And how I got gifted a banana in the street.
This week saw me tumbling into the back of a rickety auto-rickshaw, jolting down the colourful streets of Jodhpur, Rajasthan, with one hand holding on for dear life and the other clutching my camera, trying to capture the frenetic life of the vast country that is India.
Starting in Delhi, one of the world’s fastest-developing cities and the home of the Mughal Empire—a Muslim dynasty that ruled over a large portion of the Indian subcontinent for over 300 years—it quickly became clear that my original mission—to become somewhat versed in even a dust-sized fraction of India’s rich history—was an unachievable conquest within the precious time I had to spend here.
Nevertheless, I went on, equipped with a Sony Alpha mirrorless as my sword and, as my armour, some wonderful friends whose effervescence and kindness brought a new dimension to my experience of India.
Moving through the Golden Triangle, I drank in the wonders of the Taj Mahal and discovered the importance of craft in Jaipur, gradually beginning to apprehend the deep-rooted meaning of beauty here.
Wondering through the extravagantly decorated rooms of Mehrangarh Fort, Jodhpur, Rajasthan—home to the Rajputs (Indian royalty)—I noticed the level of attention and detail in each ornately hand-finished stone carving, decoration, and painting. Each colour, pattern, and placement told a story.
The beautifully delicate details are an alternative to words written on a page, a continuation of storytelling that passes down stories, customs, and memories from one generation to the next.
After ‘reading’ these stories, something deeply intrinsic made me question how we view design in the West. It was at this time of contemplation, lost somewhere in the blue city I was gifted a banana ‘to keep me going’ by a kind local women who had just come out of the park with her family. The beauty of this gesture is something I have come to experience daily during my short time here.
It seems that despite the chaos of India, no matter who and what, people still find time to stop think and be kind to each other.
Upon reflection, the Western world today is equally chaotic but in a different way— we are perpetually seeking refuge from the endless barrage of online presence. In our pursuit of peace and tranquility, modern design has stripped itself of detail. It is minimalistic, muted, and devoid of the richness that intricate craftsmanship once offered.
Stories are now told through words, short clips, and polished mission statements. Is this constant simplification of design proof of our collective search for calm in a world that’s moving too fast?
But is simplicity inherently wrong? As designers, do we have a duty to rethink the way we tell stories? Should we challenge ourselves to reintroduce colour, detail, and meaning into design—shifting perspectives to cultivate mindfulness and a deeper appreciation for history? Could we look to nature and the East’s profound connection to it as inspiration for finding stillness and balance?
Should we encourage change in education or reshape how media is presented? Or is there beauty in allowing people to interpret simplicity in their own way—inviting them to fill the gaps and encouraging non-conformity? Perhaps, through this openness, we could cultivate even greater creativity and innovation in the minds of tomorrow
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