Vedasri Siddamsetty

Maria looked at the ceiling for what seemed an eternity. It was the tenth day continuously that sleep evaded her. Life was not what she expected it to be and these days felt more long drawn and unreal. The hopes that she had as a young girl seemed clearly dashed as her internal and external worlds collided. There seemed to be nothing that was in sync. Every door that she tried to open shut itself and every opportunity that she welcomed into her life walked out and shut the door behind itself. There was no way out or in her case no way in for the life of her dreams to venture forth. Every day she thought was a new day. She tried to will herself to sleep sometimes counting sheep to entice sleep or at times tiring herself with workouts and exercises that could put even an Olympian to shame. Again no respite. In the night looking at the ceiling, all she was left with were her thoughts and her expectations that kept mounting on day after day, with no respite. The last she felt she had slept was about 10 days ago. She didnt know why but she could feel the cortisol in her veins. It throbbed so hard that it hurt, slow breathing did not help, being to a massage spa did not help, hot water showers did not help, as a naturopath, she could not bring herself to swallowing pills, eyes gre tired, the body gave up but sleep well it was a guest. One online search as to the hard facts about sleep was enough to send her into another 10 nights of no sleep, for lack of sleep was not only connected to a plethora of health problems and risks it was slowing going to take away her life or even worse check her into the throngs of Dementia or even the dreaded A word, Alzheimers. The problems of this life, the issues that have come into existence in this century. She knew the risks, she could understand, she was educated, yet she could do nothing about it. At the time of slumber, slumber never came.

Maria did not have a job that she could bury herself into, she was a Mom. Her days surrounded her son, who did bring her joy, but then was she she when she was with him? Or was the role something she landed into with no clue of what it would entail? Ofcourse life changes with every single person one adds to the mix, but when the din loses the individual then what does the individual become? No doubt Maria had a real hard time making peace with the situation. During the day she did best what she could, entertaining the boy and hearing several stories on how he should be raised like. She even spoke fluently and managed to do things like a regular person. Its not like she wanted to not be a Mom, but the role slowly took away her work, and then it took away her hobbies finally it took away everything that she thought she was. Change is inevitable but also unavoidable, but meteoric fast change that spirals down outright scary. While her mind kept abreast with things to be done, that included all roles life fit her into, the body kept score. The role of being a mother gnawed away at her sleep. Yet every night she dutifully climbed into bed said a prayer tried a new trick to lull into sleep, exhausted chasing a 5 year old, telling him a hundred times to do simple things like wash your hands or eat your food to finally reach calm silence and then stare at the ceiling. She hoped sleep would come everyday but then it came by once a week, sometimes once in 10 days. Every night she watched her son, drift into sleep and stay there. The house was quiet. Yet she could not sleep.

Then one day she had enough. After almost 4 years of surviving on an average of less than 2 hours of sleep annually and reading tomes on how the sleep was going to be the death of her she decided enough is enough. Bidding adieu to online research, hearsay, yoga, warm turmeric milk, podcasts, meditation, and music, she said enough of this hoping business. Pulling out of her covers she decided that was it. Instead of burying herself under expectations of what she would not expect she decided to tug at her heart strings and dictate her day, listening to her body instead of hoping to do what the world said would be good for her or threatened that would be the end of her. The body you see does not only keep score, it also guides the way. She decided to stop hoping and start hopping. Every day after a long beautiful day, when sleep did not come she would gather her bed clothes pop on some groovy fun favorite music and simply start hopping. Hopping on one leg and then the other. The purpose of life was to enjoy the moment and so what if the future was Alzheimers dictated by a present that was no sleep. So what if tomorrow was going to be a consequence of scrapped knees and MRIs. Why bother with hope when hope was clearly not worth bothering about. HA! she thought I dont need to sleep, and in the dark of the night she taught herself to gaze at stars, learning the positions of constellations, she learnt how many breaths make a night, she walked till the sun rose on her, she read tomes all through the night to reach the last page of the last chapter just as the sun began to rise. The son grew up as the sun rose on her. In time she grew wispy white hair and wrinkly skin, she wisened with all that reading and all that me time through the years. As she read like crazy she had solutions to everything. She became the go-to person for everybody. The only way to know about things that life doesn’t herself teach you is to read and Maria read, with all the time in the world, she had double of the usual as sleep was not her Achilles heel, she knew. And then when Depression came she knew what to do, when obesity began she simply walked some more and then when Alzheimer’s came she knew the signs, she had read all about it. She opened her list of institutions that she keenly researched on, all through calm and collected. She checked herself into palliative care and as the days rolled by she patiently waited. Then one day she fell asleep, deep, still, calm, beautiful and never woke up. But never did once did she hope to sleep.

hope

/həʊp/

noun

1. 1.a feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen.

