The poetry of space

66,000 hours in an office space so far! (Part 1)

“Spaces have always been our silent companions, bearing witness to our quietest moments and fiercest battles.” – Pico Iyer.

Iyer’s words remind us that spaces are more than just places; they carry our emotional imprints, layer upon layer of our fears, uncertainties, doubts & exhilarations. They are the quiet backdrop to our inner and outer journeys.

Office spaces are bustling with people hurrying to meet deadlines. There are many parts to an office: the reception & common areas, the cabins where senior people sit, the common area for others, and any recreation spots. Offices also depict ambition- awards in the reception, a “great place to work” certificate proudly put up & well-done interiors showing the office in good light. Offices in their physical spaces are also bursting with emotions; a lot of it is hidden & some visible. A frustrated employee shows disgust on her face, and an exhilarated salesperson who has just won a new business is talking at the top of his voice! All coexisting within the same physical realm.

For much of my career, I never thought about the spaces I occupied at work. They seemed incidental—merely functional, a container for the more pressing tasks. But if we truly consider it, we spend nearly 80,000 hours working: 40 years, 50 weeks a year, 40 hours a week. That’s 80,000 hours in spaces that nurture or drain us, often without us even noticing.

I’ve logged about 66,000 of those hours. It makes me wonder—the spaces I’ve inhabited, how much have they shaped who I’ve become? Did they change me as much as I’ve shaped them? Did they subtly alter the way I think, lead, or create? And if so, how?

It’s time to be curious. I want to return to those spaces with nostalgia and fresh eyes and ask: What did these spaces mean to me? Spaces are flush with meaning and memory, but often, we push the meaning-making away. At least I treated my office spaces far more functionally. Yet our workspaces can make us feel frightened, anxious, indifferent, and aggressive or facilitate a fight, flight or freeze state of mind. I know that at Shoppers Stop, four of our senior colleagues used to take a walk in the parking lot to ease the frustrations of the heady business growth that our company was experiencing. So what do you do today? What is your ritual to improve your mental health at work?

I think back to my office at HDFC Bank and how different it was from the other companies I had worked for. I had moved from a fashion-forward retailer to a bank, so the attire changed to blue-grey shades and blue-grey, with a tie to boot. But so did the workspace. Compared to the open plan, bustling with color energy, it transformed into white walls with standard assembly-line furniture.

My introduction to the HDFC bank office space was alarming & funny in retrospect. I tended to walk fast all the time. It was not so much about being fit; it was a mental state of constantly wanting to do more, of time being short & the race long! I had recently joined HDFC Bank and the office had just been redone. I tended to come early into the office. It was a Friday, I remember & I was in early to get a head start on the day. The office floor was being cleaned & it was slippery, but I walked fast nevertheless. Before I knew it, I had slipped & fallen, hitting my neck on the side of a table on my way down. A large gash just below the carotid artery led to a massive gush of blood. Colleagues hurried toward me, held the injury, and rushed me to Jaslok Hospital. I knew the banking world could be cutthroat, but this went too far! Anyway, I survived the tumultuous entry into the bank. Forever after that, each time I created an office space, I examined the table edges closely!

Five years flashed by at HDFC Bank, and much had been accomplished. And yet, I found myself sitting restless and vacantly responding to emails, thinking about resigning to start a new venture. I remember the quiet moments between meetings, staring at the piles of paper on my desk, not even pretending to focus while my thoughts churned. I was scared—terrified, really—of what the future might hold. I often walked out onto the large balcony in the office, which overlooked a mill. It had some beautiful old trees & the sense of nature quietened me & gave me more peaceful energy. For the longest time, I noticed that I had a pattern; pacing and walking fast made me feel more peaceful. The office walls seemed to be bounding me in & a strange fear was dominating my thoughts: What if I fail? What if this is a mistake? Yet, oddly, that same space also gave me clarity. In the familiarity of that office, I began to piece together the courage to leap into the unknown, empowering me and instilling a sense of confidence.

Years later, at Cequity, I found myself in a similar place—physically and emotionally. There was a small meeting room with a view of the gulmohar trees that always seemed to be in bloom. I loved that room. It became my refuge, where I could think clearly about what mattered most. I remember sitting there, looking out at the Gulmohar tree-lined street below, as I wrestled with another big decision: to leave the company I had co-founded and step into an entirely different future. The view outside steadied me and grounded me in nature’s rhythms, giving me a sense of strength to take the call my heart was telling me to take.

