@labs

Designed and delivered upskilling programs with global experts; 500+ professionals impacted

Co-Founder

HUE - Hub for Unique Endeavours

Designed high-end residential, hospitality, and commercial spaces with narrative-driven concepts

A&SW - Azmi & Sarosh Wadia Architects

Associate Architect

dwp | design worldwide partnership

Internship 

The world of architecture is evolving
New tools. New questions. New possibilities.
And at the heart of this shift are designers who are ready to innovate, adapt, and lead the change.

I'm Yohan Wadia, an architect, educator, and cofounder of @LABS (Learn. Apply. Build. Scale), a learning platform for the next generation of spatial thinkers.

Over the years, I’ve taught across universities, led design studios, and mentored hundreds of learners from students in architecture schools to professionals exploring computational design, AI, and spatial technologies.

In that journey, one thing became clear:
We need learning spaces that are just as dynamic as the world we’re designing for

That’s why we started @LABS, a hands-on, boundaryless learning lab that equips designers, urbanists, and architects with the tools of tomorrow.

We go beyond software. We focus on how to think, build, and apply using AI, geospatial tools, data, and more.

@LABS exists to
• Help learners confidently navigate change
• Make technical skills more accessible and applied
• Rethink how design and technology can solve real-world challenges

If you're someone who wants to push the boundaries of how we learn, design, and build, I’d love to connect

Let’s shape the future, one experiment at a time.

Growing up in an architecture family taught me more than just design.

Architecture wasn’t just my parents’ profession; it was my playground.

I still remember tagging along on site visits when I was five or six. Even vacations weren’t breaks; they were mini expeditions, exploring buildings, studying forms, and soaking in the rhythm of spaces. That fascination stuck with me, and so did one early lesson: work can be fun.

But I also noticed something else. In their generation, architects often wore every hat: design, finance, decisions, everything ran through them. They were masters of all trades, and I’ve always admired the depth of knowledge and dedication that it required.

Today, I do things differently. I delegate, collaborate, and trust specialists to handle what they do best. Early in my journey, I tried doing it all myself, and it was a crash course in understanding every process.

Now, I focus on building and leading a team that multiplies impact, rather than trying to control every detail.

Yet, some things I hope to emulate forever: their leadership and legacy.

Both my parents played leading roles in associations, the Indian Institute of Architects (IIA) and the Indian Institute of Interior Designers (IIID). They served as chairpersons and presidents, shaping the profession and inspiring others along the way.

At @LABS, I carry those lessons forward.

I ask: How can we shape the future of design? How can education empower architects? How can collaboration amplify creativity?

Three lessons I carry from them:
→ Joy fuels creativity. Never lose the wonder of discovery.
→ Delegation is power. Trust the team, focus on impact.
→ Leadership is legacy. Build structures, and build people.

I do things differently from my parents, but their foundation guides every decision I make. And that makes all the difference.

What’s one thing you learned from watching your parents that you carry with you today?

Yohan Wadia

Architect & Educator | Founder @LABS | Making Tech-Driven Design Education Practical, Accessible & Global | Climate AI | Urban Futures

5 lakh architects graduated in India in the last 20 years.

I’m one of them.

When I registered with the COA (Council of Architecture), the process felt more about paperwork than about preparing me for practice.

I remember thinking what comes next?

How do I deal with contracts, negotiations, or even emerging tools?

That gap between registration and real practice is still something I see young graduates struggling with today.

Out of 5 lakh graduates, only 1,42,116 are registered with the COA.

That’s not just a gap. That’s 3.5 lakh architects who chose not to register.

Why?

Yes, the COA has rules, regulations, and fines all intended to safeguard the profession. But without strong implementation, professionals don’t always feel supported.

Most of the focus remains on paperwork and certification which colleges are recognised, which aren’t.

But the bigger issue is this: Is the curriculum truly updated?

When the profession is moving towards AI, BIM, and new workflows, graduates still feel underprepared for real practice.

