Architect Apoorva Shroff, founder of lyth Design, brings a unique vision to contemporary architecture through her innovative use of natural materials. In this conversation with Asma Rafat, Senior Correspondent, Realty+, she discusses The Hungry Caterpillar, a striking bamboo pavilion at Ashoka University that transforms a conventional food street into an immersive, contemplative space. Combining handcrafted bamboo gridshells, 3D-printed concrete kitchens, and recycled plastic furniture, Shroff merges craft and technology, sustainability and experience. Her approach challenges traditional architectural thinking, embracing variability and ecological responsiveness. The pavilion not only shelters students but fosters interaction, reflection, and growth, embodying a design philosophy where materials, environment, and community coexist in harmony.
You went back to school in Bali to study bamboo construction. What did that experience unlearn in you as an architect trained in conventional materials?
Studying bamboo in Bali deepened my fascination with natural materials and their potential within contemporary architecture. It allowed me to explore bamboo not just as a sustainable choice, but as a primary structural material. That learning directly informed The Hungry Caterpillar, which is constructed entirely from bamboo.
The project reflects my philosophy that sustainability and ecology should be central to design thinking. Building with bamboo reinforced the importance of working in harmony with natural systems and creating structures that respond thoughtfully to their environment.
When I returned to school at the Bamboo U program in Bali, it completely shifted how I think as an architect. I was trained in conventional materials like concrete and steel, where precision and control are everything. Working with bamboo taught me to embrace variability, every pole is different, and its strength comes from collaboration with the material, not domination of it. I learnt how to grow, harvest and preserve bamboo, and how its elasticity and tensile possibilities open up design opportunities that rigid materials simply don’t offer. That experience reminded me that sustainable design isn’t just about using eco-friendly materials, it’s about listening to their logic and letting that shape the architecture.
Why a caterpillar? At what point did the metaphor move from a poetic idea to something structural and spatial?
The Hungry Caterpillar is quite unlike anything I’ve done before. The Hungry Caterpillar took shape from a striking image that stayed with me after my first visit to the site: a cocoon tucked into the green canopy, reminiscent of a caterpillar quietly feeding, secure, sheltered, and in the process of becoming. The metaphor felt apt, because a university campus is much the same: a nurturing environment where young minds feel protected as they grow, transform, and evolve. The caterpillar, then, became more than a form it came to stand for lifelong learning, growth, and a natural harmony, all of which were values I wanted to embed in this design.
Bamboo was the perfect medium to bring this vision alive. Strong yet flexible, endlessly renewable, it offers a poetic character that no industrial material can truly match. Its versatility allows for bold, expressive geometries while keeping the footprint light on the planet.
The pavilion spans up to 19 meters using slender bamboo woven at 45 degrees. What were the biggest structural challenges in making a natural material perform at that scale?
One of the biggest challenges was achieving the complex double curvature of the bamboo gridshells. Bamboo is a living material, it doesn’t behave like steel or concrete, so it demands patience, skill, and an openness to work with its nature rather than against it. Another challenge was bringing together different sustainable technologies, 3D printing, bamboo construction, recycled plastic furniture, and making them coexist in a cohesive way. It required coordination across geographies and disciplines. But in many ways, the challenges were the very things that made the outcome richer and more meaningful.
Bamboo is often romanticised as “sustainable.” In practical terms, what did sustainability actually demand from you on this campus project?
On this project, sustainability required intentional decision-making at every stage. Using bamboo meant designing within its structural capabilities and respecting its behaviour rather than treating it like a substitute for steel. Beyond the bamboo canopy, sustainability extended to the modular kitchens, which were 3D printed in concrete to reduce material waste and improve efficiency. The furniture, made from recycled plastic, addressed waste streams directly. Even shading was approached through crushed bamboo mats to create passive cooling.
For me, sustainability is never an afterthought; it’s the foundation. My approach to materials reflects this philosophy: whether it’s bamboo, recycled plastics, or 3D-printed concrete, I look for solutions that reduce environmental impact while creating beauty and functionality. It’s about using resources responsibly, designing for longevity, and ensuring that every element contributes to the well-being of those who inhabit the space and the planet
The food street format is usually noisy, transactional, even chaotic. How did you transform that typology into something immersive and contemplative?
The intention was to rethink the food street as an ecosystem rather than a row of outlets. Nestled under a canopy of trees, the pavilion draws from the metaphor of a caterpillar within a cocoon, a space that feels protected yet alive.
The bamboo gridshell canopies, inspired by the geometry of folding leaves, form lightweight structures that integrate closely with their surroundings. Rather than treating the food street as a purely functional zone, the design places emphasis on creating an environment where sustainability, materiality, and experience come together in a cohesive way.
