It is said that ‘If architecture is how we move through space, furniture is how we pause inside it.’
Furniture can be viewed as a cultural narrative — a mirror of personal identities, social interaction and the diverse societies and strata within them. The layout of interiors determines how we walk, gather and transition through a space. Furniture is said to be where architecture meets the body.
Furniture can hold memories: a parent’s or grandparent’s favourite chair, an heirloom, a childhood memory. Rooms are spaces to welcome others and create new stories. The way furniture is arranged, and how comfortable it is can determine how people interact.
Japanese minimalist interiors are intentionally designed as quiet, grounding sanctuaries that lower mental load and reduce sensory noise. The Arab majlis rooms and the more elaborate Persian diwans traditionally feature wall-aligned floor, or low, seating around an open centre. Hand-woven carpets and cushions create a welcoming setting for large gatherings.
The grand interiors of the Mughal empire retained traditional floor-based seating, enriched with luxurious textiles and intricately decorated architectural elements. The American scholar and curator of South Asian art Stuart Carey Welch described the Mughals as “among the world’s most aesthetically minded rulers.” Fine silk and woollen pile carpets were not meant for walking on. They defined seating areas for the emperor and nobles, while allowing unobstructed views of the decorated archways, ceilings and exquisitely ornamented floors beyond.
From the Peacock Throne to the ubiquitous charpai, furniture has always offered an intimate history of how people in South Asia have lived and belonged
Mughal miniature paintings depict these richly furnished interiors — the emperor’s Takht-i-Taus [the Peacock Throne], the royal balcony or jharoka, or the raised platform beds of the khwaabgah or place for dreaming.
The quiet elegance of the Mughal interior was disrupted by the introduction of European furniture during colonisation. Chairs forced people to sit upright, replacing relaxed cross-legged gatherings and communal floor-sitting. Formal offices with imposing desks, conference tables with chairs arranged in hierarchies, separated hosts from guests and the elite from commoners, representing the power dynamics between colonisers and colonised. Desks placed on carpets established British authority over the Mughals.
British colonialists issued ‘Kursi Nasheen’ certificates to loyal elite and landlords, granting them the privilege of sitting on a chair in the presence of a British officer. In Pakistan, the word kursi [chair] subsequently became a political metaphor for political power.
The British introduced a very different conception of the home, one divided into rooms with distinct functions — a drawing room for guests, a dining room, bedrooms, and a study with a desk and bookcases. Urban Pakistani interiors largely absorbed the European-style furnishings in both home and offices, while retaining traditional elements, such as the jhoola [swing seat], the low pirri [stool] seating and the takht [flat wooden bench or bed].
One of the most enduring pieces of furniture remains the versatile charpai [charpoy], said to have a 3,000-year-old history. The charpai is multifunctional, serving as a bed, a dining space and a place for social gatherings. Its portability has even made it suitable as a cloth-covered backdrop for travelling puppeteers. Early filmgoers may remember Munawar Zarif wandering the streets asking “Mein manji kithay dhaawaan? [Where can I set down my charpai?]” The charpai becomes a symbol of home and belonging.
A bride’s dowry may still include bedroom furniture and a large sandooq [chest] for her personal possessions — a complex symbol of her independence as she begins a new life and an object once passed down through generations. Sadly, mass-produced laminate, with its shorter durability, cannot create family heirlooms. Life is rendered temporary, its stories mere disconnected sentences.
Furniture plays an important role in the storytelling of Pakistani television dramas, cinema and literature. Furniture is never neutral. Poverty is depicted through charpais, courtyards and mud architecture, while the well-to-do inhabit homes with grand staircases, sofa sets and dining rooms.
Author Ismat Chughtai made the quilt or lihaaf a central metaphor representing secrecy, intimacy, repression and protection. Saadat Hasan Manto’s stories contain recurring objects, such as charpais, broken chairs and hotel beds. In Qurratulain Hyder’s Aag Ka Darya, furniture represents the political transition from Mughal and colonial worlds to the post-Partition era. For Intizar Hussain and Abdullah Hussain, furniture speaks of nostalgia for vanished worlds.
Furniture thus becomes memory — an intimate conversation, a silent witness, quietly holding the stories of those who once gathered around it.
Durriya Kazi is a Karachi-based artist.
She may be reached at durriyakazi1918@gmail.com
Published in Dawn, EOS, August 16th, 2026
