Ghosts of cubicles present

I recently watched the excellently funny and darkly humorous movie Office Space, on the plague of the current times: The non-spaces that most offices tend to be, where a large portion of the intelligent middle class workers spend their days, years, their life.
Pair that with the brilliantly researched book by Nikil Saval called 'Cubed' and I was in introspective misery as I contemplated the speedily waning weekend and my own entry into the cubicle of my office. There are times when I feel a seething rage at the hiss of the coffee machine, the steady hum of the central air conditioning system and the unnatural, deeply unimaginative white light that everything around me is bathed in. 

People find their escapes in their screen and the headphones which are attached to their ears like extra appendages during work hours, and the atmosphere is borderline surreal at times. The surroundings have an alternate, suspended and stifling reality. 

To quote the protagonist in Office Space, are we truly meant to spend our lives in cubicles, staring at screens? The nature of most modern work being such, it's getting difficult to find jobs that require something more out of us. The computer seems to be the ultimate tool that needs to be mastered and offers infinite challenges and distractions to keep one busy, or to at least give the impression of admirably being so.

The evolution of the office space and the issues surrounding the same have been better articulated and referenced by many others. Why do I waste my breath on saying the same old things, that so many others have said before me? Mostly to make myself feel better out of the rant, yes. But to also suggest that whenever we do have a chance to rethink and structure the workplace; architects, technologists, designers, anthropologists and business folks need to come together to define a better system that is more open, modular and ultimately more productive for us. (And for people like me- well, just a window to stare out of would suffice for now, without the crushing knowledge that I will have to climb the proverbial career ladder to land a corner office for the same.)

Time to kill

Of all the epiphanies that can strike a person at utmost inopportune moments, the ones about ones own character and passions is the most monumental. There I was, reading through some of my daily customary internet garbage, that this one shook my world. Well, not something so intense, but exaggeration goes a long way in trying to make a story more digestible. Ironic, in a way. So the digressions aside, today while reading an article on the quality and experience of leisure, I realized what truly drives me.

I've always been very vocal about the fact that hard work is my drug, that I can sit for hours on end at some challenging enough task, one that tickles my grey cells and puts me in a stupor-like zone where the world seems to recede into the background. Today, it struck me that I can only be comfortable in my leisure time, a time of doing absolutely nothing "productive" in the conventional sense, when I have filled up my quota of "work" for the day/week/month.

When I'm deep in a project, working and clicking away on the mouse to make things happen on that rectangular screen, somewhere deep in the dark recesses of my being I am creating a time for leisure which is guilt free. So the question is that, do I really love working, or do I love the feeling of having "earned' the guilt free leisure time when it does actually come my way?

Has the conditioning of this capitalist world been so thorough, that I cannot allow myself a period of nothing-ness, without having deposited in the bank of workaholism? Even more worrisome is the fact that most of my free "me-time" is peppered with myriad versions of distractions and activities, which are universally considered to be fun. And today I realized a deeply latent fear of not doing anything with my leisure, as if leisure also has to be filled in and scheduled out in a likeness of the calendar at work.

Is this what I do to myself or is there a larger force at play,one that afflicts so many more in varying degrees, across all walks of life. Maybe I'll schedule an evening of not doing anything, so that can also be cancelled out of my to-do checklist.

Selfie City

With the grand inclusion of the word into the Oxford dictionary, the authority on all things English, selfies have become as commonplace in the digital world as the beetle juice stains in all Indian public places. Yes, I'm not a fan. Why though? Why don't I like to turn my phone camera the other way around and direct it towards my own radiant visage you ask? I will break my answer down into three parts. Firstly, it's really inconvenient. I don't have hands that stretch like one of The Incredibles, to give me a decent vantage point for a well-composed picture. Most selfies tend to end up looking like enlarged, distorted nose dominated mugshots. And if they're taken in a mirror, then they seem amazingly narcissistic. 

Which brings me to my second point. Flooding the digital media world with your own pictures, taken by you, in various 'fun' situations is a form of socially sanctioned narcissism.
Lastly, the selfie, contrary to the coinage of the word, is little about yourself, as it is about the way that you want to be perceived and recognized by others. In a weird twisted sort of way, we put ourself in the spotlight, in a carefully manufactured setting, such that others can view us at that chosen moment. It defines us, by putting a visual in the mind of others, exactly the way we want it to happen.
Maybe it's mostly harmless, and I being the cynic-in-residence, might be overly critical of it's implications and consequences.

