A Rural Life

Untie my wind-tangled curls

in the cold mountain waterfall,
when silvery rounded pebbles
leave a mossy kiss on my bare feet.

Discover winding unknown ways
through gurgling giggling waters,
on the gentle rhythmic strum of
swaying coconut palms.

Coucal’s songs echo musically,
from the shaded green valley foliage.
Promise me a brown-winged appearance
reserved only for the lucky few!

As bamboo leaves rustle,
over the emerald green pond,
catch a blurry blue flight of a kingfisher,
on the stony fabric all around.

An apprehensive dive
into the flowing river,
knows not what
toes aflutter might step on...

As a dry leaf drifts
upon the rippled water sheet,
let my heart tune in
to hum at the same frequency...

Along the mangrove-fringed backwaters
Steer the boat calmly forward,
as eagles and black ducks fly low
to touch the ruffled wild waves.

An idyllic lighthouse gracefully poses,
upon the blue-grey muffled horizon,
watchful of the angry roaring sea
that bursts onto fish -flavoured coasts.

From the wise ocean to the knowing river,
the still lake to the restless stream,
memories freeze within raindrops,
then overflow from many -a kohl-lined eye.

A life less urban,
wrapped in the rustic rural,
with bitter sweet festive emotions,
I get to savour one year at a time!

:: Family gatherings with monsoon escapades in the Western Ghats in India this summer ::

#vagamon #indianmonsoon #rurallife #kerala #naturescapes

Valley Tunes

Under the cool shade
of pomegranate trees,
life drifts sluggishly,
tugging a sunlit afternoon.

I love the patterns,
leaves draw upon my skin.
Of coffee-coloured watermarks,
stippled by the breeze.

My ruled open diary
is ready to be filled,
with unlimited unruly poems
of dramatized daily musings.

Birdsong garnished
with the buzz of bees,
rebounds in a distant echo
from the dust green vale,
where a lazy town sits tucked in.

Mountain trails take me along…
nowhere but just here,
to dwell in this fluttering symphony
of a thousand valley tunes.

:: I found this poem scribbled in my diary on one sun filled mountain-top afternoon in the pomegranate orchard at Al Hamra, Oman, during our Eid break .

Sometimes it feels like life is going nowhere in particular. That's when we need feel-good poems to envelope us in a safe loving dreamy embrace.  Things will unfold in their own time. Have faith in yourself...Until then, enjoy the summer!

:: Pomegranate Orchard ::

:: Handwritten draft of the poem :: 

What's a Poem?

When a grey cloudy roaring sky,
suddenly turns crisp blue
and whistles with the wind,
a poem is born…

When you were all prepared
for a rough hectic day ahead,
but it turned out to be
much softer and sunnier instead.

A poem is that little moment
tucked between two happy thoughts.
It's the stamp of time just when
a fluid darkness spills into dawn.

When you couldn't sleep all night,
it's the blanket of warmth,
that feels like a full deep slumber,
with a dream, minutes before you woke up.

A poem is the correct shade of pink,
slightly brighter and richer,
than your natural lip colour,
which makes your smile better than usual.

When you remember old days,
and quietly nod to yourself…
Someone looks back from the mirror,
reassuring, you've come a long way.

A poem is hidden
in a sleepy snail shell,
waiting to be picked up on a rainy day,
by muddy little playful fingers.

It's the song that shadows write
on blank sunny white walls,
listening to the leaves and birds,
as they turn it into a mural.

A poem is a doodle in my diary,
scribbled somewhere on idle pages,
amidst awkward pauses of work meetings,
for a quick refresh of my mind.

Between the last bronze of the sun
and the first pearl drop of the moon,
there is always a poem,
peeping in and out along silver linings.

:: This poem was written for poetry reading events and workshops for school children, lined up for this summer at the School Book Fairs, that I was supposed to be a part of.  I wanted to teach the children, how a collection of beautiful thoughts can become a poem! Unfortunately, because of the current situation of the world, schools are on distance learning and these sessions got cancelled.  This poem remains in my mind as a bouquet of quietly beautiful things, to refresh the mind and bring back some positivity . 