What power do these spaces hold over us? Do they provide a sanctuary from the world outside, allowing us to process contradictory thoughts in familiarity? Or is it simply that they will enable us to make leaps of faith that the world asks of us?

The office and meeting room at HDFC and Cequity reflected my emotions, inspiring and motivating me to reflect on their impact on my identity.

Joe Bosquet’s quote,” No one sees me changing. But who sees me? I am my own hiding place.”

Joë Bousquet’s words on transformation have stayed with me. He talks about change that no one else can see, the kind that happens inside, quietly, almost invisibly. It reminded me of how our physical spaces—the rooms, corners, and offices we occupy—hold these internal shifts, even when we don’t notice them. What did I do when deadlines loomed, and I wasn’t as confident about my skills? Was it the company of people at moments like these, the comfort of a water cooler point where we gossiped, or a quick trip outside to the neighboring tea joint?

Can physical spaces be where we keep our earliest emotional and psychological furniture? Over the years, I’ve understood that transformation isn’t always an outward display; sometimes, it’s a slow burn that unfolds quietly in spaces where we feel most shielded, even from ourselves. I think about the places that have shaped me. Those walls reflected my ambitions, doubts, and questions. It was here that my identity was getting shaped.

Every corner challenged me to dig deeper, to look harder at who I was becoming.

Each office and corner became a hidden canvas—my “hiding place”—where transformation unfolded slowly as I wrestled with the pressures of roles, expectations, and, more profoundly, my evolving self.

These familiar surroundings, charged with unspoken influence, molded versions of myself that few, if any, witnessed emerge. Perhaps that’s the quiet beauty of these spaces—they allowed change without fanfare, giving us room to evolve at our own pace, bearing silent witness to the versions of ourselves we never realized were waiting to be revealed.

I gave little thought to my office spaces in the early days. My desk was purely functional—a place to work amidst the noise and constant buzz of activity. Over time, small touches crept in—a motivational quote, an old mug for pens. But the idea of these spaces holding meaning beyond their utility? That didn’t cross my mind.

The fact that I spent a considerable part of my life there & maybe I should bring a little more of me to my workspace, didn’t even strike me then. And apart from my desk or cabin, there was this vast array of spaces: the canteen or coffee nook, the famous water cooler points, and the nearby tapri that gave cutting chai. And how could I forget the sheer range of the meeting rooms? Each of these architectural & urban features in & around my offices were fertile sources for my emotional growth as a person & a leader.

Much later, reading articles by Manju Sara Rajan introduced me to the possibility that emotions may exist in our physical spaces. She gave me this insight: “What we collect around us always has a “why,” and the answer to that question usually lies buried in our feelings.”

She taught me to look at spaces more deeply.

She quoted Bangalore architect David Joe Thomas, who said that he wanted architecture students to reflect on this:

“While just beginning to think consciously about architecture, buildings, and spaces, to become cognisant to the emotional quotient of spaces, and tap into their existing spatial and physical memories.”

I thought, wow, spaces have memories. I don’t think I have too many emotions attached to my offices across 35 years. And as I wrote that, I did a double-take. How could I say that? There are so many emotions and memories jammed into one’s career. From the fear of not having the skills early on to moments when an employee confides in you after a failure to the sheer ecstasy of promotions—our working lives are filled with deep, often hidden emotions.

Bousquet’s words bring me back to the realization that spaces aren’t just rooms—they are stages where our internal reckonings unfold. Change brews quietly, out of sight, and if you’re lucky, you’ll find places that become more than locations. They become silent witnesses, catalysts for transformations that most will never notice but that shape who we are, quietly and profoundly.

In the next part of this essay, I thought I would take a trip down my career and revisit the physical spaces that left an imprint on me. What were my offices like at HDFC Bank, Marico, and Cequity? How did these physical spaces shape me?

Spaces hold pieces of us. Over time, they reflect who we were and who we’re becoming.

As I look back on my career, I feel drawn to revisit these spaces—not just to remember the walls and desks but to uncover how they shaped me. Ultimately, these weren’t just places where I worked—they were places where I lived, layer by layer, emotion by emotion.

More in the next edition!

(Inspiration to think about office spaces came from Manju Sara Rajan https://www.instagram.com/manjusararajan/)