From what I’ve seen in practice, here’s what could help:

✔ Curriculums must be updated for future-ready skills.
✔ Continuous learning pathways, opportunities to upskill even after graduation.
✔ Support for day-to-day dilemmas, fees, timelines, and contracts.
✔ Mediation and guidance for professional disputes.
✔ Registration should be a meaningful process, ideally automatic with graduation, and coupled with guidance to shape career pathways.

To be fair, the COA has also introduced encouraging steps:

👉 Welfare schemes for architects, designed to offer financial and professional support
👉 A committee to assess faculty experience prior to registration, acknowledging academic and practical expertise

These are steps in the right direction.

But if we truly want to protect the integrity of the profession, we need more than regulation.

We need support.

We need mentorship.

We need continuous learning.

And above all, we need trust-building mechanisms that make architects feel backed, not just monitored.

Should the COA’s role expand beyond regulation, into mentorship and active support for professionals?

When I created my first map with code, I absolutely hated coding. 

It felt abstract, confusing, and far from anything I imagined I’d ever enjoy.
But that one map changed everything.

Yesterday, during the kickoff of our Advanced Urban Analytics course, Parshav Sheth and I had the joy of guiding our learners as they created their very first maps, one using Google Earth Engine and another with Python.

Watching them reminded me exactly how I felt years ago, curious, frustrated, and then amazed when the map finally appeared.

Because it’s never just about creating a map.
It’s about learning to visualize our world differently, to see layers of data, patterns of cities, and stories hidden in plain sight. 

From hating code to teaching it, the journey feels surreal. But that’s the power of learning, it changes not just what you do, but how you see.
So here’s to everyone who coded their first map yesterday, your journey has just begun.

Tagging all my amazing Scholars here Acho Bhargavi,Nikhil Ahir, Devanshi Ruparelia, Dev Surti, Sneha Ramachandran, Saloni Agarwal, Juhi Chauhan, Ayushi Mehata, Akshat Krishnan, Khushii Doshi

When I was a kid, Diwali felt like it would never end.
New clothes. Crackers. Sweets. 

Back then, light meant noise.
It meant cousins running around till midnight and falling asleep next to boxes of sweets.

In my twenties, it became something else.
Less about rituals, more about people.
Friends who became family.
Long dinners that started at 8 and somehow ended at 2 AM.
We celebrated togetherness more than tradition.

And now, Diwali feels quieter but somehow deeper.
It’s about sitting with my parents, lighting diyas in silence, and watching that same glow I did as a child but with a different kind of peace.
The celebration hasn’t disappeared.
It’s just moved inward.

Somewhere along the way, Diwali stopped being an event.
It became a feeling, a pause, a reminder that joy doesn’t always have to be loud.

This year, when I light diyas, I’m thinking less about celebration and more about connection.

Here’s to a Diwali designed not by trends, but by emotion.
By warmth. By stillness.
By joy that doesn’t need to announce itself.

What part of Diwali means the most to you now, the light, the people, or the pause?

This Indian airport just beat Changi at its own game. Here’s how tradition won over scale.

Guwahati’s new T2 terminal just won the International Architectural Award 2025, beating even Changi Airport’s Terminal 2.

What makes this win remarkable isn’t the scale, it’s the mindset.

This project is a glimpse into what I call the new design paradigm: where tradition isn’t lost to technology, it’s reinterpreted by it.

At T2, bamboos and foxtail orchids aren’t just cultural references. They’re data points. Architects used digital simulation tools to optimise local materials and
climate responsiveness, a process often called Digital Vernacularism.

It’s a heritage meeting algorithm. Culture written in code. And the outcome isn’t just aesthetic, it’s adaptive, performative, and deeply contextual.

This is exactly where I see design education heading:

- Learn your roots deeply
- Learn your tools fearlessly
- Use technology to amplify identity, not erase it

NUDES, led by Nuru Karim and collaborators, deserve all the credit for proving that the future of design doesn’t need to choose between emotion and efficiency, it can and must have both.

