Sometimes, the things we long for most are the very things we once left behind.
After more than four decades of life in cities, we came to realize that what we truly missed was our connection to the land—the open skies, the changing seasons, the scent of wet earth, and the simple rhythm of nature that had quietly shaped our childhoods. It took the unprecedented pause of the COVID-19 lockdown for this realization to become impossible to ignore.
Confined indoors for months, our young family felt the absence of nature more deeply than ever. Our days lacked the freedom to run barefoot on the ground, feel the wind against our faces, or listen to the rustling of leaves overhead. Rainfall, once a source of joy, became something to watch from behind windows. Our toddler could not dance beneath the monsoon showers, and our growing son, navigating the restless energy and frustrations of online schooling, yearned for space to move, explore, and simply be.
What began as a response to those difficult months soon evolved into something far more meaningful. Driven by a desire to reconnect with nature and create a place where our children could experience the outdoors as an integral part of everyday life, we set out in search of a piece of land. Our intention was modest—to lease and cultivate a small farm—but the journey gradually transformed into a deeper exploration of belonging, stewardship, and a more grounded way of living.
To begin our journey, and perhaps to test our resolve, we leased a single acre of land for eleven months. What started as an experiment in growing our own food soon became an education in humility, patience, and responsibility. We entered the world of farming as complete amateurs, driven more by curiosity than expertise, and quickly discovered that nurturing land involves far more than sowing seeds and waiting for harvest.
Every aspect demanded attention and learning—from understanding water management and creating efficient irrigation channels, to organizing the land into productive zones and planning crops according to seasonal cycles. Above all, we were committed to remaining true to organic and regenerative practices, even when they required greater effort and perseverance.
Our greatest challenge lay beneath the surface. Years of chemical fertilizers and pesticides had stripped the soil of much of its natural vitality. Restoring its fertility became our primary mission—a slow and patient process of rebuilding life within the earth. Alongside this, we found ourselves engaged in another equally meaningful task: earning the trust of neighboring farmers and demonstrating that a different, more sustainable approach to cultivation was possible.
The land transformed us in ways we could never have anticipated. What began as a small farming experiment became a place of healing and renewal for our family. During the uncertain years of the pandemic, it served as our refuge, our classroom, and our anchor. Our children learned lessons that no screen could teach—about seasons, soil, insects, patience, and the interconnectedness of life. We learnt to slow down, observe, and participate in nature rather than merely consume it.
Perhaps most unexpectedly, the farm connected us with a growing community of people who shared a similar longing—a desire to remain rooted in modern lives while reconnecting with the rhythms of the natural world. Together, we discovered that the search for land was never really about owning a place; it was about rediscovering a sense of belonging.
What began as a temporary experiment on leased land gradually evolved into a lifelong commitment. Two years later, that journey has led us to our own two-acre piece of land on the border of Rajasthan and Haryana, in the quiet village of Ujoli—a place that has become inseparable from our family's story.
This seemingly barren and arid landscape has received more than our financial investment; it has absorbed our time, energy, failures, discoveries, and dreams. In return, it has offered us lessons far beyond farming. It has taught us patience in uncertainty, resilience in adversity, and the profound satisfaction of creating something with our own hands. More importantly, it has given us a renewed sense of purpose and direction.
Over the years, the farm has become a living laboratory of learning and experimentation. We have explored different approaches to cultivation, tested traditional and contemporary farming practices, and experimented with irrigation systems ranging from simple manual methods to technology-enabled solutions. Each season has brought new challenges and insights, deepening our understanding of the land and its unique ecology.
Sustainability has remained the guiding principle behind every decision we have made. Rather than viewing it as a single objective, we have embraced it as a way of thinking—one that influences how we manage water, enrich soil, conserve resources, build infrastructure, and engage with the surrounding environment. Every intervention has been an opportunity to ask a simple question: how can we work with nature rather than against it?
The latest chapter in this ongoing journey brings together our professional expertise and our personal convictions. As architects, we have always believed that buildings should emerge from their context and respond sensitively to climate, material, and place. With that philosophy in mind, we began designing and building a mud house on the farm—a structure rooted in local wisdom, natural materials, and sustainable construction practices.
More than a building, it is an exploration of how architecture can coexist harmoniously with the landscape. It is a culmination of everything the land has taught us so far and a reminder that the most meaningful spaces are often those created through patience, care, and a deep respect for the earth beneath our feet.