We spread a large mat on the floor-let’s call it a field. It’s dotted with multi-colored circles-let’s call them THE subjects. We have a wheel with the names of these subjects written on it-let’s call it a, umm, wheel. Now, a friendly-looking figure will spin the wheel. It lands on a subject, say, Building Construction. You have to put your right foot on the respective subject on the field. The smiling, unassuming figure spins it again. It lands on Architectural Design. Put your right hand on it. Spin the wheel. Theory of design. Left foot (careful, don’t put it in your mouth). Spin, land and so on, until one bodily member gives up and you step out of the circle. Sorry, you’re out.

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Why are we so pre-conditioned to fit ourselves into these circles? Did no one, at any point, think of asking what the madness this game is all about? Was it designed, you ask the rock-steady gamemaster, on the behest of a mystic (and/or a very, very important political figure) to be able to invent a new yogasana? No, replies the person, in his calm demeanour. Well, how is the red circle any different from the blue or the yellow one? They look the same and feel the same, only the colors are different-that seems arbitrary, almost accidental. At this point the sagacious figure should’ve said, ‘There are no accidents,’ but he didn’t. He simply shrugged, like it was supposed to mean that it was one of those non-verbal sacrosanct contracts that everybody mutually agrees with.

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To begin to realize the world has always lived in one, huge circle before someone came along and rationalized that one circle into many, saying the huge circle is too huge; smaller circles help concentrate activities and divide labour. Even as this idea begins to coalesce in your mind, you’re assaulted with the ‘real’ world (real world: an alternate reality where academia graciously-and condescendingly-takes a back seat to allow for ‘real’ issues to be addressed). It seems the real world has gone ahead and fragmented the each circle even further. You will be a speck in a stifling, little, highly specialized circle, with superficial communication with the other circles. Since you don’t know or are not interested in what the other circles do, you can’t venture out of your circle.

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So, now, the potential of each circle is limited to the resources and knowledge that that particular circle can-or is supposed to-contain. When we talk about the power of synergy and agree that the whole is better than the sum of its parts, the building industry has complacently made the process into a production line.

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Laurie Baker, who blatantly opposed his method of design, once remarked:

‘I see nothing wrong or unethical about an architect taking part in the construction of a building. Wouldn’t it have been silly if Picasso was only allowed to give working drawings for a painting and not paint them?’

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The act of making is always a collective endeavour, based on a shared goal, where creative dialogue can help question and rethink conventional design processes. And no, I don’t mean overly stimulatory brainstorming sessions that only favor the loudest and most eloquent in a group. Instead, it bears semblance to an intimate setting that Bijoy Jain talks about: ‘The endeavor is to show the genuine possibility in creating buildings that emerge through a process of collective dialog, a face-to-face sharing of knowledge through imagination, intimacy, and modesty.’

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The architecture course can’t teach you the design good buildings; instead, it drives home the point that any good design is based on a sound design process. Which means you can actually go ahead and step into any circle and quite literally make anything you want.