Tobias skipped over two stones and splashed his feet in the stream of water hopping on a leg before breaking into a complete sprint. A dashing 5-year old, he had all the energy on his life running through his veins. A very happy-go-lucky affable child, he loved being in the great outdoors as they call it. His home in Lahr was his paradise, but visiting his grandparents in Schuttertal was his favorite thing to do. When at Schuttertal, he spent days in endless wonder. He ran across the streams in the gorgeous Blackforest mountains of Germany, ate pretzels by the dozen, and when his dear Oma baked him his favorite apple strudel he gorged on it with gleeful abandon. Opa, as he lovingly called his Grandpa spent hours in the garage which also doubled up into his inventor hut. Opa loved tinkering with everything which he tried to make different or even better as he went along his day. In between time with Opa in the garage and time with Oma on the dining table or by the fireplace, Tobias ran around freely making friends with the townspeople and making friends with the other boys who lived down the road.

But afternoons were totally his, basking in the warm sunshine if the weather was kind or hopping around streams in the summer was his favorite thing to do. On a good day he would collect soft rounded stones, twigs, dried leaves, and feathers that different exotic birds would have left behind or shed in a hurry which he would dutifully bring home and put it in his treasure chest that his Mom handed down to him on his 5th birthday. He absolutely loved it and cherished it. This beautiful Sunday afternoon he went his usual path but the day seemed very different. The sun seemed to be shining brighter and the trees themselves swishing and swashing guiding the boy, the whole environment looked like there was a surprise in store. Like they weren’t telling him something. “Ah”, said Tobias aloud, “I can tell that something is cooking. I wonder what it is.” After his usual path on the trail he was planning to meet up with his friends Mathias and Sheldon and they decided to go skateboarding at the park. One step, one step Tobias thought as he marched up the hill.

At a short distance from him he say a twinkling of a box. Stepping closer he picked up the box which had vintage trimmings just like his treasure chest back at home. Dropping his latest acquisitions that he held in his hand into his pocket, he picked up the little box and opened it gently. In the box he gaped at a little fairy sleeping in the box breathing deeply. With every breath the fairy lit up and dimmed as the breath came out. The pretty dainty fairy looked so gentle and small. Tobias gently blew out at the fairy who blinked twice and woke up with a start. “Oh hello Tobias”, she said. “I was waiting for you to come along and looks like I fell asleep. How are you today?” Tobias said, “What! Who are you?” “Well I am Faith and Santa planted me here for you. You see when you have faith, you tend to have everything.” Tobias, a well-meaning and believing boy, believed in everything good, and had no doubt that Santa had left him the fairy. Faith few out of the chest and gestured Tobias to follow her. Tobias followed as fast as he could. Faith took him into the forest along a long and winding path. Checking into a tree she tapped thrice and the tree opened up a ladder into the sky. Tobias stepped in and there he saw a different world.

A very busy world, so unlike his slow life on land. A multiple world he thought, in a different plane. Oh My I can hardly believe it. Faith kept flying and though Tobias wanted to stay and look at all these different people he ran to keep up with her. In and in she went into this magical world and in and in Tobias went behind her. Passing by elves working on toys, passing by factories of chocolate being wrapped in candy of different colours he was deeply intrigued. Finally when she reached the centrepoint, Tobias saw the one and only Santa Claus sitting on a drum and twiddling his fingers. He had a mischievous smile and looked like he was up for some splendid adventure. “Ho Ho Ho”, he cried as soon as he sent his eyes on Tobias. “Young man! I was waiting for you. This year I asked Faith to find me a boy who showed faith in the world. Who took the world in his stride, who enjoyed the moment as it was, who spent time in nature and nurturing friendships. She told me about you and I saw with my own eyes what a marvelous little boy you have been. “I am so thrilled to welcome you to La La Land. Today you will see how far a little faith can go, and when you have a lot of faith, then well multiple worlds open up! In you go my boy. Have a ball in La la land. Here there are no rules, you can eat what you want at whatever time you want, play with the toys that catch your fancy and simply enjoy your day.” And with that he whisked Tobias away.

Faith smiled at Tobias and ushered him through the massive wooden doors into what just seemed like a wonderland. Tobias ran into this new world, jumping on the bouncy castles, sliding down the joy ride and playing with pistons. There was a water park, a jelly land and a dancing floor that he could see. But this world seemed endless and he could see no end in sight. Filled with joy and happiness Tobias immersed himself into fun. When it was time to eat he chose pasta with his favorite garlic and broccoli, to the mix he added olives and sundried tomatoes, Faith beamed at the boy. After his first course and after all his play, Tobias missed his Oma’s apple strudel which he remembered seeing her put into the oven. And just like that he thanked Faith for showing so much faith in him and jumped out into the world tumbling into the trail. He remembered that his friends would be waiting for him at the end of the trail and sped to catch up with them. At dinner he regaled to his Oma all that happened on what was a terrific day while licking up the apple strudel with mirth. Oma smiled at the boy whom she simply indulged so much.

faith

/feɪθ/

noun

1. 1.complete trust or confidence in someone or something.

