How Do I Want Others to Feel When They Enter a Space I’ve Designed?

Design, to me, is not just about how something looks, it’s about how it feels the moment you step inside.
It’s a quiet language. A kind of emotion that doesn’t need words.
And if someone walks into a space I’ve designed and feels something shift, even slightly then I know the design has started doing its work.

When I design, I don’t just think of walls, lights, or materials.
I think of people, of how they carry their day, their emotions, their energy.
I ask myself:
Can this space meet them where they are?
Can it offer stillness, or spark curiosity, or hold their laughter gently?

There was a recent moment that stayed with me.
On one of our projects, we designed a pooja space on the first floor right where the staircase and lift open up. As you reach the top, a large arched gateway frames your view, and through that arch, your eyes land directly on the idol’s face. It’s not a loud design, but it’s deeply intentional.

On the inauguration day, guests entered the house, looked around, and then… quietly paused at the pooja space. One by one, people just stood still there. They softened their voices. Some smiled gently. Some closed their eyes for a second.
And I stood in the background, watching them and in that moment, I felt something too.
A connection. A calmness. A silent power.
That’s when I knew: the space had done something more than just look beautiful. It had held them even for a few moments.

Another memory close to my heart is from a children’s room we designed for a home with two lovely daughters.
Right at the beginning, one of them whispered into her mother’s ear, “Tell uncle to listen to me about my room.”
And we did.

We sat with them, talked, showed them pictures, and promised to create the best room we could.
When the project was completed and they saw their room their faces lit up. They smiled, jumped onto their beds, explored the drawers. We walked them through the details, and they understood every bit of it with joy in their eyes.
Later, the client called us to share how guests kept praising the layout, the colours, the planning but most of all, how the daughters' room felt uniquely them.
That space had personality, function, and play and to me, that’s design at its most human.

In a home, I want warmth to quietly wrap around people.
A sense that the space remembers them, reflects them.
In an office, I want to create calm strength, a mood that supports clarity and confidence, even on hard days.
In public or shared spaces, I like designing for movement, wonder, and maybe a small surprise that makes someone pause and smile.

I use materials and layout like emotions
Light for optimism, openness for trust, curves for care, still corners for breathing.

Ultimately, I don’t design for perfection.
I design for connection between the person and the place, between function and feeling.

And if someone enters and simply feels:

“I don’t know what it is, but I feel good here,”
then that, to me, is everything.

A Note from Me

I don’t always have the perfect words to describe what I do but I know what I want people to feel.

Every project I work on is personal. It holds stories, moods, and moments that matter to someone. And my job my joy is to turn those into spaces that feel just right.

If you’ve ever walked into a place and felt a sense of peace, joy, or belonging without knowing exactly why that’s the kind of feeling I try to design.

I’m still learning. Still observing. Still listening to people, to silence, to the spaces themselves.
And with every new home, every room, every smile I get a little closer to the kind of architect I want to be.

Thanks for reading this part of my journey.