This poem is inspired by the question in the picture book "This is a Poem That Heals Fish" by Jean-Pierre Simeon", translated into English by Claudia Zoe Bedrick. I got a glimpse of the book on 'the marginalian' by Maria Popova :: 

Afternoon

In the perfectly cool shadows
of a late February afternoon,
neither too harsh like the midday sun,
nor too mellow like the evening,
the pergola casts a poised pattern
on the sun- washed walls.

Bougainvillea spreads her spiky arms
with pink- painted manicured fingers.
The world can stay busy,
but the leaves and buds are resting.
Like the cats in the sunbeams,
meditating on the rhythm
of their own tapping tail tips.

There's something so poetic
about Ramadan afternoons,
especially when coordinated
with the month of spring!

:: Afternoon is the fourth addition to this series of my earlier three poems - My Morning, Night and Evening :: 

https://quiethappiness-tasha.blogspot.com/2013/01/my-morning.html

https://quiethappiness-tasha.blogspot.com/2017/05/evening.html

https://quiethappiness-tasha.blogspot.com/2012/12/night.html

The City within Me

Where is that large rain tree that used to cover the street with dappled sunlight? In that place stands an unfinished flyover bridge blocking all the light at ground level. Has it really solved the traffic problem? Perhaps not. But it has definitely spoilt the spatial quality of the place.

There’s a posh newly built glass building, I was invited to. It had an overflowing garbage dump right next to the high-end , not so pedestrian friendly entrance. Most well dressed office goers must be noticing this every single day as they step over. But no-one wants to do anything about it. Once you reach your air conditioned top floor office, little do you care about what happens on the street!

I was told about a “ High Street” , a so called happening location in this newly grown limb of the city. It is accessed through a slum, that seems to look bigger and bigger on the google maps each year. People have just trained themselves to turn a blind eye to everything that weakens the urban fabric.

I like how the word ‘park’ is so loosely used in the city context. There are taller and taller glass buildings of IT parks, but lesser play parks. And almost no place where one can ‘park’ a car, a bike and definitely not a cycle! (because even though it might be the most convenient means of transport, some think riding a cycle says you are not doing very well in life!)

I see no proper footpaths on these new streets, of course no cycle paths, lesser trees and therefore lesser birds. The experts also had plans to bulldoze out a road through the hills amidst the city to solve the traffic problems. The hills are the only green lungs left in this ever spreading cancerous growth of this city...this city that used to be my only home once upon a time...

All this is called “ development”. I am an architect, but this kind of haphazard development, with little thought on urban design and holistic town planning, deeply disturbs me. Beauty in irregularity and unplanned growth can be appreciated only in nature, not in the urban context.

I live in another city but this city still lives within me. This is where I was born and raised. I spent the first 20 years of life here. This city helped me germinate from a seed to a shrub. And hence I don't have a business relation with this city, I have an emotional connection.

But now when I visit it, I miss the soul of the city. Those old heritage stone houses are all being demolished one after the other to make way for new fancy buildings. All cute lanes and coloneys with quaint bungalows and balconies are gone. Streets looks different, with newer and taller structures, lesser greenery. There used to be a lake somewhere here. Its now blocked by some unknown unfinished construction. I have to turn on google maps to figure out my orientation.

I see, most people around me are staring into their smart phones, following that blue marked path, not even knowing where it leads to. The destination was filled in by someone else a long time ago. It is perhaps totally changed now. Yet, they continue to blindly trace that line without a doubt, without a question...perhaps all through their lives, with a hope to make a better living...

Back in 2005, I am glad I continued with the prototype design for “ (Urban) Empowerment Centre for (Rural) Women” as my Thesis topic for my final year of Architecture. My professors we advising me to go with some ‘happening’ topic such as an IT Park! But I wanted to design something I would continue to believe in throughout my life. I realise now, all my research towards that empowerment centre was the beginning of everything that took me to Amaira the little woman!