Still, it can't stop me from hating every situation when I'm asked to provide one, or look at my social network feed and see the plethora of people photos, all holding the phone in their hands and collectively posing the same question,"Who's the fairest of them all?"

The nature of place

Whenever we meet someone new, the customary ," Where are you from?" question is bound to arise. My usual answer is Lucknow, the place where I was born and finished my schooling from. But ever since, I've lived a nomadic existence and loved it. It's almost like I want to belong from no one particular place, so that I can call any place home. Bits and pieces of my thoughts , beliefs likes and dislikes have been born in all the cities I have lived in. How does one define where they belong from then? Why is it that people expect a definitive answer to that question? I guess, our hometowns are a point where we can start conversations with, connect with others over the memories they have, attached to a specific location. 
But more than anything else, I find that I relate to people who love being from 'everywhere'. Who are passionate about breaking down and rebuilding life over and over again, in new places, as fresh experiences are their biggest drug.Maybe I'm addicted to movement and need to slow down a little. Who knows. I very aware of the sad and beautiful fact that try as we might, our lives are too short to experience all the awesomeness that the world has to offer.Still, the acceptance doesn't dull my enthusiasm to experiment and explore.It's the journey that matters, in the end, so why not try and make it as eventful and exciting as possible?

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Elevators are such interesting places. You can almost hear your own thoughts ringing in the silence. Feet become terribly absorbing entities and one waits for the ride to be over with eyes peeled to the only source of visual change that is considered appropriate for staring: the LED board with numbers and arrows.

Dilli wali life

Moving to a new city has it's share of perks and pitfalls.This time around I have decided to brave the heart of the North Indian hinterland, rajdhaani Dilli. Comparisons to other places where I have spent most of my life are ready to spring to the forefront of my mind, especially since I'm moving from Bombay (I refuse to call it Mumbai)which has been part of an eternal megacity (Delhi vs Bombay) debate.

Delhi feels like a big city. The metro is a-mazing. I can't imagine what life would have been like, living in this sprawling metropolis, where distances are so much greater than Bombay, before the metro era. Announcements inside the metro include a plea to refrain from sitting on the floor of the train. My mind goes back to the plea in Bombay, to not travel on the roof of the train, as it may result in an unpleasant and untimely demise of the commuter. What a change.

The women's compartment here is marked by a very distinct sign board of pink with white flowers as a background for a flowy sort of font that says "women only". It's an eyesore. In a city with remarkably well designed signage, clean, crisp and very well maintained; this is just out of place. Wouldn't a woman symbol have sufficed, I wonder? More troublesome is the thought that most women might not feel this twinge of indignation at this kind of visual stereotyping. Or maybe i'm just crazy.
Feminist musings aside, I hope this signage changes soon. Just remove the flowers maybe...and change the font. I can make my peace with pink. 
(Another completely disconnected thought : The women here are remarkably well dressed.Ah the travails of trying to fit in..Sigh.)

Photo credit: http://anuradhagoyal.blogspot.com/

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I spent the first weekend here house hunting in Noida. But I was determined to get some time off from the mundane task to get the new city feel. So off to Connaught Place we went. A lunch and some window shopping later, we headed towards Indira Gandhi National centre for the arts. What a place. It has a sprawling campus( I'm not accustomed to this display of space and magnitude after the time spent in the tiny bylanes of Bandra). The North-Eastern art festival was on and folksy soft rock sounds floated towards us as we traversed to the CV Mess, where we wanted to see an exhibit of Indian audio visual archives. The magnitude of material to browse through in the interactive kiosks was staggering. Old recordings, video, photos of celebrated Indian musicians, artists, poets and dancers. In the hour I spent there, even as the realisation of my extremely limited knowledge of Indian art/music/dance/literature slowly dawned upon me, I saw how empty the place was. As we signed out of the exhibit, we saw the number of people who had visited this awesome wealth and repository of culture. It didn't reach 3 figures. 

