We all have been navigating through our lives with plethora of fancies and fantasies which always happen to keep changing or perhaps evolving will be a better word. They travel with us throughout our lives with their intricacies and precarious state of being. Well think about it once whatever we find ourselves doing today, did we ever even stumble upon that thought when we were kids and all we used to do was to try find a way with pencils and crayons which at that time seemed like some weapons of warfare handed over to us. A warfare which was never meant to end for years to come and giving up were words never printed in our petite dictionaries.
Of all the things my fantasies expected me to become (miss universe catching the top slot) becoming an architect would surely find its name at the end of the list. Studying architecture was some song of la la land sung in a language I thought never existed. Buildings never commanded my contemplation. Be it Taj Mahal or nearby house, all seemed soulless creatures who existed because someone made them to. For me buildings lacked soul. They were simply objects of sheer vulnerability. I could think of the building in a state of pity as I thought of its existence to be in a complete state of mercy. Mercy in the hands of a person known to us as the architect. I could never think of the architect as the creator but a destroyer having no sanity.
But why did I decide to take up the job of a destroyer. This question still hovers over me as I stand before a building and realises that soon some soulless creation will exist on my mercy too. The question still holds paramount vitality but its parameter have changed. I still think that building lacks ardour and will continue to. But my notions of the creator have surely changed. The creator I feel tries to instil a sense of living soul not into the building but in the eyes of the spectator. I happen to believe that buildings are nothing but spirits of stones hallucinating over the attention it tries to command.
