By Design.

We have been declared the Designers of the Year.

It all started this way. The brief said- open office, transparent glass cubicles, soft music etc, the silicon valley techy look. Simple 'nuff, we said. But taking indian Entrepreneur to silicon valley proved to be as difficult as Taking Ramji-bhai to London. We hadn't realized that everyone's hearts belonged so firmly to their Gaon !

The glass cubicles open to sky ( read ceiling ) felt oppressive to some. Some longed for their privacy and were unhappy about glass walls. Some, being more used to the carefree -'Raamu ho! Chaachi ho!!' style of conversation across the office resented the need for the hushed conversations, and communication via intercoms.

Soon it was apparent to us that various people had various issues with the design. So we decided to make a few changes and create a more congnial atmosphere which, while not exactly silicon valley, will be what any overworked indian Entrepreneur craves. An office and resort rolled in one.

The very first thing we did was to give all the cubicles bright red mangalore tiled roofs. Similarly, opaque films were put on the glass walls, to provide privacy to the occupants. A door was added. A small wall fan because the tiled roof now cut off the central a/c. As a good measure we also added a hand fan, for those especially hot summer days. If one craved company, one got up and went over to the village ...umm ...the office water cooler and passed the time of the day. If you wanted chai you can always holler for Raamu bhaiyya, or Durga chaachi.

The atmosphere around the office changed dramatically. People looked relaxed and eager to work, happy to be tucked into their own personal designer huts. The efficiency zoomed up overnight. Water cooler romances flourished, a few even cancelled their planned vacations, saying, "It was much more fun in the office". And last, but not the least, we have been nominated for the prestigious ' Designer of the Year' award for ruralizing the urban corporate design. The style is known as 'Rural-ban' ( to rhyme with Sundar-ban).
We look upon this project as something of a path breaker in the corporate design culture. Keeping in mind our stupendous success we are introducing a few new features. First, we plan to abolish the work desks. Working on khatiya with a laptop will add a new dimention to the corporate stratagies. For those who smoke,the office boys will be trained to handle chillums and hukkas.

Mahatma Gandhi said- India lives in its millions of villages. We are helping the cause in our own way.

The Bungalow.

The bungalow stood on the street to my school. I used to dawdle while walking down that street, tying my shoe laces, or standing in the shade pretending to be tired, just to take a peek at it. Soon my friends became aware of my obsession and I came in for a fair bit of ragging.
Despite all my attempts I failed see anything beyond it's very high fence, and a tall gate. The bungalow remained completely hidden. No sign that anyone lived there. No maids coming and going, no sounds reaching outside its walls and massive gates. There was a tiny door on the side, and I had once seen a watchman come out to receive mail from the mail man.

I conjured up theories about the residents. It was Sleeping Beauty's castle waiting for that kiss. After reading Oscar Wilde the garden became a Selfish Giant’s garden. Or perhaps a reclusive aging star lived there a la Garbo. But no star had vanished from Indian horizons. Once, only once I had seen a long sleek black car gliding out of the gate and noiselessly joining the traffic outside. The gates closed as quietly as they opened allowing me a merest glimpse of a well kept lawn.

Then I met a girl who lived in a building adjoining to the bungalow. I asked her eagerly, “Can you see that bungalow from your house? “

“Oh yes” she replied in a tone that implied that it was no big deal.

“Can I come over? I want to take a look,”

“Sure! Anytime.”

I was at her house the next day, before she could forget about her invitation. She took me to her balcony and I took a good look. The bungalow was completely surrounded by tall trees and all I could see was a bit of a roof, a glint of sun on a window pane visible through the dense leaves, and a drive way. Even the front lawn was hidden from our inquisitive gaze, except for a small patch near the gates.

“We can’t really see much from here you know” My new friend confessed.

“Are there people living there? Children? Servants?“ I asked.

“A few people I guess. But not too many. I know there is a dog. I often hear it bark.”

That was the last time I attempted to see the bungalow. I went on to finish my school and my mind acquired other toys to play with. My routes changed along with my interests and I passed that bungalow without giving it a thought. It became a part of the unchanging landscape round me.

I was passing that way again last week. The tall tin sheets surrounding it told a familiar tale. The gates were now wide open. I could see a large house, mostly demolished and the rubble being loaded in trucks parked nearby. Soon a high rise building with hundreds of people will take it's place.

I wanted to see that bungalow just once, to ascertain whether it matched the images my imagination had conjured up.