My professor recently expressed casually, with a tone of resignation, "Architecture is dead. It has become a commodity." For a moment, I almost agreed. So many homes today are designed for speed, branding, and resale value. The soul, the storytelling, the meaning behind spaces often seems missing.
But I refuse to believe that architecture is dead. Not here. Not in India, where family, tradition, and emotion still intertwine with how we live. Where you can’t separate architecture from the structure of the family itself. Here, homes are not just buildings. They are vessels of relationships.
And that’s exactly why we need to talk about the master bedroom.
The Room That Holds Power (Silently)
In most homes—especially large houses with 3 to 5 bedrooms—there’s an unspoken rule: one room stands above the rest. It’s bigger. It has the best bathroom. The best view. More storage. It’s called the "master bedroom."
But here’s the question:
Who is the master?
Is it the parents who built the home? The son or daughter who now earns and contributes more? The newly married couple who might need more space and privacy? The one who handles finances or takes care of aging members?
In many homes, the answer is never discussed. Yet the room quietly makes the decision.
When Design Becomes the Problem
Even in spacious homes, families slowly drift apart. One brother moves out after marriage. The other stays but feels stifled. Parents are unsure whether to offer or withhold space. And often, the daughter-in-law or son-in-law—who enters the family with fresh eyes—feels like a guest, or worse, an afterthought.
And it’s not always due to friction. Sometimes it’s just… awkward. The room they’re offered is smaller, has poor ventilation, or lacks enough storage. Even if unintentional, the message is felt: You are accommodated, not welcomed.
We all have seen homes where the two brothers live with their parents. All five bedrooms are occupied. But the layout is so uneven that, despite the square footage, emotional discomfort grows. No one says it. But the hierarchy is built into the walls.
And when aging parents are asked to move to the "parents' room"—may be a smaller space further away—after years of enjoying the master suite, does it feel like love or displacement?
Design should never be the reason for emotional turmoil.
Culture Isn’t a Brass Lamp in the Corner
Preserving culture doesn’t mean placing an antique artifact in a niche and calling it heritage. It means preserving the way we live, the way we respect, the way we relate. In India, our homes have long reflected our joint families, our shared rituals, our slow transitions.
But today, even as our social structures evolve, our design templates remain outdated.
So many services are now outsourced—modular kitchens, false ceilings, lighting plans. Vendors handle wardrobes. Brands decide bathrooms. Consultants handle services. What, then, is the architect designing?
Ideally: everything that gives the home meaning. The spatial flow. The sense of equality. The choreography of relationships.
If not this, then what are we doing?
A Call for Equitable Design
It’s time we let go of the term "master bedroom." More importantly, we must let go of what it represents.
Let all bedrooms be equal (at least equal importance)—in size, storage, light, and dignity. Let no room silently dictate status. Let transitions in family life be fluid, not forced by a fixed layout.
Because if we can’t clearly define who the master is, then why must we build a room that assumes one?
Let’s give every room a sense of belonging. Let no child feel like a guest. Let no parent feel displaced. Let no in-law feel tolerated.
Let’s design homes where architecture becomes a bridge—not a boundary.
Let design be the beginning of togetherness, not the another quiet reason for moving away.
A house, when built well, can last four generations. But a home—emotionally—may not even see one generation fully grow.
Isn’t it fair to hope that when a family moves into their new home, at least two generations stay together for some time? To share meals, laughter, the birth of a child, the wisdom of an elder?
And if architecture can help that happen—not by force, but by fairness—then it’s doing something more than just arranging rooms. It’s holding people, gently, in time.
Maybe this, too, is Indian architecture.