Let’s start from a place of unknowing, just like your process. What’s the last thing you did in a project that surprised even you?
One of the most exciting parts of space design, for us, is that it constantly surprises you. No matter how carefully you plan, there’s always something, a play of light, a shift in perspective, a feeling in the body—that you didn’t entirely foresee. Spaces, when shaped with openness, reveal themselves gradually.
In our recent resort project in Goa, we were deeply committed to preserving the existing ecology. So instead of clearing the land, we wove the architecture around the trees, letting the layout stay fluid, guided by what already existed. What truly surprised us was how the trees didn’t just stay, they entered the architecture. Their canopies shaped courtyards, filtered light in unexpected rhythms, and created moments of intimacy, shade, and stillness that no drawing could have predicted.
Even the act of staying in the pods, nestled under large trees, felt like being cradled by nature. The branches overhead softened the sky, and the filtered light gave the rooms a gentle glow throughout the day. One of our favourite elements was the elevated walkway we designed to avoid disturbing the forest floor. What began as a sustainability measure became pure joy, a narrow floating path that gently sways with movement, bringing out a kind of childlike wonder in everyone who walks on it.
We started by designing around nature, but in the end, it felt like nature designed the experience. And that surprise, that sense of xdiscovery, is what keeps us curious, and always a little in awe.
Your work speaks of exploration, improvisation, and a beautiful rejection of rigid outcomes. What made you comfortable with “not knowing” in a world that demands certainty?
Perhaps it’s our comfort with contradiction—the understanding that uncertainty isn’t chaos, but possibility. We see design not as a rigid blueprint, but as an organic unfolding. Over time, we’ve learned to trust the process - to believe that staying open can often lead to something far richer than any predetermined outcome.
We believe in process over product, allowing spaces to evolve instead of declaring a design “final.” The site communicates through its light, trees, and silence, and staying fixed makes us miss its offerings. New discoveries often arise unexpectedly - a forgotten view, a change in terrain, or a conversation with a local artisan - offering details that can shift the entire direction of a space. We’ve learned to respond rather than resist.
Working with materials like mud and collaborating with tribal masons - who build more by rhythm and intuition than by drawing - has shown us that beauty can emerge without control. “Not knowing” isn’t a lack of clarity; it’s the space for something better and more alive to emerge, keeping the work exciting and honest.
How do you know when a project is “done,” especially when your process leaves so much room for change and growth?
A project feels “done” when it belongs more to its users than to us. When the site starts to breathe again and people add their own touches, like a plant by the window or a charpai under a tree, we quietly step back. For us, completion isn’t about finality but readiness - transforming architecture into a backdrop for life to unfold.
It’s never truly finished. As we grow, our perspective shifts. There have been instances when we’ve adjusted design elements even after client approvals, recognising opportunities for something better suited to the site.
Fortunately, most clients have been trusting of that intuition. Architecture, for us, is not a fixed product - it’s a living process. A space is complete not when it’s perfect, but when it begins to hold life, and still leaves room for it to change.
From mud blocks to recycled glass, your palette feels earthy yet present. How do you choose materials that suit both the project and the moment?
We choose materials like words in a poem—intuitively and with care. The land provides cues about what thrives there, but sustainability is also key. We prioritise local materials to reduce our carbon footprint and honour their connection to the place. We often use recycled or upcycled materials to celebrate their beauty and history.
Every material has its own temperament, strengths, and vulnerabilities. Mud embodies slowness and breathability, lime represents permanence, and recycled glass adds lightness. Instead of imposing aesthetics, we allow materials to guide the expression. The “right” material resonates with the site, the people, and the moment the building emerges.
