There are some classrooms where you learn a subject.
And then there are some classrooms that quietly change the way you see the world.
For me, architecture was the second kind.
When I look back at my early days of architecture school, I don’t remember only the sheets I drew, the lectures I attended, or the deadlines I somehow survived. I remember the little things—the drafting table, the parallel bar, the pencils, the bricks, the endless lines, the discussions, the mistakes.
At that time, many of those things seemed unnecessarily complicated.
Today, I realise they were quietly preparing me for much more than architecture.
They were shaping me.
The First Battle: Setting Up the Drafting Table
My first class didn’t really begin with architecture.
It began with figuring out how on earth to set up a drafting table.
We had the drafting board, the thread, the parallel bar, the set square and, of course, the bag pack that seemed to contain everything except the thing we actually needed.
The biggest confusion was figuring out how to fix the thread and the pulley system properly.
There were different ways to do it—metal clamps, plastic stiffeners and several other methods that seemed perfectly reasonable at first.
But there was one little thing I discovered later that turned out to be the real one-man army:
The metal nail.
Yes, that tiny nail—the same kind carpenters use.
It held the parallel-bar thread pulley firmly. The other methods worked too, but they could loosen, shift or get disturbed quite easily.
That first day was messy.
Threads everywhere.
Confusion everywhere.
Everyone trying to figure out which method was actually the right one.
But much later, I realised something.
Setting up that drafting table was like preparing the ground before hitting a six in a cricket match.
You cannot simply walk onto the field and expect to hit the perfect shot.
First, you prepare.
You position yourself.
You make sure your equipment is ready.
Then you play.
Architecture was teaching me that lesson before I even knew I was learning it.
The Sheet That Refused to Behave
Once the drafting tables were finally ready, another challenge arrived:
Fix the drafting sheet.
Sounds easy, right?
Just put the sheet on the board and secure it with cellotape.
But apparently, even that had an art to it.
The sheet had to be perfectly aligned and square.
Use too much glue and the corners would tear.
Use too little and the sheet would refuse to stay.
And if you didn’t fix it properly, the sheet would eventually start moving along with the parallel bar.
At that time, I thought:
“Why is something this simple becoming such a big task?”
But later I understood.
Before you can create something beautiful, you have to gear up your base properly.
The foundation may not be visible in the final product, but it determines how well everything else works.
That lesson stayed with me.
And then, finally, the lectures began.
I was nervous.
But I was excited too.
I had no idea that those ordinary-looking classes were going to change me.
The ₹40 Pencil
One of my first design classes was with Ar. Kuldeep, our design faculty at the time.
He suggested that we use a Staedtler pencil.
One pencil.
₹40.
That was a lot for a pencil back then.
My immediate reaction was basically:
“Seriously?”
But the pencil was only the beginning.
He taught us how to sharpen it properly.
And when I say properly, I mean properly.
We spent what felt like hours working with a snap-off blade to create the perfect grip and using iron paper to achieve that precise pencil point.
I remember wondering:
“What is the point of spending so much time preparing a pencil when we could just start drawing?”
Years later, I understood.
The lesson wasn’t really about the pencil.
It was about preparation.
Before creating a presentable sheet, you prepare your tools.
You prepare your mind.
You prepare your workspace.
You prepare yourself.
Because once you learn how to gear up your tools before entering the battle, half the battle is already won.
And the Staedtler itself taught another small lesson.
Don’t always fall for the cheapest option.
Good tools matter.
A sturdy pencil with quality graphite may cost a little more, but it performs differently.
Sometimes, investing in the right tool is not an expense.
It is preparation.
H1, H2, HB, B1, B2…
Then came another lecture.
We had to draw lines.
Different pencils.
Different grades.
H1.
H2.
HB.
B1.
B2.
And probably several others that made me question everything I thought I knew about pencils.
I had previously been perfectly comfortable with my basic Natraj pencil.
And suddenly architecture had introduced me to an entire family of pencils.
The task was simple:
Draw seamless lines using different grades.
In reality?
It was frustrating.
The pencil points broke.
The sheet moved.
The lines didn’t look right.
Sometimes the pencil felt completely wrong in my hand.
I hated the exercise.
But I eventually understood what it was trying to teach me.
If you keep using only the tools that are comfortable for you, you will keep producing the results that those tools allow.
If you want different results, you have to learn to command different tools.
That lesson has nothing to do with pencils alone.
It applies to life.
Different problems require different approaches.
Different situations require different skills.
And sometimes the tool that feels uncomfortable is exactly the tool you need.
The Brick That Taught Me About Big Things
Then came our first construction lecture.
Bricks.
I remember thinking:
“Bricks? Really?”
I had played with them in my childhood while making tiny houses for my toys.
