends temporal causality, revealing the foundation upon which the measurable, mutable universe rests.

Human consciousness mirrors this cosmic duality. We perceive ourselves as inhabiting a continuous present, yet all sensory data is delayed by neural processing, photon travel, and mechanical transduction. Every interaction, from speech to sight, unfolds through past events.

Consciousness, remarkably, smooths over these temporal gaps. It constructs a seamless sense of "now," stitching together innumerable pasts into a coherent experiential present. In essence, our minds perform a cosmic act of recollection, synthesising discrete temporal intervals into the illusion of immediate being.

Thus, to be conscious is to inhabit both modes of existence simultaneously: the timeless, inert self, and the active, relational self that engages with the past. Awareness itself becomes a bridge between the non-divisible present and the divisible duration of becoming.

The Ethics of the Past-Dependent Universe

If all interactions unfold through past events, ethical considerations acquire temporal depth. Every action, word, or thought reaches others only after a delay. Responsibility, therefore, is never immediate but distributed across time. The effects of deeds ripple outward like echoes, reverberating through the fabric of time.

Similarly, understanding, empathy, and forgiveness are constrained by the universe's temporal mediation. We cannot fully know another being as they are in the present, only as they were in the past. 

Judgments, therefore, must acknowledge temporal incompleteness. Humility becomes an existential imperative; patience becomes a moral virtue.

In this light, existence is an ongoing negotiation with temporal reality. Ethical living requires recognition that the present is a horizon we cannot grasp, and that relational responsibility is an engagement with the memories of others' states of being.

The universe, in its dual temporal nature, simultaneously obeys and transcends physical law. Over finite durations, causality, energy conservation, and relativistic constraints govern interactions. Yet within the instantaneous present, these laws lose operational significance.

This coexistence is not a contradiction but a necessity. The inert, lawless instant provides the foundation upon which temporal processes, governed by law, unfold. Duration and instant, order and stillness, law and exception, form a balanced system that underpins both the cosmos and conscious experience.

Viewed philosophically, the universe may be understood as a vast network of memories. Each particle carries the imprint of prior interactions; each event resonates into future intervals. Light from distant stars is more than illumination — it is information, a message from the past.

Reality becomes, therefore, an act of recollection. The universe remembers itself through matter, energy, and light. Our own consciousness participates in this act, weaving personal and cosmic pasts into a coherent narrative of existence. In this view, to exist is to be an agent of memory, bridging the temporal intervals that constitute reality.

Conclusion

The thought experiment of mirrors highlights the most profound paradox of temporal existence. Every perception, every interaction, is mediated by past intervals. The present is a still point, an inert moment of self-contained being, while time unfolds around it as motion, interaction, and change.

The universe is therefore both static and dynamic, timeless and temporal, indivisible and divisible. These dualities coexist, generating the phenomena of matter, motion, and consciousness. Existence is an engagement with this duality: to be aware of stillness while participating in flow, to inhabit the present while acting through past connections.

Ultimately, the universe is not merely situated in time; it is time itself,

the instant and the interval, the presence and the memory, the inert and the alive. To live, then, is to remember the past into being, to recognise the present as both silence and stage, and to participate in the eternal paradox of stillness and motion.

Narendra raghunath