Its now upon people like us, who left the city in search of greener pastures, who need to think differently and find ways to restore the lost charm of our city and bring the greenery back. We need to return with arms spread out, as grown trees, to offer a selfless shade and share lessons learnt all along the way, with a hope to make a positive difference and give something back to our city.

#punecity #giveback #emotionalconnect #citywithinme #holisticplanning #restorelostcharm #undevelopment  #mycitymyresponsibility 

Soothing Shades of Childhood

Our childhood spaces leave a deep psychological imprint on our minds. My childhood garden has shaped me as a Poet, an Artist and as a Landscape Architect. It's only now that I realise this connection that began sprouting in those early days.

Those tall trees, flowers, birds, squirrels, our cats, the swing, the balcony, the ladder short cut, the back door, the water tank with fish, the terrace, the stone pathways , the creepers, the dappled sunlight and all that magic in the soothing “shade”of our home, is a nostalgic collection of memories we shall carry in our hearts forever.

In our mind lanes, my sister , my cousins and I continue to celebrate our childhood garden and our family home, not just one last time, but over and over, before saying a final goodbye to it in the real world.

I cannot describe it in any other language but my mother tongue!

सावली 

चिक्कूच्या झाडावर चढून, 

पुन्हा एकदा खाली पडूयात!

हौदात पाय बुडवून, 

गुपचूप दुपारी मासे पकडूयात.

झुडपातल्या फटीतून 

शेजारी जाऊयात,

पुन्हा एकदा त्यांच्या झाडाचे 

चोरून पेरू खाऊयात!

चाफ्याची फुले वेचुन,

ऊंच शिडीवरून 

चोर दरवाज्याने गच्चीत लपून बसूयात!

आईच्या चाहाचा एक 

गरम घोट घेऊयात... 

मोगरा फुललेला असताना,

कोकीळ गुलमोहराच्या फांद्यांवर गात असायचा. 

संक्रांतीचा वेल आकाशाला भिड़ायचा!

चला पुन्हा एकदा ती गाणी एकूयात!

लहानपणीच्या आठवणीत 

कायमचे रमून जाऊयात!

जिन्याखाली भातुकली मांडूयात,

आवळा सुपारी खाता खाता,

पत्त्यांचे तीनशेचार डाव खेळूयात!

पावसाळ्यात छत्री घेऊन, 

टाकीत पाणी भरले का ते बघूयात,

उन्हाळ्यात पापड मिरच्यांचा सोबत 

गार गादीवर चांदण्या मोजूयात. 

लाडके मांजर आणि झोका,

खिडकीतून खोलीत येणारा दुष्ट पिवळा बोका!

मागच्या दाराने त्याला बागेत हाकलूयात.

हे सारे परत एकदा उपभोगूयात.

आज जगात कुठेही असलो, 

तरी मनात आपण सगळे लहानपणीच्या सावलीतच फिरतो...

पुन्हा एकदा एकत्र राहून बघूयात.

ते दिवस शेवटचे जगून घेऊयात!

 - नताशा बेडेकर

One Quiet Day

Keep one quiet day
just for yourself,
to stare at the blank blue sky
through the windward window.
Bring back the effervescent hope
into a hardened heart.

I am able to love
and open to receiving,
when all my pieces
fit in the right place.
Keep that one fulfilling day,
to become wholesome again.

Heal yourself first,
to be a care-giving mother,
and a creative partner;
all roles that go amiss.
when the one precious day
gets mixed with the mundane.

I want to listen to what spaces speak.
Curtains whisper sweet nothings
to the sleepy leaves.
Her playful eyes come alive
as she walks a lazy gait.
I hope to find her here again …

Bedsheets echo patterns of the vines,
bamboo lamps jive with the breeze.
I want to be in this frame!
Take me home, O shaded lanes…

to that one secret day
I have kept aside just to be myself!

