When one reaches our new Zoho office in Tharuvai, they are greeted by a serene river that meanders along the side of the campus. Instead of a typical corporate facade, there are tranquil verandas reminiscent of the traditional agraharam homes of Kumbakonam. Elegant walkways run through the campus, surrounded by lush greenery. Visitors often find it hard to believe, and liken the campus to an idyllic resort more than an office space. In this blog, we will be talking about our Tharuvai office but more importantly, we will be using it to address and unseat an idea that has firmly entrenched itself in our collective imagination.
Picture a Swiss home, a Japanese home, and a home in Iran. You now have very distinct images flooding your brain – wooden balconies with flowers, tatami mats, paper sliding doors, intricate Persian rugs – whether or not they may be entirely accurate. But try to picture an office in downtown Zurich, Tokyo or Tehran, and suddenly everything starts to look the same. Why?
Let's face it. The modern office building is boring. And it suffers from an aggressive case of sameness. Office districts worldwide are dotted with smooth towers of glass with no distinguishing features. (To prove we're not biased, our most iconic office in Chennai is a glass tower.) Sure, a few skyscrapers in megacities can be considered marvels masterfully built by the top architects of the world but they are the exception, not the rule. Instead, the majority of office towers around the world can be described as bland and homogeneous. While every region in the world has its own culture and character, office districts in these same places bear no visual information. They are sanitized and inoffensive and sadly, quite dull.
The style associated with modern office buildings can be attributed to modernist architects such as Ludwig Mies van der Rohe who pioneered it. Humanity seemed to be entering an age of unprecedented technological advancement and industrial efficiency in the early 1900s. Modernist architects such as Mies wanted to create a new visual language for the era that severed ties with the past. This involved minimalism and an aggressive focus on function over form. But a century later, what was avant-garde and stylish has become commonplace. However, at the same time, the glass tower also became symbolic of progress and modernization. As a result, the style has been replicated endlessly and not always well, giving us unimaginative exercises in glass and steel. With expressions such as 'breaking the glass ceiling', it's even a part of our lexicon.
Another part of the problem is our collective obsession with the city. Whether it's economic policy, demographic and migration trends, or even popular culture, everything gravitates towards it. It doesn't matter that they're overpopulated and crammed; the appeal of the city simply refuses to fade. Businesses are not immune to this. The idea is that top talent can only be found in big urban centres. Since everyone wants their office to be in the big city, people squeeze into increasingly tiny parcels of land, and are forced to think vertical.
By conforming to this mindset, one is rewarded with sky-high rent, and a relatively stressed workforce — employees who live in cramped housing and have to commute for an hour or more to get to work. But let's ignore those factors and consider all this at a purely aesthetic level: it's simply tiring for the mind to be bombarded with visual blandness. Think we're overstating things? This article from Architects' Journal, an architecture publication, does not mince words.
"It’s about a lack of ‘engagingness’, the deprivation of brain-nourishing information, and an absence of necessary visual complexity. To be absolutely clear, what I’m talking about is the outsides of buildings."
The piece goes on to say, "There’s now scientific evidence showing that plain, flat, featureless buildings profoundly affect our mental health. Colin Ellard’s 2012 study shows that boring urban environments cause serious stress to people’s brains and bodies."
At Zoho, we are making a conscious effort to break out of the tall glass tower syndrome. But what makes it easier are our philosophies of rural revival and transnational localism. Knowing that talent can be found everywhere and not just in big cities, we have strived to restore growth and prosperity to rural regions. By setting up offices in these areas and recruiting from local communities, we do our bit to reverse migration patterns and provide happy stress-free lives to rural youth.
As Zoho expanded hub offices into rural regions of India and other countries, it occurred to us that with these offices, we could think outside the box and adopt a fresh approach to the workspace. Our office in Tenkasi was a step in this direction. So was our farm office in Austin.
The new campus in Tharuvai is testament to this approach. It borrows various elements from the agraharams of Kumbakonam as well as the traditional architectural style of Kerala. We wanted to restore culture to buildings and have them reflect the local architectural flavour. It was an opportunity to celebrate the local, and a chance to honor each region's heritage.
Beyond a matter of pride, familiar cultural and architectural motifs are comforting for the mind and give employees something to relate to and identify with. They start to see more of themselves in their professional space. When you consider the fact that an average employee spends 30-40% of their waking hours in a week at the office, this makes it even more significant. Then isn't it logical that the office be comforting, rather than a sterile and barren space that feels culturally alien to them? In the case of Tharuvai, it helps our employees live our motto of 'Made in India. Made for the World.'
Beyond cosmetic design choices, we also chose to use traditional building materials and techniques. When building methods are mindlessly replicated across geographies, it's unlikely that they will work everywhere equally well. Glass towers can look sleek and modern but they were built for temperate climates. In warm climates for instance, it is less sustainable and works against the local conditions, driving up costs for air conditioning. However, traditional materials are used in a region precisely because they perfectly fit the local climatic conditions. Often, these have evolved over centuries.
For example, at Tharuvai, we used terracotta blocks extensively to leverage natural ventilation. Their perforated design improves air-flow into interiors, and helps reduce the need for artificial air-conditioning and the high costs associated with it. Their energy efficiency and passive ventilation help reduce the overall carbon footprint of the structures. The outdoor conference areas in the Tharuvai campus especially benefit from this technique, and provide comfort and coolness without the need for air conditioning.
Clay roof tiles are a signature of homes and buildings across South India, especially Kerala. They are perfectly suited for the tropical climate, reducing indoor temperatures with their natural cooling properties. Moreover, they are also fireproof and resistant to mold and bugs. Clay tiles have been used liberally in the Tharuvai campus, and add a visual identity that is distinctly rooted in its region.
Of course, this doesn't mean resisting modern innovations and technology. A magpie approach of selecting and combining the best materials and techniques is what's required. Solar panels have been installed across the Tharuvai campus, and will be able to provide for 70% of the campus's energy needs. Traditional materials help make this a viable approach. It is easier for solar energy to meet most of the energy needs, thanks to the fact that the usage of natural materials such as terracota and clay tiles increase the energy efficiency of the buildings.
In addition to the incorporation of local materials, the architecture also draws inspiration from the Kasi Viswanathar temple of Tenkasi for its v-shaped design that redirects wind using pressure created by the structure. This too helps increase natural air-flow through the campus.
For many businesses, there are constraints when it comes to experimenting with their spaces. But for those fortunate to have the luxury, it's a good idea to start reimagining what the workspace means and ultimately what work means for everyone. There are a lot of assumptions that we take as gospel truth that are worth re-examining. Once we break out of the boxes we've built for ourselves, there is so much more freedom to grow. When glass buildings arrive in a town or village, it means modernization and prosperity. But perhaps rural regions across the world can embrace prosperity without the baggage it brings with it.