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Momos! Finally a street food that I love, that I craved for in Bombay and is so readily available to me here.Also the aloo ki tikki, which is best had in north india. I could never wrap my head around the ragda chat and golgappas filled with warm matar while I was there.This is the food I know and I grew up on. Ratatouille moment happened. 
The weather is pleasing(for now). I'll keep a bottle of brandy in my closet for the coming months. The Delhi winter is coming. Bring it on.

Turning back time

The word "retro" derives from the Latin prefix retro, meaning "backwards, or in past times" – particularly as seen in the words retrograde, implying a movement toward the past instead of a progress toward the future, and retrospective, referring to a nostalgic(or critical) eye toward the past. 
The recent resurgence of all things 'retro' has me questioning the nature of the media, as well as what it says about the media consumers today. What is it about looking back into the past that seems so comfortable to us? Is it a very subliminal need to engage in processes and objects that have stories attached to them, the stories that we grew up listening to? Or is it a frustration born out of the sheer ease and ubiquity of most of today's digital technology?

According to this article, cassettes are the new(read old) media that are being considered cool again. The way we consume media, to be very honest, has changed very slightly in the past 5-6 years. We have shifted from the computer screen, to a phone/tablet/ipod screen, bringing with it a new factor of portability, but a whole new system has not emerged. If I were to try creating a mixtape, today, it would require a considerable amount of time and effort. ( I don't own a tape deck anymore) This perceived value of the object in terms of the effort and time required to create it becomes much greater than the physical object itself and will probably lend a hand into making the listening experience novel too. 

It is scary sometimes, to wonder what a world will be like, when all the media that we consume and love, is hidden away on our personal devices. These choices define us in so many ways. If I step into a stranger's house, and see a book shelf, lined with works from the authors I most respect and revere, it's sure to contribute towards our conversation. Records, Cassettes and CD's work the same way for music. Only that music doesn't exist on those formats anymore.
( I think it would be slightly creepy if one were to pick up a stranger's iPod and start shuffling through the music they own.)

I guess the point here if that the effects of media losing their tangibility are diverse and unpredictable. If I were to imagine a dystopian future, it would include people who were wired to consume media alone, on their personal devices.Sharing would recede into the background. The only entity who would truly know us, our choices and our tastes in media would be a faceless,nameless Big Brother; keeping  records of our likes and dislikes, majorly for the purpose of enticing us to buy something that they know we will appreciate. Or should appreciate.

I know books seem to be going the music way, losing their physical form slowly and existing only on a device. People say that art is free and disassociated from the form of the object that holds it. I disagree. I don't think I will ever feel that rush in my veins when I open a minty fresh book for the first time;  if the text is 'downloaded' as a 'file' on my tablet, one that I cannot smell, touch and make dog ears in.

When prose is poetry

" It’s only when the heart begins to beat wildly and without pattern — when it begins to realize its boundlessness — that its newly adamant pulse bangs on the walls of its cage and is bruised by its enclosure.To feel the heart pound is only the beginning. Next is to feel the hurt — the tearing of the psyche — the prelude of entry into the place one has always feared. One fears that place because of being drawn to it, loving it, and wanting to be taught by it. Without the need to be taught, who would feel the psyche rip?…. Without the bruise, who would know where the walls are? "

~ Kay Larson, Where The Heart Beats.

Cricket, holidays and memories

I was watching the movie adaptation of Chetan Bhagat's popular novel ' 3 Mistakes of my life' - kai Po Che the other night. I haven't read the book, because I think the author sort of lost the plot after 'Five Point Someone' and seems to try and do more of the same thing every time he comes up with a new release. Frankly, it's not great writing, but it seems to be perfect for the simplistic formulaic plots of Bollywood movies.

Kai Po Che was a good watch, nothing extraordinary or new, but entertaining nevertheless.Other than the plot though, which circled around the lives of 3 friends, the biggest draw of the movie for the Indian audience was its cricket-centric setting. It made me think of the times when I used to watch the sport, as religiously and with the same fervor that my brother and father did.

I remember sitting in my old house in Lucknow, glued to the TV screen and following every minute of so many One Day matches.Loo breaks had to coincide with the finish of the 6-ball over and radios were kept on standby just in case the electricity-supply decided to play spoilsport. All sorts of superstitions were followed, from the mildly absurd to the ridiculously bizarre and movement was judiciously limited when Sachin Tendulkar came to the crease. Celebrations after a win had a very specific dance ritual which involved a group huddle and jumping /skipping in a retarded fashion till the post match ceremony came back on air.