The Becoming

As a little girl,
she jumped and skipped like a brook,
chasing sunshine and pretty pink buds
along her bubbly route.

She trekked across hills and valleys,
as a young lady, dodging rocks,
finding ways around shrubs, like a stream,
caressing dreamy flowers on summer days,
then fearlessly diving into waterfalls.

She flowed along fertile plains,
in a calm curvy grace of a mother,
leaving her gentle touch upon the banks,
where children splashed and played.
Like a river she carved her own course,
choosing a strong individual identity.

Where tall wise grasses keep company
with old trees and lone owls,
comes the difficult turn in life - - -
Her womanly flow feels heavier.
Edges rugged, paths unclear, lonelier.

Sooner or later, she knows,
the current of change has to be confronted.
It's not about losing your persona,
but a chance to become
a higher version of yourself…

On wide open vistas of slow sunsets,
where the winds weave salty stories,
NOW is the time, THIS is the place,
to enter your abundant era
and finally BECOME
the deep, profound ocean!

:: Inspired by the poem "Fear" by Kahlil Gibran :: 

For me and many women like me, stepping into this scary phase of perimenopause , feels like a huge change from within. We just need to calmly accept, even though things may not be the same as before, its the beginning towards something new, perhaps a higher version of ourselves... 

:: Becoming Blissful at Bali :: 

Unveiled

Radiant, shining, bright.
She looked dazzling that night.
Blushing in a reddish gold sari
like a newly wed bride.

But the wicked darkness cast an evil eye
and trapped her in a thick black spell.
She prayed in silence
for the dense fog to unveil.

Soon the veil began to shift
from one phase to the other.
Her shine was still intact,
but unrevealed to the world.

As the long cursed hour passed,
from childhood to youth
then motherhood to mid life,
all stories flashed across her eyes.

When times are uncertain,
one needs to stay calm and pause.
Our aura isn't all lost,
It's only under wraps.

Blurring the lines
between what truly exists
and what can be perceived,
is an eclipse, waiting to lift.

And when that closed door slides open
our old vibrant self
will rise again in the vast sky
to glow like the full moon!

:: Inspired by the Lunar Eclipse on the night of September 7th. :: 

#lunareclipse #celestialwonders #quiethappinesstasha #takeapause 

The Survivor

When we moved to this house, I brought along with me all my potted plants. The largest one amongst them was my frangipani. When I saw the community garden, I thought it was the perfect place to replant the frangipani and let it bloom freely in the deep soil, beyond the confines of the pot. With the help of the kind gardener, I planted it next to the entrance to our block. This was back in 2022 when our dear shrub was just about a metre tall.

Last winter, with all the refurbishment and waterproofing works in the community garden, my favourite frangipani was in danger. I decided to take a chance by moving it into a large planter until they finished the repair work. Many of the larger trees with thick roots did not survive this process. They were mercilessly removed from their place.

I continued to water the frangipani through these difficult months of its confinement, with a hope that it would survive.

Last spring, when finally all the work was completed and the garden was transformed with new soil, new grasses and some new plants, my brave survivor found a fresh new opportunity to grow. With the help of the kind gardener again, I transferred my frangipani on the other side of our entrance, safely tucked away next to the balcony, from where I hoped to touch its leaves and flowers.

It's been three to four months now and our dear survivor has branched out till the balcony. I see the thick bunches of white plumeria flowers and I remember my *Frangipani Fest with the other favourite frangipani trees from a year ago! Sadly, none of them are in the garden now. They did not survive…

I see Ginger and Simba, the oldest two cats from the neighbourhood very happy to have their favourite hiding places back again. However, there is no sign of our dear cat Rumi. She never returned…

But our lone survivor, Miss Frangipani has now reached the first floor, spreading her roots and branches freely. I feel so happy, she is officially a tree, who survived and is thriving, showering us with many fragrant white blossoms.

