An obsessive misreader of (other) people’s minds, Abhijith spends his free time away from civilisation in a house built on the banks of Subarnarekha (by early goldminers looking to perfect the art of washing their gamchas in the silty waters).

He chanced upon a diploma in graphic design at a design school in Paldi, Ahmedabad after five years of trying to centre-align monospaced type (a good part of those years spent in mostly harmless pushing of pixels and pencils). For another three and a half years, he worked as hired muscle moving nodes—and bezier curves—to some semblance of order. When touch-screen phones made their foray into the everyday graphic designer’s arsenal of simulated pictures, he decided enough was enough and disconnected the two Wacom tablets he was using as instruments of order and chaos. (The second one was purchased for next-to-nothing from a place in Nehru Place.)

Post an indecent amount of time spent away from interesting geography, he signed up for another stint with classrooms and thumbprint-driven attendance-marking, this time at a facility surrounded by ‘actual’ protected forests, faux-baroque architecture, a hill to climb on lazy evenings, a library in three lavish, airconned floors and a treacherous lake masquerading as scenery.

Despite all this and being repeatedly told not to, he (still) believes it is possible to tease organic shapes into absolute perfection, even if (more so when) nobody cares. He spent the last two years trying to find the perfect place to put a node on the spine of a letter S rescued from a defragmented hard drive. Frequent software updates and tea breaks have ruined the artboards. (You are welcome to take a look at the file and offer help, or just have tea from one of the seven gold-rimmed cups lying around the house.)