Cricket was fun then. As with most things in life, the sport and its arena has become too commercial over time. Trying to woo new viewers and glamorize the game has resulted in a cricket match becoming more like a Karan Johar magnum opus, a potboiler replete with dancing girls et all. The 20/20 format, and more specifically the IPL have made the game a shadow of what it was before; and it seems to have lost its soul somewhere along the way.

Ramblings for a Sunday morning

Much has been written, re-written and spoken about the ‘design process’ and the interpretations, discussions and opinions about it are as diverse as they are long-winded and non-conclusive. I think we as designers love that intellectual grey-area, the space between two opposing poles that holds so much possibility and choice. It is the reason why nothing in our profession is well-defined or written in stone. This induces everybody to be a part of the discourse around the subject and feel significant in their own little ways, like me, when I'm writing this piece.

From the time I stepped into the design world as a student, a good 7 years ago, I have been led to believe that everything that we do should have  streamlined process, each step leading into the other, seamlessly integrating into a final solution which is supported on an unyielding foundation of research, logic and precedent studies.

My conditioning has been such that if something comes easily to me, just popping into my head after I read a brief, I disregard it for I know it’s lacking in any sort of rational reasoning thought or study. But increasingly I have felt that some of the better things I have done, happened by accident, or when I just decided to go with the flow. It’s the age old conflict between intuition and rationale, between the left and right brain, or whatever other polar opposites one can think of.

So is it a case of me being overtly critical of anything I do, or design just isn't meant to be learnt at all? Considering that there is no “right” way to do things, a system in place which one can fall back on, how can experience ever be helpful? Every single time one is involved in a project, it might take a course so radically dissimilar than the previous one, that you have to learn and deliver on the go. Make mistakes each time, and not be afraid of them. Be a student of the subject forever, open to thoughts, processes and opinions that change and shift form like an amorphous multi-faceted being, living and evolving continuously.

Ironical as it may sound., it is this shift in perspectives, this constant questioning and analysis of what I do and why I do it that makes me believe in the validity of my choice.

Interfaces : New and old

With the introduction and success of the new Windows metro UI, a lot of debate has been spurred on between the different approaches to designing digital Interfaces. Apple's designs are skeumorphic, they try to imitate and reflect the apparent 3Dness of the real world with textures, shadows and such devices.
Windows has come up with a design based on pure typography, information design and ease of use, inspired from the stark functionality of airport signage. It's almost Bauhaus-esque. Personally, I think it's a winner.
What is the need of imitating real life in the interface, when it's clearly digital? That time is long gone when we were unfamiliar with digital tools and needed a sort of bridge to get us to feel more comfortable with a device and its UI. However, as with everything in design, context is of utmost importance. Skeumorphism maybe be getting old now, but it still has its pros.

What really grabs my eye when I roam the internet these days is the rising interest in the analog interfaces of  yore. I remember my mom mentioning that she wanted a DSLR like mine because she loves the sound that the shutter makes when a photo is clicked. It seemed more authentic, old school and has a certain  characteristic to it. The tiny click of a digital camera is simply not that much fun.
On one hand I see that newer laptops are striving to make their interactions more silent and unobtrusive, and on the other I see an app designed just for the purpose of making your laptop keys sound like a typewriter's.
http://fffff.at/noisy-typer-a-typewriter-for-your-laptop/


The feeling of getting a hand written letter from someone you care, can never be replaced by the structured emails of today. It is perhaps this emotion that drives us to look into the past, reminiscing about our old devices and trying to integrate those interactions in the objects we own now..

All these highs and lows,

And you're never really sure

What you do it for

Well do you even want to know?

You put on quite a show...

~ Smoke and mirrors, Gotye

Amorphous and organic,
Like a giant evolving cloud of cotton
So wonderfully grey, 
So painfully close,
Tainting the things it touches,
Making them whole.
It's something to revel in,
Something to celebrate.
Wait, watch, try, suspend
It will always catch the bait.

Design and the Internet

I'm an internet junkie, I admit it. Sometimes, I don't realize where the day has gone, just because I have been too busy reading blogs,news,tweets,RSS feeds or watching videos.I should have a tool to regulate my time spent on the www. There has to be a point where it gets counter-productive.