Sometimes, my life in this country feels like the frangipani in the confines of a large pot ... All these years, there was room in the pot. But now, the roots have no space to spread any more. I kept replanting myself into different kinds of pots of different shapes and colours. But there is no free space to explore. Slowly the branches, like shoulders, start to droop down; leaves, like hair, begin to fade out and solitary flowers, like aspirations, display a dejected bloom.

I am waiting to find a permanent deep moist earthy setting to call this soil my own, to confidently take root and openly spread out my branches carrying happy blossoms and birds on bright sunny hopeful days.

Aren't we all survivors of some kind?

* Frangipani Fest - https://quiethappiness-tasha.blogspot.com/2023/11/frangipani-fest.html

Sunrise Seagull

Take a pause. Breathe.
Feel the aura at sunrise.
The sky reflects a pink-orange blush
as the Earth gives birth to her Sun.

Seagulls in slow steady flight
are flocking in celebration of the newborn.
Hurried haphazard roads unaware of the drama,
against the calm graceful gait of Nature.

I stand on the edge
as Life pulls me onto the faster track.
My mind longs to step back
and take the leisure trail instead.

Just then my gaze catches
a lone young seagull.
He flies solitarily with light on his wings,
away from the crowd.

His quiet determination, powerful motion,
spells a magical freedom.
Reminds me, Life’s tugs and pulls
are not without a larger reason.

:: The Landscape Architect , yet again, has stepped up to take care of the Poet and the Artist residing in me. She knows, passion alone is not enough to refill Life’s half full cup. But on a quiet Saturday afternoon, the Poet slowly rises and pours life force back into her tired soul…::

The best part of UAE winters is the migratory birds, especially seagulls that stay until the beginning of spring. Watching the seagulls in their slow steady graceful flight on these winter mornings is truly inspiring. Reminds me of Jonathan Livingston Seagull… one of the first few books I read growing up.

We are ALL Responsible...but are we?

They just barged into the community garden one fine morning and cut down some trees, removed the grasses, and killed all the flower beds in the name of “refurbishment” and “general maintenance”...

The birds who had their nests in those trees have lost their eggs. They fly around trying to find a suitable place to rebuild. The cat who used to run around, climb trees, and jump in the grasses was stressed and confused. Where's the planter she pooped in? There’s just mud everywhere. What happened to the garden?

If someone murders a garden in the name of renovation, what happens to the entire ecosystem that thrives on it? Birds, cats, insects…who cares about them? It's high time we stop normalizing these urban activities in the name of “development”.

Who is responsible for all the lost animals and birds? All they care about are paint flakes, steel pipes and waterproofing membranes. What about the soil enriched with live insects? What about the planters with flowers , the butterflies flitting around them? What about the laughing doves, who stopped laughing? It's not funny! Someone destroyed the garden and people around it are expected to continue living “normally”??? The cats have left the compound. There are no more dancing shadows of the trees on pathways. No more ‘red carpet welcome’ of the Jatropha flowers. No more ‘frangipani fest’ of my most loved Plumeria trees. No more barefoot walks on the grass. No more yoga, hide-n seek or badminton in the garden. Everything has to pause till they finish all the work…My favourite almond tree with red leaves is no more. The bulbuls have lost their home. I tried to save the frangipani I planted two years ago into a large planter for it to be replanted later in the same spot after the repair works are done, with a hope that it will survive the next few months in this make-shift arrangement. Does anyone else care? Is this a maintenance contract or contract killing!

The other day I heard, a school trip had gone to the “zoo” where the seals clap their hands in front of a gang of giggling gadget-held school kids. They are taught to believe, this is all “normal”! Watching another “sea world” inside a big mall, they are told, is perfectly normal!!!

Is it “normal” for tourists to expect getting “snow” inside a mall in the desert? Since when is chopping down full grown trees to deal with waterproofing issues considered “normal”? Is this what “developed” nations look like? Let's discuss this “environmental issue” sitting inside a tall air conditioned glass tower. Let's invite delegates with their private helicopters and planes to throw some light on these “earth issues” Let's make a fancy summit for social media! Wow! One million “likes”! Problem is solved!