The story of Padmavati, the Queen of Chittor is very popular. Not only because she outwitted the beastly emperor Alauddin Khilji, but also because she committed Sati, an act of self-immolation to protect oneself from imminent brutality from the enemy. While it may seem difficult to end one’s life and it sure takes courage, at times it is even more difficult requiring disparaging levels of fortitude to remain alive.

Zubin and Lilya were childhood sweethearts. They met as kids while cycling on Marine drive and slowly grew into each other to finally wed at the age of 22. Youthful, naive, and impressionable, they didn’t know what life would bring to them in the future. So blissful and much in love, the two of them stepped into their brand-new rented house. The joys of life. New beginnings. The Parsi new year was right around the corner and Lilya could not wait to get everyone in for a housewarming. Finding the house was a challenge, two-bedrooms for a young couple starting out was a luxury in Bombay, the city of dreams. But Lilya’s friend who worked in the construction industry as a real-estate broker managed to highlight one apartment on the block and Zubin agreed in a second. He worked in finance and Mumbai kept him totally busy. Analysing stock by day for clients and investing personal funds by night Zubin had chartered a path and left no stone unturned. Lilya on the other hand worked in fashion and was starting to design the wardrobe of Akaya Kapoor for her new film already touted to be a blockbuster. The two had busy schedules that wrought much a patience and forbearance. The apartment itself was the star of their lives at the moment. Done up by the luxury celebrity interior designer Sunaina Hussein, for a fraction. Zubin, Lilya were close friends with Sunaina’s husband Mustafa and they hung around together with a larger group of friends every now and then.

The days rolled by and between travels, time out with friends and work, Lilya and Zubin were blessed with a cherubic little boy whom they named Arshan. The maternal and paternal grandmothers Amira and Meher were over the moon, while the grandfathers Sarafraz and Rustom took their turns in bouncing little Arshan on their knees. The whole atmosphere was that of joy and the joy with which Zubin and Lilya walked into the apartment after their wedding, carried through all through their lives and surrounded them in an amber light making them feel ever so loved. Arshan soon grew up into a handsome young man. As a child he hung out with his Mum who spent hours in her creative studio or on the sets, and at times with his Dad in steely grey corporate offices. When he began his studies he studied finance like his Dad whom he considered his hero. But towards the time of his graduation and through his college hobby groups he discovered his penchant and inclination towards acting. The city of Bollywood crossed his path several times through his life. He landed an audition and then a role in a mega production house of Garmi Productions. Tarun Mohan who helmed the Garmi Productions put his money on this young man who looked handsome but worked twice as hard.

The first movie was a blockbuster. It opened to full houses all over the country and it was not going to be long before the movie reached the world at large. Arshan Mistry was a sensation, the success he saw was unprecedented. The man was charming and he charmed his way through life, through a movie after another, charming fans easily and effortlessly, he seemed to be born for this and everything came easy. Soon enough he met his sweetheart, another heartthrob of the nation, Sarah Wadia, their picture perfect love story became inspiration for several movies, some in which they starred together. Arshan and Sarah had twins, a girl and a boy, whom they called Alia and Bakhtayar who grew up happy in the hands of every indulgent Grandparents, Lilya and Zubin had their hands and their hearts full. This lovely family were all that dreams were made up of. There was nothing amiss and everything happened right. Fortune favours the bold they say and the whole country looked up to this ever so in love couple who’s every move was papped and who’s kids became India’s sweethearts. The love they received was immense.

Alia and Bakhtayar themselves scripted their own stories, Bakhtayar went forward into business, funding an airline and starting a multi-million dollar FMCG company that was ably marketed by his father and mother who became faces of the brand. Alia on the other hand ventured into politics. She roped in her star parents into becoming the face of her election campaign. The good sense of the family prevailed in every direction that they went. From salt to the cinemas, the Mistrys ruled the roost in a country that gave them so much love. They in return did everything in good faith, whatever they touched seemed to turn gold. The twins in turn fell in love, got married and had kids of their own. Alia’s husband a politician too Ram Nambiar was touted to be the next Prime Minister canditate in the country and he was sure to win. Bakhtayar married a very pretty Sophia Alexander who shimmered in beautiful clothes as she went about carrying out her charity initiatives. Their son became an acclaimed author who caught the nation’s fancy. Alia’s daughter Delnaz became a reputed journalist who was also nicknamed the Nation’s conscious. Lilya, like most Parsis lived a long and beautiful life. As Delnaz came on screen talking about news of the day Lilya thought back to the day of her marriage and when she first stepped into the apartment that made her so happy. As she looked out into the Arabian Sea she had thought, “I am so scared of what this life would bring. How we would live in this fast-paced city? How would we make our ends meet? And as she took in the salty air she thought to herself, “This is it. There will be no negative thoughts entertained, in my head or in the heads of my future generations to come.” And that made all the difference. That morning she set any thought of dismay on fire. Put the fear and scare on the Sati pyre. That was a beginning of the Mistry’s legacy.

