I’ve always been drawn to valleys. Something about being surrounded by hills that stretch beyond what you can see, that make you feel wonderfully small.

Dehradun is home. The Doon valley, cradled between the Himalayas and the Shivaliks, has this way of grounding you. Every morning I’d wake up to the sight of Mussoorie’s ridge, distant and misty, a reminder that there’s always something bigger out there.

I’m starting to like San Francisco for similar reasons. The way the hills roll into the bay, how you can stand in the Mission and look up at Twin Peaks and feel that same sense of scale. It’s different from the grand sweep of the Himalayas, but it works the same way on your brain.

I felt this in Bangalore too, back when I could still see the Nandi Hills from certain parts of the city. And briefly in Gurgaon, before the buildings got too tall and blocked out the Aravallis entirely.

There’s something about living in a bowl of land that keeps you humble. The hills remind you that your problems, your ambitions, your little corner of the world – they’re all just part of something much larger.

Maybe that’s why I build things the way I do. When you’re used to feeling small against the landscape, you stop trying to be the biggest thing in the room.