This was an assignment given to the new employees of my new employer. When  I was assigned this, the thought of writing this kind of put me on edge since I really wanted to write something that I actually felt but was afraid. But then if I wouldn’t have written it this way I would have lost a brilliant opportunity to write exactly how I felt to someone who would actually understand.

 No judgments. 


When I was in my third grade, I was thrown out of my art class. I was not just a bad student, I just failed to see our Art teacher’s perspective. He wanted me to draw what he drew on the board and I would do anything but that.
I ended up disliking (I said dislike, not hate) art and for that matter, anything to do with it, sketching, painting and studying art.
This is the part where, you might be pondering about the epic irony my life has fallen into, for I am an architect.
When I first encountered Architecture, I was in my eighth grade. My first cousin was doing something that was not engineering or something else that had nothing to do with commerce. She, what I was able to pick up at that time, studying how to make buildings and that was my way out, the door, where no calculus was involved and geometry was my favorite anyway.
Over the time that I studied Architecture, I realized that no matter what or how much ardent you are about this subject, you will have a love- hate relationship with it. You will love it when things are going your way and you will hate it and wish you never experienced it when you try to pull a night out.
I have hated it too, and those were the times I thought about my art class and thought, I knew what I was getting into, for Architecture is art. But even after all that, I keep coming back to it. I, for one, can tell you with personal experience that you cannot ignore, neglect and change your choice when it comes to Architecture. All you can do is take a hiatus and then soon enough you find yourself back at its door. Such is the impact of studying Architecture in a person’s life and that this affects a lot of what I expect out of this subject life.
I wouldn’t say that I expect world peace and women empowerment out of it; not that they are unattainable out of this but because I am far more selfish than that, or if I put it delicately, inclined towards self-development, first.
I believe, that if everybody thinks about the small, good things they can do in their life to make themselves happy, the world will become a better place quicker.
And for the sake of the same bliss, I expect Architecture not to be a cause of my despair and agony, mentally and physically. I expect it to be rewarding as it already is, with the greatest job satisfactions of all, watch lines on the paper become tangible. I expect it to give me the same respect and love that I have for this life as an architect, which I will not say I have chosen for me, but I have been blessed with. For I expect Architecture to be a cause of joy for everybody who has a part of it, like a piece of cake.
Since it has been a month that I joined this firm, I have realized that it has indirectly claimed to make me experience Architecture in a way I have never experienced before, with my interest in it, of course, I believe that it will be a perfect medium for me to make me able to deliver Architecture the way I want to and hence, I expect my employer to not only be strictly educating or imparting knowledge about this form of art, but also help me gather and prosper the wisdom of cultures through a variety of subjects which are designed to help me realize new grounds of creativity, to open the world to my mind and vice versa.

The Murder Of A Fountainhead

“Please do your parents a favor and quit this. You’ll save your parents’ money and your time.”

The professor sounded vexed at the student and the rest of the class at the professor. Everybody hated him. He was one of those people who have always been an unambitious underachiever in life who thought that he was the best thing that’s ever going to happen to the department.

De facto, the department in itself was a strange place. The air through that corridor was arid and when you walk through it, it felt like a set from an ironic situation with the only source of daylight being the window at the end of it. Flanked by design studios (fancy for classrooms with drafting tables) with glass doors, it looked anything but the department of Architecture. I never hated it per se, but it wasn’t that inspiring either. It was dull nonetheless the walls were painted white.

The classrooms, however, had a brighter ambiance. But the environment went inert when that prof entered. I have to admit that he wasn’t the only one who made us feel unwanted. A lot of them would.

Isn’t it always that way, you’re the most hated batch; they are hopeless about you, thinking you are clueless about your future.

I saw his face fade away and his head bowing in surrender. He needed more time to realize the concept. He needed more time to understand the brief. He needed more time for research. He wouldn’t put it on paper because he wasn’t like the rest of the kids in the class who would just get the dimensions, make the flowchart and throw the rooms respectively. He wanted to create space, with a concept that justified the form and the function.

“You have to be thick-skinned…..” Somebody (I actually mean anonymous) once told me. “…….They are going to sit in front of you, will talk to you like a slave. They will f*** you with their words and the one time they would say ‘this is good’, don’t smile in fact don’t show any expression. It’s a trap.They have a fancy word for it, CRITICAL APPRAISAL. And the entire phenomenon (catastrophe) is called a jury.” I recalled.

And I was so perplexed by my own gestural resignation as till that point it wasn’t in my repertoire. I felt vacuum and the hatred like light.

‘What are you doing here?’ I questioned, though I somehow knew it was rhetorical. That’s the exact point when the bloody nostalgia kicks in like a drug.

You may tell me this is a bad design. I remember a very dear professor of mine telling me once, “Design is never wrong because some thought has always gone into it. The design can be either functional or nonfunctional, but wrong, never.”

I wish we always evolved amongst such invigorating souls. They knew how to appreciate, so we gave them the right to criticize as well. I wish we had teachers who encouraged us to do what we like. I wish they never told us ‘that’s impossible’ (though I do agree when they use “structurally”).

That particular juncture when a part of hope dies inside because of all that constant negativity, the quit worm takes its position in the bunkers of our heart and brains and fear of failure due to incompetency and self-doubt makes it difficult for you to breathe, that is the exact moment when a fountainhead dies.

A fountainhead never dies a natural death. If you think about it THAT’S A MURDER.

They killed that guy and yes he did quit architecture. He may have flourished if only he was nurtured properly.

Somehow we did and though we all still hate that professor yet here we all stand with our heads held high.