In my previous piece, "Blueprints of Belief", we imagined how future historians might study our homes to uncover the silent forces—like Vaastu—that have shaped modern Indian architecture. Continuing that exploration, we now turn our attention to another subtle, often-overlooked feature of contemporary apartment layouts—one that, despite its modest footprint, quietly reflects deeper social patterns. Just as the orientation of a door or the placement of a kitchen can reveal belief systems, this forgotten space may offer clues about the hierarchies and assumptions embedded in the way we design our homes.
As their eyes move across the neat rectangles and carefully placed labels, one small area might catch their attention—the room commonly labeled "Servant Room" or "Maid Room." Often smaller than even the smallest toilet, sometimes windowless and isolated, its dimensions quietly whisper a troubling story.
Maybe they would speak of practical realities, market dynamics, or accepted conventions. Or perhaps, more subtly, they’d hint at something uncomfortable: a gentle neglect, an unconscious blindness to the humanity of those who serve us.
According to India's National Building Code (NBC), a habitable room should be at least 9.5 square meters (around 102 square feet) and must include adequate ventilation and natural lighting. Yet, these silent rooms frequently defy even these basic standards, existing quietly outside the boundaries of recommended humane design.
What might these hidden, cramped spaces tucked behind kitchens and stairwells reveal about our values? Not necessarily intentional cruelty, nor deliberate prejudice—but perhaps an unconscious indifference, comfortably concealed behind market norms or practical constraints.
This isn't about broad ideals of equality, nor an urgent call for dramatic architectural transformations. But perhaps we could begin with something simpler, more symbolic—reconsidering what we call these rooms. Words matter. Names matter. At least symbolically, our blueprints can reflect humanity instead of indifference.
A century later, when future eyes explore our plans, would we rather leave behind blueprints of thoughtful respect or quiet disregard?
It may seem minor, yet history often judges us by the smallest things—the quietest corners, the overlooked spaces, the rooms that speak softly yet clearly about who we were.
A Note to Architects and Builders: Let’s Rethink the Labels
To those who draw the lines that shape how we live—
Your designs are more than plans. They are expressions of how we see one another.
We know the pressures of the market, the limitations of space, and the complexity of building for diverse needs. We also understand that not every room can be generous in size or placement. But there is still one small, meaningful change that is well within our reach: rethinking the names we give these spaces.
Words matter.
What we label a room says something about the people we expect to use it.
And when we call it a “Servant Room” or “Maid Room,” we carry forward a hierarchy that doesn’t belong in thoughtful homes.
Instead, we could adopt terms that reflect purpose, not position.
That reflect function, not status.
Some alternatives might include:
- Utility Room with Bed – simple, respectful, and practical.
- Overnight Stay Area – for part-time or live-in help.
- Multi-Purpose Area – giving the space flexibility.
- Support Room or Back Quarters – without reducing the person to a title.
If a room is too small to meet even basic ventilation or light norms, perhaps it shouldn’t be called a room at all. Naming it honestly—“Storage” or “Dry Area”—might be more truthful and humane.
This isn’t about rewriting social contracts overnight.
It’s about starting somewhere—with something symbolic but sincere.
Because the blueprints we leave behind aren’t just technical drawings. They’re reflections of who we were—and who we aspired to be.
Even in the smallest of corners, let us choose respect.