The Kailash Story: from foundation to summit

We formed a team: Jean-François and I, along with Anne, a psychologist, and her partner Marc. And the youth who started it all: Kevin, Ladina, Ira, Jitta, Offa, Arian, Shandra, Chris, Arne and Satyavan. Together, we dove into the real work: what did they actually need?

Learning from the past

Their dream was inspired by Ami, a children’s community that had existed in Auroville years earlier. Ami had been beloved, but had slowly transformed into a permanent adult residence. That shift, where a space meant for youth became fixed housing, was something they wanted to avoid.

So we reflected: what had gone wrong? How could we do it differently? We decided that we needed an age limit. A rule that residents move out, so space remains open for new youth. This had to be a living, evolving space, not one that gets stuck. It had to serve the needs of a specific age group.

They didn’t want a youth club, nor an activity centre. They wanted a home, a safe and secure space where they could actually live. A small, community-based setting designed for them.

From idea to action

From there we began to write a project document, sometimes they wrote, sometimes we did. We sat through many meetings, shaping the concept from both a practical and visionary angle. We started asking hard questions: How much would it cost? How would we organise the space? How many people could live there?

To find those answers, we approached architects and others who could offer estimates. That process alone forced us to get clear: what kind of space were we really building? When the first drafts and estimates came together, we faced the next hurdle: fundraising.

At first, people gave money just on trust. But we realised quickly that trust needed structure.

We needed land. Approval from the Development Group. A way to receive and manage funds. So we approached SAIIER, and emphasised that this was not just a housing project, it was an educational initiative. People wouldn’t be coming because they needed shelter, but because they were joining a community with a purpose.

That framing helped. The School Board supported it. SAIIER accepted it. And then, by what felt like pure grace, Gateway stepped in, offering to fund 50% of the cost. Suddenly, we were no longer just dreaming, we were doing.

Webs of solidarity

With Gateway’s support, we gained momentum. I travelled to Europe. We spoke at an AVI UK (Auroville International) meeting. And all along, a web of friends and well-wishers began to support us in surprising, beautiful ways.

One colleague in France organised fashion shows, fundraising for Kailash. A friend got his company to allocate project funds to support us. People who saw the potential of this space, who believed in it, contributed.

That’s how it began to manifest. Slowly, steadily, through trust, grace, and a lot of help.

Then came Matthias from Altecs. Not an architect, not a contractor, a sound engineer, perhaps, but more importantly, someone with experience. He offered to build the project himself. He wanted to prove we could make something affordable and beautiful without everyone taking a cut. We said yes. His drawings were simple. The materials were humble: compressed mud blocks. But the vision was clear. He proposed a contract with a financial engagement between Altecs Construction and Kailash project holders. A very first, brave and true engagement.

With permissions in place and plans drawn, we started. But almost immediately, the Development Group panicked. There was no licensed architect attached. So they created a board of architects to review and refine the project. What could have been a disaster became one of the most collaborative design processes Auroville had seen. No one architect had ownership, so everyone contributed freely. It was beautiful.

Piero and Gloria worked on the facade. Anupama rethought the angles and bathrooms. Aurosatprem checked the technical side of the mud blocks. Everyone added something, neutrally, generously.

Even after construction began, the process remained open. Every Saturday, we held open community work mornings, inviting anyone to help. Youth came regularly. At each step, one of them would join us for meetings, an ongoing educational experience.

Some stayed deeply involved, others came and went. But the spirit of co-creation remained. It wasn’t someone’s building. It was ours, together.

A touch of grace

During construction, gifts kept arriving: Ange made a mosaic of the eyes of Kailash for the entrance. Erisa got and installed granite slabs for the walkway. Stefano offered to do the floor, and created an exquisite mosaic across the entire ground level. People just showed up and offered. That’s the magic of Kailash.

We officially welcomed the first youth residents in September 2001, just after I gave birth to our eldest son. My first outing with my newborn was to walk to Kailash and see how it was all coming together.

Why “Kailash”?

In the early days, we brainstormed names. I wanted it to start with a K, just a feeling. When someone said Kailash, something clicked. Kailash, the abode of God. It just felt right.

Looking back, that moment mirrors so many others. The sense that something larger was moving through us. That we were instruments, responding to a genuine need, supported by timing, vision, and, often, a flow of grace.

One day, we didn’t know how we’d pay salaries for the workers. I went swimming at Repos beach. Suzie joined me out in the sea, asked how things were going, and when I mentioned the shortfall, she asked how much we needed. She told me to go the next day, there would be a check waiting. And there was.