If we teach future designers to think this way, not “hand vs AI” but heritage plus algorithm, India’s next generation of architects won’t just build globally, they’ll design meaningfully.

Which local craft or material do you think deserves a digital revival, and why?

9 out of 10 architecture students lose sleep. But we still call it “dedication.”

When I was in architecture school, my day started at 8:30 AM and ended at… well, it never really ended.

The official hours were till 7 PM.
The unofficial ones stretched into the night. Extra classes, reviews, “just one more correction.”

By midnight, the studio lights were still on.
We weren’t designing. We were surviving.
Running on caffeine and anxiety, not creativity.

And somehow, that was considered normal.
Sleepless nights were seen as a sign of commitment.
If you weren’t exhausted, you weren’t serious enough.

Architecture schools built a culture that equates exhaustion with excellence.
We glorify overwork and burnout as if pain is proof of passion.

You lose sleep, focus, and health, and over time, even your love for design.
Years later, stopping work at 7 PM feels wrong because you’ve been trained to believe that rest equals laziness.

When I did my master’s, it was different.
We had autonomy, not surveillance.
Guidance, not micromanagement.
We learned how to stop.

📊 The Data Says It All

📌 91% of architecture students face chronic sleep deprivation

📌 96% of practicing architects report burnout symptoms

📌 33.8% of Indian college students suffer from poor sleep quality, affecting focus and memory

If that’s the reality, maybe the problem isn’t the students. It’s the system.

Design education doesn’t need to be brutal to be effective.
Creativity thrives on rest, reflection, and rhythm.

Because the real lesson architecture should teach is balance, not burnout.

Do you think architecture schools push passion, or just normalize burnout?

No one wants to admit it.

But most design students are terrified of failing.

I’ve seen it again and again, panicked faces when projects don’t land, the fear that a rejected concept reflects their worth.

I’ve felt the same. Early in my career, I thought failure meant I wasn’t good enough.

Then I realised something important: You don’t fail a project. You fail through it.

Design is really a long string of experiments, most of them failing, that eventually shape one working idea.

Every sketch that doesn’t land, every model that collapses, every “dead-end” iteration, they’re not mistakes. They’re maps, guiding you where to go next.

But here’s the thing, we don’t talk about this enough in studios. We glorify the final render, the neat presentation, the glossy outcome, and quietly sweep the chaos under the carpet.

Now, when I teach, I see the shift happen in students. The moment they stop fearing “it didn’t work” and start treating it as feedback, that’s when intuition becomes intelligence.

Maybe design education needs more of that. Less fear of failure and more fascination with what it teaches.

How do you think we can make “failure” a visible, celebrated part of design culture?

You’re throwing away your career.
That's what people told me when I decided to start @LABS.

Most people thought I was crazy.

“Why build something now? You’re qualified. Take a job, earn ₹1.5–2 lakh a month, gain experience first.”
“Edtech is dead after the IIT-coaching bubble burst.”
“Trust is gone. No one will pay for learning again.”

And they weren’t wrong, at least statistically.

In 2023, over 60% of Indian edtech startups either shut down or pivoted because of trust and funding issues.
Investors pulled back, learners got skeptical, and the market felt broken.

I had no business experience, no marketing background, no capital.
People said you can’t even start without ₹25–30 lakh.
We started with ₹1 lakh and time.

Everyone told me it wasn’t possible.

That Goa wasn’t a place to build a tech startup.

That without ads, no one would find us.

But we believed that if learning is valuable, trust can grow organically.

The first few months were terrifying no funding, no roadmap, just conviction.
But we didn’t stop.

And I remembered one line from my 12th-grade economics book:
“Profit is the reward for taking calculated risks.”

That became the philosophy behind @LABS frugal, fearless, and focused on quality over hype.

If I’d waited to feel ready, @LABS would’ve never existed.

So, what’s one risk you’re glad you took, even when no one understood it?

How dare you think you can share a brand you love as an architect!!!
How dare you tell people what actually works in a space!!!

I’ve often wondered why architects can’t openly talk about the materials, brands, or vendors we genuinely love. 

