An institute with its own rhythm

AS I enter the final quarter of my last spell as an Associate Fellow at the Indian Institute of Advanced Study, Shimla, I find myself growing more attentive to the place — to its pauses, its silence, its quiet companionship. What was once familiar now seems subtly fresh. It appears as if the building shifts its expression each day, revealing something I had overlooked earlier.

The institute has its own rhythm. At dawn, the sun rises over the ridge like a golden breath — slow and deliberate. For a fleeting moment, the light touches the lawns and the high windows, and the whole place shimmers. The flowers turn towards the warmth, and the pines — tall and dignified — sway slightly in approval.

In the early hours, when mist floats gently through the cedar and pine trees, it reaffirms my enlightenment. When late at night, the lamps burn softly in the corridors, it seems to dispel the ignorance of the world. The chatter of tourists fades, the offices close, and only a few figures remain — a guard by the gate, a worker leaving the mess, a scholar lost in research. In those hours, the grand structure feels like an abode of goddess Saraswati — watchful, composed and deeply aware.

Sometimes, as I walk along the stone paths, I feel the building walking beside me. Its long corridors hold the weight of memory — voices that once echoed here, footsteps that have come and gone, ideas that linger in the woody fragrance. It feels that the walls have listened to generations asking questions and stored them tenderly in their silence, answering purposefully with the passing time.

There is a kind of composure here that resists the world’s hurry. The beauty lies not in the ceremonial structure but in the intellect it nudges. Each walk reveals a new angle, a shadow, the curve of a stone that catches light differently. I try to breathe in the smell — of damp earth, the cold morning air; the deep, old silence that feels almost sacred.

Even after many visits, the institute continues to surprise. It teaches you to listen to the echoes of your heartbeat, to your steps, your thoughts in the mountain air. It draws you inwards, until the realisation dawns that what you are seeking in the long history of this regal campus is also what you are seeking within yourself.

When I leave, I know I will carry a part of the ingrained light of knowledge which I acquired here. In the hustle and bustle of the city, when days begin to rush past, I will remember this hill as my abode of enlightenment — not for what it held, but for how it taught me to pause, to look and to simply be.