Ever felt like you’re trapped behind a glass wall? That’s not just existential dread. That’s your nervous system reacting to your surroundings. Welcome to the Indian cityscape, where the chaotic charm of banyan-shaded courtyards and paan-stained corners ( at least in private buildings manned 24/7 by CCTVs) has been replaced by sterile lobbies, towering glass boxes, and steel railings that burn under a midday sun.

What we call “urban development” today is often just a pixel-perfect version of global templates, tall, sealed, climate-insensitive structures with no room for nuance, history, or human warmth. The result?

More than aesthetic fatigue. We’re talking about physiological dullness, neurological stress, and a slow erasure of social life.

We’ve flattened cities into render-approved realities- tall, sealed, and completely disconnected from human sensation. The result? Not just architectural boredom. We’re talking about physiological apathy, neurological fatigue, and behavioural shrinkage. And yet, here we are, mistaking this architectural amnesia for “development.”

The Glass Façade of Progress in Cities in India?

Let’s talk about the shimmering, heat-trapping elephant in the room: glass buildings. Inspired by corporate skylines of the West, cities like Ahmedabad, Bengaluru, and Delhi have embraced this as a symbol of ambition. But unlike cities with insulation, shaded sidewalks, and efficient cooling systems, our copy-paste model ignores India’s climatic reality.

These buildings are not just energy guzzlers; they’re sensory deserts. They trap heat, block natural ventilation, and visually separate us from the world outside. And yet, we call this modern.

Somehow, we were sold the idea that this is a smart design. And now, entire districts look like data centres with delusions of grandeur. But you know what isn’t smart? Designing buildings that reject natural ventilation in 45°C heat. Or creating streetscapes that treat shade like an optional accessory.

Your Brain Craves Better for Better Street Experiences

Science is clear: our brains are not indifferent to space. Studies in environmental psychology show that monotonous visual environments, blank walls, repetitive structures, and no natural elements reduce neural stimulation. The prefrontal cortex slows down. Stress hormones go up. Focus, creativity, and well-being suffer.

Natural light improves serotonin levels. Greenery reduces cortisol. Materials that breathe and age add comfort. In short, our brains crave complexity, variation, and life.

We’re not unmotivated. We’re under-stimulated.

Dead Spaces, Dead Behaviours. Dead Cities in India.

It’s not just what we build, but what we leave out. Where are the pause points, the spontaneous nooks, the shaded steps, the balcony chatter corners? Instead, we get uniform setbacks, barren plazas, and wide roads with no rhythm.

Behavioural impact? Devastating.
● People walk less because it’s hot, boring, and hostile.
● There’s no spontaneity, no bumping into neighbours, no lingering, no reason to leave
your building unless you’re escaping it.
● Our public life is dying. Slowly. Silently. Sterile-ly.

We’re Not Boring — We’re Being Bored

Let’s get one thing straight: Indians are not boring. Our heritage isn’t beige. Our temples are multi-sensory marvels. Our bazaars are symphonies of sound, smell, and colour. Our vernacular architecture was biophilic before it was cool, courtyards that breathe, jaalis that play with light (The famous Siddi Syed Mosque Jaali of Ahmedabad), materials that age with grace.

So why, in the name of “modernity,” are we self-inflicting this sensorial poverty? Why are our buildings either noisy or silent, our walls blank or photogenic, and our public spaces dumpyard or deserted? This isn’t progress. This is a slow euthanasia of culture, behaviour, and biological harmony.

Cities now look like the packaging of the products they sell: glossy, disposable, and emotionally vacant.

When you’re exposed to monotonous environments such as repetitive grids, glass walls, and no colour variation, your brain downshifts. Sensory input drops, and so does cognitive stimulation.

The prefrontal cortex (that brain bit that helps you think, plan, create) stops firing
like it should. Stress hormones rise, attention wanes, and before you know it, your mood
matches the concrete.

What Needs to Change in Our Cities?

It’s time to drop the Pinterest boards and procurement-led planning. We must ask: Who are we designing for? What do our cities say to our senses?

• Buildings should respond to climate, not fight it.
• Streets should invite a pause, not only transit.
• Parks should grow from lived needs, not leftover plots.
• Materials should feel like home, not like airport lounges.

If the spaces we inhabit are shaping our moods, movements, and memories, then our current cities are quietly making us smaller versions of ourselves.

Let’s Build for Belonging in Cities in India

Urban design is not about chasing sleek visuals. It’s about grounding people. Giving them something to return to. A patch of light, a sound of community, a wall that reminds you where you are.

Let’s demand buildings that engage all our senses. Let’s push for active urban edges, trees that aren’t ornamental, walls that speak of place, and materials that don’t look like they were picked out by a procurement software.

Or we can keep stacking glass boxes, slap on a café on the ground floor, and call it a “vibrant mixed-use node.” But blame who? When everyone inside is depressed and checking flight prices to Bali or Italy.

The built environment is shaping who we become. And if we’re starting to feel like dry toast, maybe it’s because we live in cities designed like a freezer aisle. Think about it!

Are you an urbanist, architect, or city lover? Urban Voices invites contributions on humane urbanism. Share your perspective at urbanvoicesin@gmail.com to join the dialogue.