We are taught to believe we are privileged to live here? Ironically, we are the “ landscape architects” of such masterplans! I would definitely prefer living in a village to this kind of pseudo development! Cutting down large trees is not acceptable. Disturbing any garden environment should not be allowed. No wonder all the “Rumis” who loved the gardens so much are running away in search of greener pastures… but all they find are more and more concrete jungles and blinding bright lights!

We have to ask the question to those “Environment Protection Acts”, how come approvals are not required before mercilessly chopping off mature trees even in private developments? For every slaughtered tree, there should be two new ones planted. Isn't that the rule?

Does anyone take note of the disruption to flora and fauna? Who is responsible for broken bird nests and lost cats? We are all responsible…but are we really “responsible”?

Unsung Melodies

I am someone who loves to document every bit of my travel stories and life incidents. But sometimes, many events remain undocumented, only because of being so engrossed in that moment or having much fun, that there was no reminder for grabbing the camera to capture them. Such times become memories that we actually never forget. They are the unsung melodies of our life!

This rainy season, we took a road trip to Sakleshpur from Bengaluru. Kris and he boys were with the cousins in their uncle’s big car, because they wanted to play road trip games and listen to their favorite tracks. In my sister’s car, it was just me, my sister and my father… Well, in hindsight, actually there was another unseen member traveling with us…my mother’s memories!

It was so natural for us to start listening to old Hindi film songs and some old Marathi “mood songs” from the 70s and 80s . One by one, they kept playing in a rhythm, unfolding one memory after the other… My mother used to listen to these songs while doing her chores. We used to do our annual Diwali cleaning and the same songs would play on an audio tape — side A for one film and side B for another! My father always has many interesting stories to tell about each film song , its music director, lyricist and the singers. His knowledge about movies is outstanding. As my sister drove, I was juggling between being a navigator and playing the songs. Baba was actually the RJ, giving us some trivia with every musical note! Honestly, the journey of about five hours through a hide-n-seek of rain and sun just went by in no time! It was almost like our mother was right there with us, letting us know which song she wanted to hear next..

That weekend, at Mugilu, a homestay in Sakleshpur, the rain never stopped! We had three cottages, separated by a narrow pathway full of wet leaves, ferns, leeches, tall trees swaying in the wind and constant rain! Reaching from one cottage to the other was an adventure in itself! There were four Indie dogs that selflessly kept showing us the way!

On one such drenched evening, the weather called for staying indoors with music, scotch on the rocks and playing cards! This homestay is designed for a screen -free holiday. There were no TVs. The kids were sitting in the balcony, looking at the dance of the tall spice plantations with peppercorns and bay leaves, playing some quizzes and eating onion fritters, noodles and nuts. The grown-ups, on the other hand, got engrossed in many-a- game of poker! Turns out that Baba is actually very good at it! He taught my newly-turned-fourteen son how to play poker. We used UNO cards as fake money and went on with our games as the frivolous windy evening melted into a night spiked with insect buzz! This has been my best unphotographed memory of the trip so far! We just lost the count of time. The dogs came to call us for an extraordinary country style dinner, served at the rain-deck, a five minute walk through the twisty rainy plantations! Of course, the hill treks with cows, muddy streams, leech attacks and strange insect bites also contributed to the ambience. Just that continuous hum of the rain, flavored with old Hindi film songs playing in the background, the humble meals and the most memorable family time was what made this weekend getaway so special!

In the earlier week in Pune, when I met my girls gang from school, the “Gol Gappa Gals”, we spent almost the entire night playing endless laughter-filled games of Pictionary with our unique combination of rosado wine and spicy banana chips! After a laid-back evening swim followed by a giggles-n-gossip stroll by the rolling greens, we spotted a dancing peacock surrounded by four peahens! Again, very special memories undocumented in pictures!