Meanwhile, we survive on ambition and a ₹30,000 salary if we’re lucky, work 12-hour days, and pay for AutoCAD, SketchUp, etc, but when we tag a stone brand or lighting collaboration. Suddenly it’s “Professional Misconduct”

A photographer can tag their favourite lens. A chef can rave about cookware. A designer can share the tools that make their work shine. Why can’t we

When I share a material or décor element, it’s never about selling. It’s storytelling. It’s showing what works, what lasts, what feels right in a space. 
Transparent collaborations could educate clients, inspire peers, and actually build trust instead of being a taboo. 

Architecture thrives on collaboration. Yet the moment we make one public, it’s seen as self-promotion. 

Maybe it’s time we caught up with what the creator economy already understands. Sharing your process, your tools, your favourite materials, it’s not marketing. It’s mentorship. 

What are thoughts? Would love to know them in the comments below!

Classrooms will never be the same and it’s not the students’ fault.

See, here’s the thing, Professors aren’t scared of AI itself. They’re concerned about what happens when students start finding answers elsewhere.

For decades, classrooms were built around delivering certainty. AI flips the script.

Suddenly, it’s not just about knowing answers. It’s about asking better questions. That shift feels unfamiliar, even threatening.

Meanwhile, students are experimenting: prompting, remixing, co-creating. They see AI as a teammate, not a threat.

The real gap isn’t technology. It’s mindset.

Imagine if we welcomed AI into the classroom. Teaching wouldn’t shrink. It would expand. 

Professors wouldn’t be replaced. They’d become mentors, guides, and curators of curiosity, helping students navigate insights rather than just giving answers. AI can aid learning, but guidance still comes from teachers.

Maybe the real question isn’t, “Can AI teach?”

It’s, “Are we ready to learn differently with AI as a tool and teachers as mentors?”

You don’t fail because you start and mess up.

You fail because you never start at all.

For the longest time, I was stuck in planning mode. I would research everything, make step-by-step lists, and map out entire processes, sometimes spending days preparing, only to realise the task was harder than I imagined.

One time at @labs, I spent almost a week overthinking how to launch a small pilot. In the end, I delayed it completely. Nothing moved forward.

That’s when I realised: perfection at the start is an illusion. Great things rarely start great. They start messy, awkward, and uncertain. 

Netflix didn’t become the streaming giant it is today overnight. It began with DVDs, trial and error, and the courage to move forward despite uncertainty. The key was simple: it started.

Looking back, I see now that a little courage to start, even knowing failure was possible, would have accelerated everything. 

Every start teaches you something. Every attempt helps you grow. Every mistake shows you how to improve.

Starting isn’t a step. It’s the spark that turns ideas into reality.

What’s the one idea you’ve been afraid to start?

I read a post that said, “You can learn anything in 30 days”

And I bet you still won’t master it. Why?

Because honestly, I wouldn’t pick any of those. If I had 30 days to reskill as a designer, I’d focus on one thing: learning how to learn.

Here’s why?

Tools change faster than we think, Markets evolve overnight, and AI updates while we’re still figuring out the last one.

But the ability to learn quickly, adapt, and apply new knowledge? That never goes out of style.

A few years ago, I had just 3 days to pick up an entirely new design framework for a project. The deadline was tight, and there was no backup plan.

At first, it felt overwhelming. But instead of obsessing over every button and feature, I focused on the principle behind the framework. I broke it into milestones, experimented, failed fast, adjusted even faster, and noted what I could carry forward.

That experience taught me something important: it was never about the tool. It was about knowing how to learn and adapt.

If I had to do it again in 30 days, here’s how I’d approach it:
• Focus on the domain, not the tool.
• Break learning into weekly milestones.
• Fail fast, write it down, and move on.
• Reflect on what’s transferable for the future.

Future-proofing yourself as a designer isn’t about chasing the latest trend.

It’s about cultivating a mindset that helps you thrive no matter what comes next.

If you had 30 days, would you chase the newest tool or invest in the skill that lets you master them all?

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