How did the collaboration with Jans Bamboo and Atelier One shape the final form? Was there a moment when engineering pushed the design in an unexpected direction?
The collaboration with Jans Bamboo and Atelier One was central to the realisation of the pavilion. The bamboo canopies span up to 19 metres and are constructed as lightweight gridshells, using slender bamboo woven at 45-degree angles and topped with crushed bamboo mats for shading.
Atelier One led the structural design, while Jans Bamboo crafted the canopies, translating the geometric intent into built form. The final structure reflects a close coordination between architectural design and structural expertise.
The kitchens are 3D printed in concrete, while the canopies are handcrafted bamboo. How did you reconcile this dialogue between technology and craft?
We saw technology and craft not as opposites, but as collaborators. The 3D-printed concrete kitchens represent precision, efficiency and permanence, they are the backbone of the pavilion, handling structure and durability. In contrast, the handcrafted bamboo canopies bring warmth, tactility, responding to climate, light and movement in a way no machine can.
By placing these two systems in conversation, the pavilion reflects a contemporary Indian reality, where digital fabrication and age-old craftsmanship coexist and enrich one another. The rigid, digitally produced cores anchor the space, while the bamboo skins soften it, filtering light and air and making the environment feel humane and alive.
Ashoka University is a liberal arts campus. Did that intellectual environment influence the way you approached space, community and conversation?
Absolutely. A liberal arts campus is fundamentally built around dialogue, curiosity and the meeting of different ways of thinking, and that ethos strongly shaped how we approached the pavilion. Rather than designing a space that simply facilitates eating, we wanted to create one that encourages curiosity, chatter, and for reflection. It’s where design meets ecology, where technology and tradition coexist. The caterpillar-inspired street isn’t just a metaphor, it’s a living example of how thoughtful design can nurture not just people, but the planet too.
It unfolds as a sequence of shared spaces where students, faculty and visitors can cross paths, sit together or drift in and out of conversation. Much like a liberal arts education, the architecture resists rigid boundaries, allowing ideas, people and experiences to overlap in fluid and unexpected ways.
Students will live with this structure daily. What kind of behaviour did you hope the pavilion would encourage?
It offers students a comfortable place to unwind and connect. The open layout allows for movement and gathering, while the bamboo structure keeps it naturally cool and inviting. It’s a flexible space that adapts to different moods and moments, making it a part of everyday campus life. The Hungry Caterpillar creates a much-needed in-between space on campus, a place that encourages pause, interaction and reflection. It’s designed as an environment you move through naturally, whether or not you’re stopping for a meal. Students can read, meet friends or simply sit under its shade and people-watch. It introduces an open and flexible setting that becomes a subtle yet powerful social catalyst.
Natural materials age, weather and change. How do you think The Hungry Caterpillar will evolve over time, both physically and culturally?
I think physically, the bamboo will weather, deepen in colour and develop a patina that records sun, rain and use. Yet, as a bamboo structure, The Hungry Caterpillar will continue to exist as part of its natural surroundings. Therefore, rather than seeing this as decay, we see it as memory being written into the architecture, allowing the structure to grow more character and authenticity with time. In some ways, it was conceived as an integrated part of the landscape rather than a standalone project.
Culturally too, The Hungry Caterpillar is designed to evolve. As students pass through it every day, meet friends, eat, unwind or simply pause within it, the pavilion will accumulate stories and rituals of its own. Over the years, it will become a place that is associated not just with food, but with friendships, ideas and shared moments.
In a country where rapid construction often prioritises speed and cost, how do you make a case for material experimentation and ecological sensitivity
The case for ecological sensitivity lies in demonstrating it through built work. In this project, bamboo forms the primary structural system, the kitchens are 3D printed in concrete to reduce material waste, and the furniture is made from recycled plastic waste. These decisions reflect a conscious effort to integrate sustainability into material selection and construction methods.
Rather than being an afterthought, sustainability forms the foundation of this project, thereby influencing how the pavilion was built and experienced. It demonstrates the use of natural materials that can create spaces that are not only more sustainable, but also more resilient, more beautiful and more meaningful to the people who use them. When individuals see how a project can reduce carbon, respond to climate and still deliver strong identity and functionality, sustainability stops being an abstract ideal and becomes a practical, compelling choice.
After building something this ambitious in bamboo, what does it unlock for your practice? Is this a one-off exploration or the beginning of a deeper shift in your material philosophy?
The project builds on my longstanding interest in natural materials and sustainable design. Working with bamboo at this scale has allowed me to explore how ecological thinking, structural systems, and craftsmanship can come together within a contemporary campus setting.
The experience reinforces my commitment to contextual and sustainable design solutions, which have always been central to my practice. It encourages continued exploration of responsible material choices within future projects.