Each time, moistening my lashes, these unsung melodies still continue to play in my mind long after returning to the desert…

Barefoot Soccer Mom

Since childhood, I have been into sports. My favourite sport was and still is table tennis. I used to play for my school and for my college. I have always been one of the good players in our office, playing table tennis at lunch times and in between times. I  represented my school for throwball, kabaddi, yoga and sun salutation competitions. My sister and I learnt swimming at a young age and we would proudly go to the pool on our cycles, swim a good 500m and cycle back.

My husband is the one who’s into football and hence my boys. Which is why I have also been a soccer mom for the past decade. Yet, somehow, even though I can safely call myself a sporty woman, I have not felt comfortable being around a football field! 

As a landscape architect, I have designed parks and open spaces with many a football field. Yet there's something awkwardly uncomfortable around it, for me!

When you have one boy playing in the U14 and the other in the U9, the “waiting period” associated with it can be excruciating, especially for a sport that I am not really interested in!

My boys keep talking only about football, football players, home kits, away kits, centre forward, center mid , off side, GOAT etc. I just don't get it! My mind automatically switches off , exactly like the times when people start speaking in Malayalam with me, because of my surname!

When the boys have football matches, I spend hours and hours waiting around the football field, pretending to be interested, cheering for some time and then quietly walking away with my book, to sit and read somewhere. But as the weather is getting better with October leading us towards a much awaited desert winter, I came up with a great plan!

Every morning , my routine includes a ten to fifteen minute barefoot walk in the lawn, saying the mantras after my flower picking ritual. It's followed by a ten minute meditation under the Frangipani, listening to the birds.

And I thought, why not continue my barefoot grass walk by the football field!!! Football field is the only place that has well maintained natural grass all around it. What could be better than a Barefoot Walk while I wait for the matches to end! Barefoot Soccer Mom! That's my new name!

Landscapes: Outer & Inner

My recent presentation about Landscapes: Outer and Inner gave me a chance to look back at my own life for the past 17 years and pick out my favorite projects and moments to share. 
I have often wondered, what makes a story worth telling? Is it just the achievements, awards and designations ? Perhaps not. It's this rich mix of hits and misses, experiences of joy and sorrow, memories created and lessons learnt along the way that makes a story interesting.  It's the way you choose to tell your story that makes all the difference.

My journey with architecture started in the year 2000. Little did I know that architecture is not just a course, but it becomes a way of life. These 5 years are like a perfect foundation course for all things creative. Thereafter you could choose landscape design, interior design, graphic design, fashion design, photography, set design, furniture design, poetry, pottery …the possibilities are limitless. Architecture grooms us for something that I call a design-conscious living, in which every little aspect of life can be done in the most creative way. It's this seed of creativity that architecture has planted in my mind, that I am carrying as a gift through all these years of my professional and personal life. 
 
We are all unique and everyone is born with a different skill set.   Our life’s secret mission therefore  is to find out what we are good at and what we enjoy doing. It's when we  realize our strengths, new avenues open out for us. 

My reason for  wanting to become an architect was simple— to design houses. But what is a house without a garden! There's something magical about houses with gardens that makes architecture and landscape inseparable. One such magical garden did exist in my childhood home in Pune.  

I discovered my connection with landscape, which thus finds its roots in my childhood days. The garden of my childhood home in Pune has a special place in my heart. It had a huge variety of plants and trees that, my sister , my cousins and I grew up with. We climbed trees and collected flowers and leaves. Whenever I select plants for any villa project, I close my eyes and get transported to my childhood garden to find them all there.  My mother's profession of flower decorations gave me a chance to go with her and collect flowers from agriculture college. I knew the names of flowers and plant species at a young age. And it was this special bond with nature that has influenced my choice of landscape as a profession. 
My dream projects thus became those houses where architecture, landscape and interiors are thought of as one. 

To be a sensitive landscape designer, one must truly love nature. Landscape architecture does not happen sitting inside tall glass towers. We deal with living elements and not just stone and cement. One must be willing to be on site, get their hands dirty and be in touch with nature. 