I never imagined that such a simple rectangular block could be so important in architecture.
But that day changed my perspective.
A building that looks enormous from the outside is ultimately made from countless smaller units.
One brick.
Then another.
Then another.
And another.
Until thousands of small pieces become something big.
That day I learned something I still carry with me:
Every big thing is a result of repetitive small things.
So focus on the small.
Because the small things are what eventually build the big things.
A building.
A career.
A relationship.
A life.
The Art of Making Things Better
Our Art and Graphics classes were taught by Mr. Anil Vishwakarma.
He was exceptionally good at what he did.
But what I remember most wasn’t just his teaching technique.
It was the way he looked at our drawings.
We could bring him something that we thought was completely ruined.
A drawing full of mistakes.
Something we weren’t proud of.
And somehow, he would work with it.
He wouldn’t necessarily make it perfect.
But he could always make it better than before.
And that stayed with me.
Because perhaps that is how life should work too.
We don’t always get the chance to start with a perfect drawing.
Sometimes we make mistakes.
Sometimes we take the wrong line.
Sometimes the proportions are completely off.
Sometimes we look at what we have created and think it is beyond repair.
But maybe it isn’t.
Maybe we just need to work on it again.
Correct a little.
Improve a little.
Learn a little.
Try again.
Every point in life can become a new beginning.
You don’t always have to erase everything.
Sometimes you simply need to make what you already have a little better.
Architecture Wasn’t About Memorising
One of the things I loved about architecture school was that many of our lectures didn’t feel like traditional lectures.
It wasn’t always:
Teacher sitting on a chair.
Students sitting silently.
Someone dictating information.
Everyone trying to memorise it before the examination.
Instead, many classes felt like conversations.
Discussions.
Debates.
Questions.
One-to-one conversations.
Arguments about ideas.
Sharing perspectives.
Listening to someone else’s interpretation.
It was very different from school life.
And surprisingly, I liked it much more.
Because when you discuss something, you don’t simply remember it.
You begin to understand it.
When you explain your thoughts, you discover what you actually think.
When someone challenges your idea, you learn to defend it—or sometimes realise that you were wrong.
Architecture slowly taught me that learning isn’t always about collecting answers.
Sometimes it is about learning how to ask better questions.
And Then Architecture Started Changing Me
These are only a few memories from the early stages of architecture.
A drafting table.
A metal nail.
A sheet of paper.
A ₹40 pencil.
Different grades of graphite.
Endless lines.
Bricks.
Drawings.
Discussions.
Teachers.
Mistakes.
At the time, they seemed like disconnected parts of an architecture curriculum.
Today, I see the connection.
They were all quietly building something inside me.
Architecture taught me to prepare before beginning.
To respect my tools.
To step outside my comfort zone.
To understand that big things are made from small, repetitive efforts.
To improve instead of giving up.
To discuss instead of simply memorising.
And most importantly, architecture taught me to observe.
Since then, the chain has never really stopped.
I learned something from every drawing.
Every building.
Every site.
Every mistake.
Every teacher.
Every project.
Every deadline.
And slowly, without even realising it, the way I looked at the world began to change.
A normal door stopped being just a door.
It became an opening.
A red wall stopped being just a red wall.
I started noticing the brickwork.
The bond.
The texture.
The pattern.
The way light touched its surface.
A staircase wasn’t simply something to climb.
It became a study of movement, proportion and space.
Windows became frames.
Shadows became compositions.
Empty spaces became meaningful.
And somewhere along the way, something else changed too.
I started paying attention not only to the minute details of architecture…
but also to the minute details of life.
The small things people say.
The pauses between conversations.
The way a place makes you feel.
The details everyone else might walk past.
The little things that eventually become something much bigger.
This Is How Architecture Shaped Me
When I think about architecture today, I don’t think it only gave me a profession.
It gave me a perspective.
It changed the way I observe.
The way I think.
The way I solve problems.
The way I understand mistakes.
The way I approach preparation.
The way I appreciate details.
Architecture didn’t just teach me how to design spaces.
It taught me how to see them.
And perhaps, in the process, it taught me how to see life a little differently too.
Those early days were not simply about learning how to draw a line, fix a sheet, sharpen a pencil or understand a brick.
They were about learning how to build myself.
One small lesson at a time.
One mistake at a time.
One drawing at a time.
One conversation at a time.
And just like a building, the person I am today wasn’t created in a single day.
It was built layer by layer.
Frame by frame.
Detail by detail.
This is how architecture framed the Shubham Mishra I know today.
And perhaps that is the most beautiful thing architecture gave me.
It didn’t just help me build structures.
It helped build me.
#architecturecollegelife #architecture #lifeexperience #architects