Fortitude against fear, of any kind.

fortitude

/ˈfɔːtɪtjuːd/

noun

1. courage in pain or adversity.

“I told you so”, Nina’s Mom told her for the nth time. I knew this would happen, I warned you against it, I know, I know, were the phrases that Nina’s Mom most used. Coming from a parental background where she was always told not to question the parents, to know what is given is it, Anna, also known as Nina’s Mom lived a life highly shielded. Her own parents were strict disciplinarians who did little but expected loads. Growing up without information about the world at large, all her questions were answered by tight-lipped parents who lived with a sense of scarcity. There never seemed to be enough in their heads, whatever their living condition, there never seemed much. While Anna and Marc thrived on successful careers minting money after becoming successful IT professionals that sheer harshness of life literally got to them. The beginnings were tough with Marc having to raise a student loan just like Nina as they taught themselves how to code while at the same time getting on with assignments, temporary jobs and student politics. However, by the time, Nina came around, a pretty rotund child with shiny bouncy curls there was not a need for anything. But the mind was made up and all the wealth in the world never seemed enough. Nina was always told, they have it better, they’ve got more, we dont have enough, we need more and thus their world spun around.

In school Nina was asked to measure every step she took, she was asked to calculate every grain she ate, and then all her growing up years she was asked to check on every word she spoke. She was asked, asked, and asked. As words, endless words entered her ears she knew nothing better than to follow them. Her own voice was drowned in the endless tirades of her mother. Her father kept his words simple and short but notions were made clear through gestures and actions. Without any body to hold her court she never had a court anymore. The teachers at school spoke too, the shoulds eclipsed the coulds, the musts eclipsed the cans. The poor child was tormented even without having anything to be really tormented about. Words, well they can cut deep, they can mold a person into not being themselves. The loudest in the room can eclipse the softest, the harshest can erase out the meekest. That was just the way of the world. And Nina was soon becoming one such example. A bright child she excelled in things that she ended up doing alone. Like writing her science papers, and conducting specific research on particular topics. From following her parent’s footsteps in IT, after being prodded by them to continuously code, she managed to make her way into the world of science. And when science and tech collided, it resulted in an app that could make lives a whole lot easier. Though life gently prodded her in directions of her merit, Nina’s mother did not think that the universe could be right for her child. And every supposedly wrong turn on the road was approached with her favorite phrases of “I told you so”, or even better, “I already knew it”.

And today Nina got a letter from the investors in her app, there was a hitch. The funding well may have run dry. “We are extremely sorry to have to write this mail. The unforeseen circumstances have tied our hand and the funds allotted to seed funding the Vishwamitra app may need to have a break.” Nina’s eyes welled up. And looking over Nina’s shoulders Anna went on relentlessly, “I told you so. I knew that this would lead to nowhere. You should have listened to me. I know. I have seen life. After all what are you. I know that this is bound to happen. What did you think. Why did I stick to my corporate job. Inspite of all my creativity because I knew doing things like this will not work. I know my Nina, I just know.” For the first time, the girl who had always listened did not want to listen. She looked up at Anna and her Mom knew better, better than to continue. As for the rest of her words, they never saw the light of the day as she immediately shut up and let her daughter be. The incessant background chatter stopped all of a sudden. As for Nina she managed to catch the next flight out to Silicon Valley where she met up with the VC board and presented her case about the application. How close she was to getting the app into the beta phase and eventually strategising its launch became increasingly clear as the days went by.

