Dear Conservation,
I don’t remember the first time I met you. That’s the strange thing about us, you were always there.
I was born into you, in the old city of Kolhapur, where history wasn’t something preserved behind glass, it was alive, breathing through the walls around me. The hospital I visited, the school I attended, the temple I prayed in, the post office I passed by, the lake where I spent carefree evenings with friends; each space carried stories long before I knew how to listen.
You found your way to me not only through places, but through stories. Through films that turned time into adventure, The Mummy, Gladiator, Indiana Jones, National Treasure, and through the grandeur of historical Bollywood cinema. They left me wondering: how do these buildings, these beautiful backdrops spaces, survive the test of time? What keeps them standing, holding onto centuries of memory?
School only deepened that curiosity. While others struggled to memorize dates of historic events, I found myself chasing the stories behind them. I didn’t want to remember history, I wanted to understand it. And I was lucky, no, blessed, with teachers who nurtured that curiosity rather than limiting it.
At home, you grew stronger within me. My mother’s creativity and my father’s love for architecture quietly shaped the way I saw the world. So, when the time came to choose my path, it didn’t feel like a decision, it felt like recognition. I chose to study history, thinking that would bring me closer to you.
But you had more to teach me.
Because knowing a building’s story is one thing. Giving it the chance to continue telling that story… that is something else entirely.
That realisation led me to you fully: to built heritage conservation. To not just learn from the past, but to protect it. To ensure that the same walls that spoke to me could continue speaking to generations I may never meet.
Now, after nearly a decade with you, I see the world differently. I see every street, every structure, every ruin, carrying a voice, waiting to be heard. And I see others like me, people who have chosen you not for comfort, but for purpose.
Yes, you are not an easy path. In many places, you are seen as a luxury, a non-essential, a passion that doesn’t always promise financial stability. But what you offer cannot be measured in certainty or income.
You offer something far greater.
You offer the privilege of stepping into stories.
Of traveling through time without leaving the present.
Of preserving not just buildings, but memory and my sense of belonging.
And in those moments, when a place is restored, when its story is safeguarded, when it continues to stand, you remind me why I chose you.
Or perhaps, why you chose me.
With gratitude,
Samidha
Center for Critical Conservation 