It's the sheer glossiness and design of media content, all packed up in pretty little boxes that makes me sit in some kind of a stupor, ogling at the screen for hours on end. I become a sponge, soaking in everything the curators/bloggers out there want me to,sometimes making them writhe in pleasure if I happen to like,share or tweet a link a  my social media network.( It shows up on the stats, you see). 

Reflecting on it, it makes me wonder if most content on the internet today is like that well made 3 minute ad video; amazingly edited and presented, slick and communicating so much in the blink of an eye. These product/service/idea explanation videos are in a league of their own, meant to dazzle and mesmerize.But consider this,  do youtube views and facebook likes truly reflect the quality and importance of a project? I do believe that design is meant for the people, so their opinion should matter.What annoys me sometimes is the ridiculously low percentage of actual intelligent critical debate and discourse on a topic in comparison to the flash news sort of approach.

The internet and social media are great, I love them.When it starts to dictate terms about what is good and what is not, is when I feel slightly uneasy. It's like trusting an organic, unknown collective consciousness and not my own.

Digital Hoarders

Clutter. There’s a lot that has been said and discussed about how having too many things and  too much stuff can negatively affect your life. It crams up your abode, leaving no scope for ‘white space’. It also gives valuable insights about the person and their way of life. Why do we like collecting stuff,  sometimes even the things that we don’t need or want? Maybe it is that our possessions give us a chance to exist outside of ourselves, or maybe a chance to attach myriad meanings to things that make sense only to us.

Considering that our identities are constantly being shifted from the ‘real’ to the digital realm; observing  a person’s computer, their various external HD’s and other storage devices can give us an idea of their hoarding habits. If I take my own example, I realise that I have tons of movies on my computer that I haven’t seen, books that aren’t read and music that hasn’t been on my player even once. Still, this doesn’t stop me from downloading even more of these digital artefacts, to lovingly store till the day comes when I would be motivated enough to go through them.

Somehow, having them seems more important than experiencing them. I do watch a movie once in a while or click through an e-book at express speed on a few occasions , but the ratio of the time spent in doing that is much less in comparison to the time I spend in looking for even more stuff to download and keep.

What does this say about me and countless others? Has our practice of acquiring things seeped into our digital habits too?

Just a few thoughts that mulled around in my head when I heard a few friends talking about 1 TB hard disks running out of space and my own laptop HD graph lurking in the overfull red region.

If stones could speak, what would they say?

Ahmedabad is a strangely attractive city. I say strange because its attractions (a lot of them) aren’t what one would call beautiful in the conventional sense of the word. So, yes, I visited the darwazas of the old city and the jama masjid today. Architecturally, these sites are a delight. But more than appreciating the motifs and carvings on the walls or pillars, more than marvelling about the structural strength and the workmanship of these sites; I loved the fact that they were a part of a long and colourful history, and the contrasts that were so enthralling to observe.

The roads were teeming with people, bursting at its seams with the variety of shops, goods that ranged from handkerchiefs to antique bells, from Christmas decorations to rat traps. 

Teen darwaza and the surrounding market and its gullis are a delight for any kind of shopper, the compulsive as well as the practical one. The air is filled with smoke and intermittent honking of the horn from a consistent stream of traffic that plies through these lanes. At short, sharp intervals though, one can hear a particularly loud Gujrati lady haggling with a seller or smell soap, or ittar or maybe even fresh biscuits being baked at a corner bakery place.

The darwazas stand like proud royal guards of an era gone by, watching over a city that had slowly and steadily changed its appearance and priorities over the decades. The spirit though, seems something that has undergone very minimal change at all. The people don’t seem to run, they still seem to have time to talk to each other, or maybe even smile at an unknown stranger. The darwazas- Dilli, Prem, Daryapur, Lal and Kalupar; are places of bustling activity. 

If one was to say that a sanctuary of peace and quiet existed right in the middle of Teen darwaza, I wouldn’t really believe them.But jama masjid manages to surprise me immensely. I feel gratitude for the fact that despite being a woman, I am still allowed inside the sacred premises of this wonderful mosque. The huge empty space inside, the countless pillars, the water construct in the center, the flapping of the pigeons’ wings, the atmosphere of reverence and tranquillity, the intricate and beautifully done carvings; all contribute to making jama masjid a place that is not just a building with great architecture, but an experience that needs to be sensed.