And just like that, the app was launched, and the world welcomed the Vishwamitra app with open arms. At the launch success part, Nina was asked if she would ever consider selling the app if she got a price of her choice. As she clinked her champagne glass she said, “There is much for me to look forward to in life and much of it has to do with cautioning the use of the words that were entering her head. Temperance in thought, word, and deed, means a lot. To caution oneself from hearing things one need not hear. It is such a pity that we cannot shut out our ears.” She looked out at her colleague. A blonde with impeccable style. She asked, “Georgia, have you ever had the courage to not hear what you clearly do not need to hear?” Georgia smile and replied, “I once knew a man who over time turned stone deaf just because he could not bear to hear what was being said loudly and consistently. All the ill talk he could not bear and over 4 decades, his body willed him to shut off the sense of hearing. It is true, the body keeps score. Either one bends into turning into the words he hears, you are what you hear, becoming one with the words being battled if not battered into you or if one really manages to retain one’s thinking, may slowly go tone deaf.” Nina could not help but thank her stars. And a couple of years later when the journalist said, “What got you here?” indicating all the success Nina garnered. Nina unblinkingly said, “I tempered the shoulds.” And with that she winked as she said, “Maybe you should too.”

temperance

/ˈtɛmp(ə)rəns/

noun

1. the quality of moderation or self-restraint.

This is when we would start practising the annual Christmas play, which would be centered on the Birth of Jesus, the gift of the Magi or some such. At home I’d be bullied by my brothers on how unhindered my Christian knowledge was becoming. But the spirit of Christmas today seems to be more than religion, why I see Christmas trees being set up even in the ultra South Indian localities of Jayanagar. The red, white and green clothes come out after a year and everyone is suddenly getting on the plum cake making endeavours. The enthusiasm is highly contagious. Not to forget the Gifts, Secret Santas, the annual discounts and a work culture that leans highly to the west. Holidays are planned accordingly and no one questions all the work not done in December. It is the season to be jolly ofcourse for after all Santa is coming to town.

Bred on carols, stories, miracles and socks this month I present to you all some fun fiction. Tales that I am writing to capture the festive cheer and also the seven heavenly virtues. It is also the time we make our yearly vision boards, goals and perhaps take on a gym membership 😉 May the tales entertain you this month. It’s story time in December and while we go brrrrrr under the blankets here’s a warm read. Ofcourse one can guess the virtues and if not up for moral policing can simply enjoy the read!

So we’ll, it’s December and I am convent educated, so that means something!

Comic con is said to have about 50000 visitors in its 2 day extravaganza sponsored by Meta, it had us scramble to post reels, tag meta, indulge in AI and literally run around for wifi as we posted all that digital information, tagging, retagging, including, learning the ropes of the media, for one challenge they asked us to use Facebook, Instagram, WhatsApp, and finally to email ourselves the media before we could complete a set of 4 challenges to win a really snazzy meta bag. It was harrowing not to say the least because not just was it so difficult to maneuver in that crazy crowd, but it was also so hard to make sure we had the bandwidth to post all our creations, it was also an utter waste as the bag however snazzy it looked, was of the worst quality possible and began to crumble simply within three weeks of the fest. At the Comic Con we swore not to come back next year, probably giving it a year or two before we next ventured in there. The popularity of digital media, gaming, movies and characters was just amazing. Needless to say my watch list grew a couple of furlongs as we made out of the crazy populace. The cosplay was fun though, at a point I thought we met Thor, the man was dressed to the t, immaculately.

And then, the Bangalore Lit fest happened, I am not sure how many people attended the event at the Lalit Ashok, but I must say we could breathe. I have been a reader since I was taught to read, and Belle was the Disney princess I most related myself to as a child, dressing as Belle for every fancy dress competition. Ariel came a close second, well because she’s a mermaid and I loved to swim, but I did quite take to the zealousness of Belle, and of course her courage to see beyond appearances. I remember spending hours with my Grandpa accompanying him to his various government meetings, (he was an IA&AS officer) since there was nothing more I detested than staying at home. And on the way to the sometimes day long meetings, we would stop at the bookstore, buy a book to read and one to color or draw in and head to the meeting, where I would sit on a side or sometimes in an ante-chamber reading tomes, not realising the time till a peon would come and call upon me saying it was time to leave. There would be lunch breaks, there would be tea breaks, sometimes a lovely conversation, and sometimes cricket (if my brother was involved in that outing) but mostly it would be my time with books, to read in or to draw in. Writing happened sporadically, with my Mom being my greatest cheerleader, reading every word I would write, some were letters to embassies, who would send me goodies in return to my kind words, and others that got me my teacher’s attention in school. Then elocution happened, that came with writing, and doing that well gave me the confidence to showcase my opinion, of course, Twitter gave it a radical boost, my first Boss, Architect Yeshwant Ramamurthy showed what editors may be interested in, my father introduced me to newspaper editors, where my weekly articles appeared for about 6 months and then finally WordPress gave me a podium to write without being published per se. Like they say everyone has a book in them and I do wish mine could see the light of the day someday. And these feelings were only fanned at the Blr Lit Fest!

