On a rainy afternoon, my brother and I sat listening to a stream that sounded louder than the whole house. It wasn’t big at all, just a small stretch of water near our home, but to me it felt like a roaring river. That day, with friends, I saw how a simple towel could catch fish, and I brought a few home in a Horlicks jar. By the next morning, all of them had died. I couldn’t accept it, so my brother and I decided to build ponds—first tiny pits that leaked, then bigger ones that washed away, until finally we made a proper pond with water flowing in like a little river. It was a mix of failure, play, and discovery. I remember the sound of water, the glow of that rainy day, and the feeling of wanting to hold on to life.

The lamp I designed comes from there;

from that innocence, from that memory of wonder.