If Wes Anderson ever decided to direct my life at Manipal University Jaipur, I am deeply convinced it would win awards for Best Production Design and Worst Decision-Making by Protagonist. Because picture this. MUJ, already serving clean lines, sunlit corridors, and suspiciously aesthetic buildings, suddenly becomes a pastel fever dream where every staircase is symmetrical, every outfit is colour-coordinated, and every emotional breakdown is… tastefully framed.
This is not just campus life. This is cinematic suffering with a curated colour palette.
We are talking dusty pink skies over Academic Block 1, green lawns that look like they’ve signed a NDA with Pinterest, and a library so quiet it feels like it’s judging your screen time. In this version of reality, even procrastination has a personality. Even chaos has choreography. Even my Google Calendar lies to me in a serif font.
And yet, beneath all the symmetry, the soft lighting, the carefully placed props of ambition and caffeine, there is one stubborn, slightly sleep-deprived constant. Me. Eating Maggi at 2am like it is a coping mechanism and a personality trait.
Because no matter how aesthetic the universe gets, you cannot colour-grade poor decisions.
The grand entrance is giving main character delusion.
The MUJ gate is not just a gate. In my imaginary Wes Anderson film, it is The Entrance. Capital letters. Emotional significance. Slightly dramatic background score that feels like it’s about to reveal a plot twist but actually just reveals me being late… again.
The shot opens perfectly centred. Of course it does. A bus glides past like it has purpose. Students walk in straight lines like they have their lives together. I stand there, iced coffee in hand, pretending I am not internally buffering. The symmetry is aggressive. The energy is curated. The lie is believable.
In reality, the gate is chaos disguised as order. Autos honking like they have unresolved trauma, friends shouting across the road, someone sprinting because attendance is a concept we only respect at the last possible second. But in this pastel universe, even the chaos is organised chaos. Like a group project where everyone contributes… aesthetically.
And me? I am framed dead centre, wearing an outfit that looks like I planned it, but actually came together because everything else was in the wash. My bag is slightly too heavy. My expectations are slightly too high. My sleep schedule is fictional.
The funniest part is how easily the illusion holds. One symmetrical shot and suddenly I look like I know what I am doing. One slow pan and suddenly my confusion becomes “mystery”. One colour palette and suddenly my academic anxiety feels like a personality quirk instead of a full-blown lifestyle.
Cinema really said fake it till you frame it.
Academic blocks are where dreams get PDF’d.
Academic Block 1, 2, 3. The holy trinity of “I will start studying tomorrow”. In a Wes Anderson universe, these buildings are not just functional. They are aesthetic institutions of intellectual delusion.
And then came Lecture Hall Complex (LHC). You wouldn’t believe how beautiful it is, unless you actually see it with your own eyes.
Every corridor is perfectly aligned. Every classroom is symmetrical to the point of intimidation. Even the whiteboards look like they woke up early and did skin care. And then there is me, sitting in the third row, pretending to understand what is happening while my brain is running Windows XP on emotional battery saver mode.
Professors speak like they are narrating a documentary about my downfall. Their voices are calm, steady, and deeply unconcerned with my confusion. I nod like I understand. I take notes like I am committed. I am, in fact, writing words that will mean nothing to me in exactly 2 hours.
In this version of life, even confusion looks pretty. My messy handwriting becomes “abstract expressionism”. My half-finished notes become “minimalism”. My lack of understanding becomes… open-ended interpretation.
But let us not romanticise too hard. Because beneath the symmetry, there is chaos. Group projects where one person disappears like a side character written out mid-season. Assignments submitted at 11:59 p.m. with the confidence of someone who did not open the file until 11:12. Internal marks that feel like they were decided via vibes.
And yet, the aesthetic persists. The illusion holds. Because when the lighting is soft and the framing is perfect, even academic stress looks like a coming-of-age story instead of a cry for help.
Education, but make it emotionally confusing and visually stunning.
Hostel life is a pastel-toned survival documentary.
If the academic blocks are the plot, GHS is the character development arc. This is where the real film happens. This is where the aesthetic starts to crack just enough to let the chaos breathe.
In a Wes Anderson version, every room is colour-coded. The overachiever lives in soft blue, surrounded by planners and stability. The situationship survivor lives in muted red, fuelled by overthinking and playlists titled “it’s fine :)”. And me? I live in warm yellow with hints of “I tried”.
Everything looks neat. Beds are made. Desks are organised. Fairy lights are placed with intention. It is giving Pinterest. It is giving “I have my life together”. It is also giving lies.
Because at 2am, the truth comes out. Someone is crying over placements. Someone is on a call saying “no no I am not attached” while being very attached. Someone is ordering food like it is a personality trait. And I am making Maggi like it is the only thing tethering me to reality.
The beauty of it all is how universal it feels. Everyone is going through something. Everyone is pretending they are not. And somehow, in the middle of it, we find each other. Over late-night snacks, shared notes, and conversations that start as jokes and end as accidental therapy sessions.
In the film, this would be the montage. Soft music. Warm lighting. Laughter that lingers a second longer than necessary. Moments that feel small but end up meaning everything.
Because even in a perfectly curated universe, it is the messy, human bits that make the story worth watching.
The illusion of control is the biggest plot twist.
The funniest part of this entire cinematic experiment is the illusion of control. Because if you looked at my life through a Wes Anderson lens, you would think I have everything sorted. My schedule looks neat. My surroundings look curated. My life looks… intentional.
But reality? Reality is a group chat named “final final FINAL notes”. Reality is setting five alarms and still waking up late. Reality is saying “I will fix my life this week” every single week like it is a subscription service.
The symmetry lies. The colours distract. The framing edits out the chaos. But it does not remove it.
And maybe that is the point.
Maybe the beauty is not in having everything perfectly aligned. Maybe it is in showing up anyway. In attending lectures you barely understand. In submitting assignments you barely finished. In laughing through the stress because what else are you going to do… cry aesthetically?
In this film, I am not the most organised character. I am not the most put-together. I am, however, persistent. Slightly chaotic. Deeply dramatic. Endlessly trying.
And honestly? That makes for a much better story.
If my life at MUJ were directed by Wes Anderson, it would look like a dream.
Symmetrical, curated to the point where even my breakdowns have good lighting. It would look like I have control. Like I have direction. Like I am the kind of person who wakes up early, drinks water, and understands what is happening in lectures.
But the truth is softer. And louder. And a little more chaotic.
Because behind every perfectly framed moment is a girl who is still figuring it out. Who is still missing deadlines, overthinking texts, and eating Maggi at 2am like it is a personality arc she cannot escape. Who is trying to balance ambition and exhaustion and somehow still laugh in between.
And maybe that is the real aesthetic. Not perfection. Not symmetry. But trying. Showing up. Being a little lost and a little hopeful at the same time.
So no, my life is not a perfectly directed film. It is more like a beautifully chaotic behind-the-scenes documentary with questionable decisions and excellent snacks.
And honestly?
I would still watch it.
For more such articles, visit Her Campus at MUJ. And if you’d like to create your own Wes Anderson movie, find me at Niamat Dhillon at HCMUJ.