A meeting point of reader, writers, smart opinionated feisty people, chill Uber cool millennials, authors who have a point, authors who do not want to have a point, people who came for a unique experience or then some who landed up because their wives said so! I for one was so happy to see so many authors, who’s books I have bought or newspaper columns I have read in true flesh and blood, speaking their minds. Sunil Chhetri was there too, talking about the book Awakening the Blue Tiger, speaking of football, why India is not a sporting nation, what it will take and why sports should be mandatory in school and then in life! If not the Olympic medals he says, India with a have a population that is physically fit, mentally stable and healthy in general. (Maybe injured too, my mind thought, considering all the injuries sports people endure) But then he did make a valid point. Then there was Shobha De, who seemed much more intelligent than her books which was very refreshing. She had a rather lovely conversation with Surya HK, and there was an interesting point of view there. Ahead I thoroughly enjoyed the Q&A with Manu Joseph who rightly observed that in Chennai every argument is won by the statement, it is scientifically proven that… Much like his column his views are tangents and give one a unique point of view. Don’t hate me he says, and then firmly tops it up with, hate me of you want. The Maverick Maharaja is a new book that I would like to read, it was sold out at the fest bookstore by Atta Galata, after hearing Yaduveer Wadiyar, who did catch my interest. How difficult it must be to be a torch bearer of a legacy that man made irrelevant if not irreverent. But then I did get my stash of books, signed even by Kubbra Sait. That woman was a revelation, am waiting to read Open Book, but her conversation was by itself so much fun and so exciting. Her vibe utterly exquisite. Now I think awesomeness may just run in families. It is probably genetic!

For the kids there was a lot to do. My son was thrilled with the jumping castle and all the games, he was enthralled at a session by Priyanka Agarwal Mehta, who writes with the sole intent of teaching EQ to kids, I wonder if it can taught though, and of-course entertaining kids with her character of Samara. Tinkering robots got children to build a robot, which was super fun, while Whale Tales got them to hone their illustrious arty side. The resultant processes were super great.

It was surely just another day in paradise and though I missed lots, with 6 sessions happening parallelly and having an interest for almost everything it is certainly hard to be everywhere, it was one of the funnest day ever. Book lovers and book worms be warned, this is one place you may never want to leave!

To be a good architect, be a good human being.

To be a great architect, be a great human being.

– Seah Chee Kien

No, Chee Kien is not a Chinese scholar, with a long white beard, or a modern-day Sadhu playing golf or riding a bicycle across a subcontinent. He is a Singaporean Architect, who was once upon a time my boss, and now is the Head at RSP Singapore. That one line is distilled with so much wisdom and offers a plausible explanation to the ever-precious inquiry of what it takes to be a great architect, one who builds the built and sometimes the unbuilt spaces in our living and non-living world. And he could not be more right just as Samarendra Ramachandra, again a former boss, also the author of the book Architecture of Value, published in 2021. In fact, reading this book got me thinking of everything that Chee Kien would actively say every single day during my time at the leading worldwide firm that has a million square feet under construction at any given time. While goodness is a value, greatness is a quality and a fine one at that. It is embodied and then expressed in all its finery, one that is not just seen but intrinsically noticed. And all goodness or greatness comes from integrity, simplicity, and humility. In humans and then in architecture. That is the premise of the book and Ramachandra expresses the gist, leading the reader through a trajectory of reason before arriving at the conclusion.

There are a bunch of extremely valid and relevant points, that point one in the right direction, also affixed by not just the author’s personal experiences but a bunch of collective experiences from architects who have been practicing the craft across India. The author’s poem titled “It Comes” is something that I would like to imprint on my home decor, just so that I can read it every single day. In the few lines there is a truckload of wisdom, naysaying what seems to be happening, to toasting what could be, extrapolating again that in reflectiveness there is gold, silver and all the jewels of being alive. Being in the moment is extremely precious, that every guru tells us these days, but the only way to make something of wonder, something of relevance, the author reinstates is by reaching into the depths of one’s consciousness, into the mills of silence, of watching oneself to the brim, Here’s are a few excerpts of the said poem that begins the book.