I worked in India for a couple of years and then moved to Abu Dhabi in the UAE, after getting married. I am extremely grateful to my college because it's here that I found my architectural life partner, which made our journey a creative collaboration, and we learnt a lot from each other.

UAE is a melting pot of cultures. I got a chance to work with colleagues not just from the US or UK, but from Romania, Serbia, Slovakia, Sudan, Syria, Jordan, Greece, Philippines, Indonesia and many other countries of which I did not know much about.  When we work with people from different cultures and faiths, it makes us a sensitive designer. Because we design keeping everyone in mind. It's this cultural diversity that exposes our minds to new ways of thinking. 
Living outside our home country gives us a bird’s eye view to  our own lives. I still remember the first time I returned to Pune after staying for a year in Abu Dhabi, when the airplane was landing at Pune airport, I saw the curvy organic river, and the beauty in the disorderliness, the 50 shades of green and the rain clouds! My heart cried with joy!
I spent the first day taking pictures of every tree that grew upto 3 floors and above! My friends were surprised when I told them I was taking pictures of Junglee Maharaj Road, where the Albizzia trees along the street had canopies touching each other, creating this natural shade structure over the entire street! I had missed this so much! And I realised this only because I had stayed away from all this for a whole year! 
And when I went back, while landing on the Abu Dhabi airport, the city looked like a uniform beige architectural model with neat roundabouts, straight roads, clover leaf junctions and the liquid curves of the desert. This landscape has its own subtle beauty. And I realised, I could have the best of both worlds! Lush Green and Minimalist Brown!  Now I live in two cities at the same time.

Architecture is one unique profession that allows all creative forms of expression such as photography, sketching, painting, poetry, creative writing , film making and such to coexist in harmony as they become a part of our architectural journey. When I talk about inner landscapes, for me, poetry has been the most interesting medium of expression to convey ideas and concepts with a sensitive touch.  Nature has always been the source of inspiration that connects all these creative mediums. I have always found comfort in this medium as I juggled between being a landscape architect and a mother. 
Balancing these two roles is indeed a difficult task. But we must celebrate both roles, without feeling guilty at any end. A woman’s career graph is slightly different than a man’s. Motherhood brings many challenges in our path. But we should not consider these challenges as a setback to our careers, but in fact celebrate these challenges as a beautiful part of womanhood. 
Sometimes I have literally felt like a warrior on horseback, with the baby tied to my back, going to fight my battles each day with a sword in my hand! But then I thought of Cinderella’s story. Like her, we take the professional avatar and go each morning to work. When the clock strikes 12, (by the close of working hours) , we need to rush back to the homely mother avatar. Its only when we unplug ourselves from one role and plug ourselves into the other role that we can achieve that balance that may give us that little sliver of personal time between the two, to keep doing what we love. And then, we become like the goddess with many hands, balancing swords, paint brushes, pens and cooking pans at different times! 

The number of hours at work do not define our worth, but making a difference to our workplace in our unique ways does. Quality time is not just towards children, it should be towards the office too.

Lets empower each other. My poetry book, Amaira, the little woman celebrates exactly this journey through womanhood, enjoying all the beautiful forms along the way. 

So be your own sun, be your own rain! 
Work on a well rounded personality. We are not just the landscape architect or the mother. We can be so many other things! 
Travel, take long walks, ignite the inspiration again. 
Find time to do what you love. Stay fit. 
Afterall, what is success? Even if a few things are ticked off our TO DO list by the end of each year, it spells success to me! 
Make To-Do Better lists!

Finally in  our journey, life often gives us a choice between two paths. I have made my choice. 
The beauty of a creative life is that there is no one right way. It's what you choose, becomes right for you. 
Like poet Rumi has said, 

Somewhere beyond our ideas of right and wrong, there's a garden. I'll meet you there.

#alumnipresentation #landscapesouterandinner #givingbacktoalmamater #speakyourmind