Picture: Front facade, Dilli darwaza

Those faces

Nothing much remains anymore,

Except stray snapshots of a blur;

A silhouette of a girl at the door

A fragment of the people who were..

The miniature vessels, an endless game,

Those myriad faces with no name;

Woven into young innocent memories,

Courtyard capers and fingernails with grease.

The countless wrinkles and glassy eyes,

A cloud of dust and a gleaming road

Dissolved into The Sand that flies,

Those hands that built that abode.

A story so common yet untold,

A frame bent around a sari's fold,

It takes me back to a time so tame;

To the varied faces with no name... 

~Inspired by the short story 'The Real Durwan' -Interpreter of Maladies, Jhumpa Lahiri.

Made me think of all those people who worked around the house when I was a kid.I wonder where they are now...

Khaana Peena

The place where I go to feed the good ol' tum when hunger strikes.Though it's a lot more than just food that you can find there...The best conversations are brewed around good grub.I certainly think so:)

Design gyan..C/o DCC

We are approaching the end of a signature course here in NID called Design concepts and concerns.It has been a hectic, chaotic, enlightening and engaging experience that has left most of us thinking.The pressure of understanding a problem, coming up with an apt solution and then conveying it in the best possible manner has left most of us sleep deprived and longing for the weekend.

What follows is a list of the things that have dawned upon me in the process( a few of which need to be taken with a pinch of salt)

* Form and structure go hand in hand in making every design possible.

* Critiques are valuable.Random comments and opinions are not.

* Out of intense confusion comes curiosity, which in turn leads to clarity.

* Group work is hard.Persistence and responsibility are required at all times for the work to be cohesive and successful.

* When the mic malfunctions, it is a sign from above that you should stop talking.

* As an explanation gets verbose and lengthy, attention span decreases radically.

* Humor and interactivity go a long way in making a presentation memorable.

* Doodling in class gets one good ideas at times.

*What you know is as important as how you can communicate the same to your audience

* Taking a stand and doing self analysis is imperative, even if one's understanding of a subject is limited.One should only realize that there is more to learn.

* Sometimes good designs fail.It is possibly because it is close to impossible to impress everyone.

* Resources and experiences when shared lead to a huge database of knowledge that one can refer to

in times of need.

* Design for me , engenders an attitude to 'know more about more'

A few design gyan nuggets that I gathered in the process...wonder what more will I realize in the next 3 days.I'm curious to know...

http://www.design-concepts-and-concerns.blogspot.com/

Updates

So much has transpired in the time since I wrote my last post that I wonder where to begin.

The folks have been transferred to good old Lucknow, so last few trips to Baroda have been taking up my weekends.I took my driving test, which was a laughable farce. I just had to put the car in 1st gear and move like 10 inches and it was done.This, after my application was already signed by the RTO inspector.

Quite an anticlimax actually.I had too much preparation for the test.

College has been crazy. After 3 long weeks of singing,dancing, being yelled at and general mayhem( that we were never allowed to laugh at), we were 'welcomed to the NID family'.Suffice it to say it was a very wet and wild welcome indeed. A freshers party and a lot of friends later, I can safely say that the campus feels like home now.Classes are good and work is just the perfect amount right now.Not so much that I have to crib, or not so less that one feels useless.

I miss my friends though.Feel like going to Bombay every weekend, but something or the other crops up.But I've promised myself that I will go to my favorite city before the monsoons are over.

 Such a dear diary sort of a post. It was due I guess.

:)

Me and my friends

It feels a little empty inside. To leave behind so many people, so many memories and so many places is like letting go of a part of yourself; a part you had grown to love over a period of 4 long years.

I guess that is why so many people want a break after completing college.That lost part of you has to be replaced with something else.

I know that all of us promise to keep in touch and act as if things are going to change only slightly. But to try and console oneself with that thought is being stupid.Things will never be the same again.That is not to say that they will get worse...they'll just be different.

I hope then, today, that I can grow to love the 'difference' as much as I loved what was before.

I miss it a lot right now though.The hostel madness, the college vella-ness, the lanes of viman nagar, andhra, ccd, chicken momos, cribbing about work....and most of all the people.My friends who have become family. 

I love you all.