How 2022 and 2023
Quietly Changed My Life

The Train Ride

It was the day after Republic Day in 2022 when I arrived in Bengaluru for the very first time. At around 6 in the morning, my train screeched to a halt at KSR Bengaluru station. I stepped out with a backpack full of clothes, a head full of dreams, and absolutely no idea what was about to happen next.

The city welcomed me the best way it possibly could.

With filter coffee. And idli-sambar.

Now, I don't know whether it was the excitement, the lack of sleep, or the fact that I was away from home for the first time in a long while, but that first breakfast felt magical. The coffee was stronger than my confidence and the idlis were softer than my plans for survival.

Having spent most of my life in Mumbai, I thought I was prepared for city life. Rain never bothered me. Traffic never bothered me. In Mumbai, traffic isn't a problem, it's practically a personality trait.

While many people see crowds and feel suffocated, I've always found comfort in them. A crowded local train, busy streets, people rushing everywhere, it felt familiar. So Bengaluru's traffic wasn't exactly a culture shock.

What was surprising, though, was the weather.

For someone used to Mumbai's humidity, Bengaluru felt like the city had permanent air conditioning. Every morning felt pleasant. Every evening felt like an invitation to go for a walk.

And slowly, without realizing it, I started falling in love with the city.

I had joined the Asian Institute of Design (AID) as an Animation and Motion Graphics student.

Everything was new.

Honestly, I had no clue how I was going to survive.

Moving into a hostel again felt like pressing the reset button on life. You suddenly go from knowing everything around you to knowing absolutely nothing. The first few weeks were a blur of introductions, awkward conversations, trying to remember names, pretending you understood directions, and wondering whether you made the right decision.

But then something beautiful happened. The unfamiliar slowly became familiar. Assignments became exciting. Projects became challenges worth losing sleep over. Teachers became mentors. Classmates became friends.

And Bengaluru slowly started feeling less like a city and more like home.

One of the biggest gifts these years gave me wasn't academic.

It was people.

Growing up in Mumbai, I'd met people from different places, but Bengaluru introduced me to entire worlds I had never truly experienced before.

Different languages. Different stories. Different cultures. And somehow, one giant friend circle. There were disagreements. There were debates. There were moments when everyone passionately defended their home state as if they were official ambassadors. Yet somehow, by evening, we'd all be sitting together again.

It felt surreal. Like I was accidentally attending the most wholesome cultural exchange program ever created.

Every city changes you. Some cities change your personality. Bengaluru changed my breakfast.

Poha and upma slowly made room for idlis and dosas. Chai started losing territory. Filter coffee marched in confidently and declared victory.

And then black coffee arrived and conquered whatever was left.

Looking back, it's funny how the smallest habits become signs of bigger changes. You don't notice them while they're happening. One day you're trying filter coffee for the first time. A year later you're explaining coffee preferences like a seasoned expert.

Life is weird like that.

Of course, it wasn't all sunshine, coffee, and perfectly crisp dosas. There were difficult days too. Days when money was tight. Days when sleep became optional. Days filled with frustration.

Stress. Self-doubt.

There were moments of crying, moments of feeling lost, and moments when everything felt overwhelming. The kind of moments every student experiences but rarely talks about. But somehow, those struggles became part of the story too. Because alongside those difficult moments came friendships.

Connections. Conversations. People who showed up when it mattered.

And when I look back now, I don't remember the stress as much as I remember the people who helped me get through it.

Every college has teachers. But every once in a while, you're lucky enough to meet mentors. There was another reason these years became so special for me, the people who taught me.

One of my favourite professors had a saying that still lives rent-free in my head:

It sounded playful at first, but over time I realised it carried a much bigger lesson. He taught me that great design, great animation, and honestly, great life experiences all begin with observation. The little things matter. The expressions people make, the way light falls on a wall, the stories hidden in everyday moments, he taught me to notice them all.

Even today, he checks in on me from time to time, asking how I'm doing. And every time he does, it reminds me that I wasn't just another student in a classroom. I was one of his kids, learning, stumbling, growing, and trying to find my way. That's a rare feeling, and one I'll always be grateful for.

Then there was my animation teacher.

If there is one person who taught animation with his whole heart, it was him. Every class felt less like a lecture and more like someone passing on a craft they genuinely loved. Looking back, I don't just remember the principles he taught, I remember the passion behind them.

And then there was another teacher who could nail Po's expressions from Kung Fu Panda so perfectly that it felt like I was learning from the Dragon Warrior himself. Between the two of them, it genuinely felt like my animation journey was being guided by Master Shifu and Po. Every lesson was packed with energy, humour, and an obsession with getting the smallest details right.

What surprised me the most, though, was how much I learnt from teachers who never even taught my department. Sometimes it was a casual conversation in a corridor. Sometimes it was watching how they approached their work. Sometimes it was advice given when I didn't even realise I needed it.

Looking back now, I think I was incredibly lucky. I was surrounded by people who cared about teaching, cared about learning, and cared about seeing students become better versions of themselves. I tried to absorb everything I could. Every lesson. Every critique. Every piece of advice. Every random conversation.

And when I think about those years now, I realise they were probably the best years I spent in postgraduate college.

Not because everything was perfect.

But because I was learning every single day, from teachers, from friends, from failures, and from the city itself. It's a chapter of my life I'll always carry with me. And if I'm being honest, it's a chapter I'll probably miss forever. And no matter where life takes me next, a part of me will always belong to those hostel corridors, those classroom critiques, those late-night project submissions, and those mornings that started with filter coffee.

It's 2026 now. And honestly? I have no idea where those four years went. Sometimes it feels like I arrived in Bengaluru yesterday. Other times it feels like an entire lifetime ago.

Everything feels like a giant sketchbook filled with moments I never want to forget. When I look back, I realize how fortunate I was. I wasn't the smartest person in every room. I wasn't the most talented either. But I was curious. I tried to learn from everyone. I grabbed every bit of knowledge I could find. And somehow, that curiosity gave me some of the most memorable years of my life.

The years I spent in postgraduate college weren't just about getting a degree. They were about finding a new city. Finding new people. Finding new perspectives. And, in many ways, finding myself.

Bengaluru started as a place I was afraid of.

Today, it's a place I'll always be grateful for.