Nine to Five

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder!” A statement as old as civilisation itself, reiterated through the history by writers, poets and artists. But is ‘beauty’, really in the eye of the beholder? How then, have we all conformed to the same standards of ‘beauty’? Are we emulating the ‘good’ because it was voiced by a stronger and louder personality with a sense of euphemism that cannot be denied. ... ... ... As design students, we are not taught to appreciate the importance of aesthetics, we are supposed to inherently possess the knowledge. However, each of us come from a different lifestyle with preconceived notions of how the surroundings should be. Just as curated knowledge cannot override the emotional biases completely, global exposure to standards cannot eliminate locally imbibed, culturally derived sense of aesthetics. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder… Only through art can we emerge from ourselves and know what another person sees. —  Marcel Proust...

Inspiration knows no boundaries.  It can come from anywhere and hit you. A tiny pat on the back might not make you cross over the bridge, but a smack across your arm will make you lunge for that one thing you desire.  Sometimes, you have a really well articulated idea, demanding narration and publicity. But mostly, you only hear whispers. Like small wisps of imagination, these whispers take nurturing and constant attention to grow into the stories they become. However, before they become stories, they go through 'growing up' just as we do. The infant with a hint of greatness ahead but lacking in communication. Anything you write at this stage, feels inadequate and raw.  Keep trying and your story grows into a smart child. Petulant maybe, or even stubborn and yet imaginative with an insatiable curiosity. This is the most imaginative part of the idea but with no anchors and unconstrained wanderings. At this point your story seems to move in multiple...

If you have been reading my blog for a while now, then I believe you are aware of my obsession with books. And with the territory of my love for reading comes my immediate lust for bookstores. Especially old ones. Each bookstore is like a treasure island, hiding deep secrets in the highest shelves and enticing me with beautiful leather bound spines. The older the place, higher the shelves and deeper the secrets.  I have been on the hunt for antique bookstores for a while now. On prowl, I often visit quaint streets and calm lanes, away from the crowd. Breaking all my assumptions,  the recent one I discovered, is in the heart of London and ever so exquisite. Any street in Leicester Square is full of people in the evenings. Drinks, food and good times. Come one, come all, Leicester square has something for everyone. The chatter and vehicles buzzing past me drown every sense one could feel, and still I walked steadfastly on my trail. My wonderful smartphone was thirsty and un...

I watch a lot of TV series. Popular ones, funny one, dramas, mysteries and fantasies. The list is endless. They demand no thinking or my full attention. I often can do other tasks while watching them. They are not mundane, but just challenge-less. Yet, somehow, in most of these shows, the intelligence, beliefs, smartness as qualities are often ridiculed. Understanding mathematics is ridiculed. Reading books is ridiculed. The desire and the talent to go beyond the ordinary comes with its own set of struggles. The intelligentsia, is often depicted as a group which is set apart from the rest. Often termed and called a geek. Defined by the dictionary as "unfashionably and socially inept person", yet "a knowledgeable and an obsessive enthusiast." Geek! A four letter word condemning the smartest of our generation to believe that it is better to be "popular" as opposed having brains. When I was in school, I was not the exactly a geek. Not someone who...