not by cleverness of one’s mind

not by plodding a ritual’s grind

not of targets set or lofty missions

nor those well-rendered submissions

not by beckoning a well-timed style

nor a self-generated twisted profile

not for deluding others in many ways

nor bowing to a high master’s grace

in quietened thought, the answer dwells

like the prepared ground for a seed tells

the values learnt from a tradition grown

nurture the bold minds to hold their own

the subtle art to intelligence in design

where a human reaches, meets divine

in a silence deep, where the mind hums

quietly there, the truth creates, it comes

While the book begins and ends with several notes from architects across the country, including the likes of Charles Benninger. Jaisim, Shirish Beri and Yeswant Ramamurthy, Architect Shanker Narayan quite in essence captures what the book tries to say, in four words he says, “your architecture is you”, so one can be quite certain of where certain buildings come from, they are all after all inspired by people. To headfirst dive into the subject of the book may be too random, so the author first provides definitions of what is value and then what it is to be an architect. An architect’s definition he says must go well beyond a person who designs buildings or who supervises their construction but should ideally encapsulate one who contributes through design, thought and practice to the creation of our built environment. While having a scientific temperament is a must for an architect, there is no denying the crucial part that artistic insight plays in the being of an architect to enable one to see beyond the mundane. We all know that an artist perceives subtleties of emotion and beauty, then expresses them in various mediums – visual, literary, theatre, and music. But then, more important than science and art, more important than what meets the eye is the essence of what is, is value, thereby he says instead of hustling to build a marvel of science or wonder in art, architecture must be centered on a core of value and that value centered architecture can only take its root in a value-centered aspect of the human mind. A pursuit of value in architecture is simply a pursuit of truth and hence an architect’s creation is an expression of the highest truth that a human mind can produce.

The next part of the book explores the human story in correspondence with architecture focusing on evolution, need vs greed, nature vs human, technology vs progress and then the need for aspirations of empathy, oneness and freedom in the architecture of the future. The idea of the country India is explored, more so as a gesture to pay heed to our roots, to what value a motherland imprints on its citizens, and finally coming to why clarity is important, of where we come from, where we want to go for confusion is the cause of conflict. And the conflict can be done away with, when there is a pause, an ability to reflect,and understanding the essence of our being. The following chapters address concerns that the students of the profession face and the doubts a young architect may harbour. Of course none of it would skirt an architect or a person who is conscious or even is aware with crystal clarity of their reasons for the choices made. Like they say when you know you are in the (k)now!

Now here is a book that tries to make a very relevant point to architects in the practice, mentors students of architecture and presents a philosophy that every person should do well to embrace. It is a conversation with the author, one that looks forward to further initiating a conversation within one, and in that intent, championing the spirit of inquiry it wins.

There is something in the air of Goa, apart from the fact that there is lot of water vapour in it considering the beach is rather close, the apparent chill climes are what attract people in droves. In the peak season, Goa is unbelievable, the crowds are massive and unless one is staying in W, one would have to ensure massive reservations, dodge Russian travellers on the beach for the best shack views and of course be ready to be swamped in street markets! While eat, sleep, repeat could be the mantra of the day, swim, shop, surf make up for all the time in the day. With a beach or so walkable, Goa becomes more applauseable, with a ton of so of beaches there are some that are to be keenly avoided while others can be finished starting from the north.

Right at the northern most part is Arambol following which are Mandrem, Ashvem, Morjim and then come Anjuna, Calangute, Candolim before heading to Dona Paula and Bambolim. Of these Ashvem is highly popular with stunning views and places for chilling by the dozen, though the beach is much cleaner and more beautiful than the precincts of Calangute which is best avoided. Candolim on the other hand is wonderful offering up views of the fort Aguada. The southern beaches of Colva, Varca, Mobor and Canacona are much calmer and away from the party places of the state but are good enough to enjoy nature at its best. For food Susegado brings out the best of Goan cuisine, Thalassa serves up a Greek storm, Antares gives Greece a sigh and EDM a roll, Yazu the best of experience and cuisine without overdoing the Greek whites that are a given in the state of Goa. Gunpowder is rated super high but the South Indian fare there is not fun to say the least. Jamun in Goa sticks to Indian and the Burger factory pays ode to Burgers than are milled from a factory of sorts. All in all there is so much to eat in Goa, literally the cuisines of the world in one platter and the themes and mixes are just amazing. We stayed at the Hard Rock hotel and while the brand works I’d highly recommend Marquis beach resort, due to its proximity to the beach and it’s new rooms for sure. Located in Candolim it is very close to happy places and stores that imbibe the vibe of Goa.

But the star of this round of Goa was definitely Assagao, a quiet inland village known for leafy streets and lined with elegant colonial villas and Portuguese era churches. It is today a hub for creative businesses, home to design stores, upscale resorts, restaurants and yoga studios. The vibe of Assagao was simply amazing. My favourite haunts in Assagao were Rangeela and No nasties (I have long been their planet positive clothing consumer, right when they started in 2015) but Rangeela was surely a find. They stock most of their merchandise from Cochin Blue, a South Indian company that sells really pretty house and clothes wear. All available online ofcourse but one can’t exactly feel the vibe online!! The boutique hotels in Assagao feel highly Portuguese and while staying there one my indulge in laisse faire Portuguese neighbors sitting around in verandahs and literally swatting flies! The houses that have been converted to restaurants are so super snazzy that one would never want to leave. Jamun is one such restaurant where the attention to detail and the personal touch is absolutely touching. The restaurant that sits in an old Portuguese house, still holds the old well and all its rooms intact. The name and theme is inspired by all things Indian, specifically Goan, with a special mention made to the tropical fruit that is super indigenous called the jamun. The food by itself is delightful ofcourse.

Goa is fast commercialising, franchising and changing at the speed of light. Not too different from the world we live it. However it would have been nice if Goa balanced all that new with the old a bit better. That’s exactly what I felt being in the state of wonder.

In the last line of the limited series of Spotify, The Playlist, Daniel Ek says, when he thinks of the negotiations, he feels that he should have said that this is the future and if you want to be with us then you have to be with us on our terms. Basically he says that he shouldn’t have listened to people for things to have been better. But every tech company has a mammoth number of people it listens to, investors, the shareholders, the board but it doesn’t listen to the people who use these services. The users are the commodity, their data is mined and sold, when we ran out of land to mine, there are people and soon there will be something else. In fact tech companies tell their users what to do, supplying them with content that they apparently cannot refuse. I am one of them, the commodity I mean, in fact I cannot blame the tech companies, even plain Jane hoardings across the city can spark my curiosity and hence interest in most things. As I flex by abstinence muscle there are a huge bunch of influences I may have to stay away from, not to mention the influencers. I am told that the influencer market is almost inching towards the construction market in the world. The millennials certainly prefer experiences over anything else!

But honestly the Playlist, made me feel like I was watching the Social Network itself, probably every company in the Silicon Valley feels like it is absolutely hedonistic with a very sinister personal agenda. Digital communism then becomes an aforesaid notion, but then what is life without capitalism, ofcourse the musicians make the music, but Spotify makes sure it is seamless, enjoyed across devices across time and for that they probably charge a royalty and pretty much should. The middle man seemingly has become the main man. If you don’t want to fight, walk away, if you do not want to support something walk away. But can we really walk away from Spotify, Facebook, Twitter or whatever else there is? Can we actually walk away from the future to make some sense? Well it’s all until the next dawn of civilisation catches up, perhaps it will be hinged on morality or liberty. Knowing history that seems very unlikely. Exploitation against oil, coal, diamonds, animals, trees, crops, intellectual copyright and now finally data, where is the end? While we seem so busy making our lives more convenient with technology many we traipse back to the essence of humanity, even if the rich get richer and the poor poorer, let there be a twinge or perhaps more of humanity in every gesture. After all kindness is contagious as they say. That may spell some hope and that may be the future we all would want to walk into!

Phew! With all that traveling we decided to nestle close to Bangalore in another luxury tent and then a tree house. Well, I am talking about a highly Instagrammed place, sold so marvelously on the outskirts of Bangalore in Tamil Nadu, October was a month of tenting for us as we shuttled between the Kabannas and the Machan or the tree house fabricated by Loom Crafts Bangalore. The Treehouse was a welcome stay for of course, the view is always better from the top! But on that note, I must say that for all the joy that Instagram brings it mostly fabricates a story (well that sounds better than stating the fact that it tells a lie!), so at the Kabannas in Bedouin we were greeted to luxury tents, well in the pictures we saw a hint or an angle of the space, while in reality we saw 360 degrees of views that werent too kind. But the most beautiful part I must say and everyone would completely agree with me is that of nature. Time spent in nature is not just healing but it is also the most worth it of all. The only flora and fauna we were treated to were what we’d have in any urban setting, but were able to pause and notice them better.

Having nothing to do though is a boon at times and this was such a time. With a tiny pool at our disposal and not a much obliging weather we lapped in the pool for a bit before retiring indoors or heading for a walk. The part that I found most intriguing is the fact that the hospitality space built within a gated community being open for business! That someone could think of leasing out a plot in an enclosed gated community turning it into a money spinner is quite a win. Not having plots sitting as just idle investments is quite another thing. Just as slices of the investment is being put to some fantastic use, the marketeers of the concept property project partial views of the space to entice people to spend a night or a weekend at the tent accommodations with a tiny pool to unwind in. Just like Instagram allows one to view others lives in parts or through filters, wouldn’t it be lovely to view our own lives in rose-coloured filters! The only entertainment at 16 Bedouin are the cows that take an early morning walk on the neighbouring property, or rather some city cats who have retired to Hosur and hence the climes of Bedouin. It is an example of an extremely well marketed place, like they say a good salesman can even sell the Taj Mahal, but the reality is quite different. Here’s to the people who are not influenced by the influencers, and happily so, will probably stay far away from Bedouin!