Another time at Solar Kitchen, someone asked what we needed. I mentioned we hadn’t bought the door handles for the bathrooms yet. He handed me the money on the spot.

It was full of stories like that. Without making it sound too pinkish, it really was grace. It carried us through.

Building a life together

Once the construction phase was complete and the first youth had moved in, Kailash transitioned from being a project to being a living community. And with that, came new challenges, especially because it was located in the heart of Auroville’s residential area.

Having a group of teenagers living at the centre of the city raised concerns. Getting the necessary permissions for the space had been difficult from the beginning. Some neighbors were not in favour. The community’s response was often skeptical, even resistant.

Moreover one of the basic principles of Kailash is that no adult caretakers live in the building, to allow the residents to learn from the consequences of their acts and not because of fear of authority. They need to grow and progress freely with supportive guidance and learn from their own errors. When rules of life are understood from within, they are well integrated. While if they are arbitrarily followed, they are simply applied.

The fact that no adults live on the spot is to leave space for errors and internal co-regulation and support. Growing and learning from the mistakes we make in a safe and secure environment is the best way to integrate the understanding of consequences.

“According to what I see and what I know, and generally, after fourteen years of age, children must be left independent and they must be guided only if they request it. They must be aware that they are responsible for the direction of their own existence.”

The Mother, 10 July 1968 (Mother’s Agenda)

To reassure people, we had to attend several meetings, explain our vision, and offer guarantees. We made it clear that we were professionals, both Jean-François and I had training and experience working with youth. Jean-François, especially, had spent years in France working in homes with teenagers. That background gave us a foundation to advocate for what we knew was possible.

At the same time, Auroville was engaged in wider discussions about its values and direction. Kireet Joshi, then Chairman of the Governing Board and of the International Advisory Council, was focussing on education and often repeated the idea that children should be placed at the centre of the city. That sentence became a kind of motto during this time, and it aligned perfectly with our effort to ground Kailash in the centre of Auroville, both physically and symbolically.

We reminded ourselves and others that placing children in the centre of the city didn’t just mean caring for them, it meant actually situating their lives, needs, and homes in the middle of our shared urban space. Kailash, in that sense, became a way to walk the talk.

Of course, it also required boundaries. To ease concerns, we set ground rules: no loud music or disturbances in the evenings, and a general culture of care and consideration. It was a balance, between freedom and responsibility, between youthful energy and community harmony.

Jean-François took the lead in setting up the social rhythms of Kailash. For the first seven years, he was there almost every day, and, in the beginning, almost every night. He became a pillar of support, presence, and consistency. Over time, as the community matured, he stepped back slightly. But by then, the culture had been established.

As new youth joined, those who had lived there longer naturally began to pass down the unspoken rules. There was a sense of transmission, not just in responsibilities, but in attitude. It wasn’t just about caretakers enforcing rules; it became a place where young people learned to regulate themselves, and each other.

A structured freedom

Daily life at Kailash was built around the idea that young people thrive when they are trusted and held to shared expectations.

One of the fundamental rules was that every resident must have a daytime activity: school, apprenticeship, volunteer work or a job. This requirement brought structure and rhythm. It encouraged youth to go to bed at a reasonable time, get up in the morning, and feel accountable to something beyond themselves. They were given the gift of living in this space, and in return, they had to give their energy to the community by contributing through learning and working.

There was also a clear age range: initially 14 to 21, but we quickly adjusted it to 16 to 21. We realised that 14 and 15-year-olds often struggled with the level of freedom we offered. They needed more adult presence and often misunderstood freedom as the right to do whatever they wanted, without realising it came with duties. With slightly older youth, these conversations became easier and more fruitful.

Managing a household was central to life in Kailash. Everyone had personal and shared responsibilities. Residents cleaned their own rooms and bathrooms, but shared spaces like the kitchen and corridors were maintained by a cleaning lady. However, all the management tasks, scheduling, purchasing, upkeep, were in the hands of the youth themselves.

Each person had a duty. One resident would be in charge of changing gas bottles. Another would monitor the water tank, ensuring it stayed full. Someone else handled garbage coordination with EcoService. Someone would take care of cleaning supplies. Others would supervise the financial contributions and manage accounting.

All of it served a purpose: teaching them how to live life and run a home, not alone, but together.

It wasn’t a leap straight from a family home to total independence. Kailash provided a middle ground where youth could learn how to live responsibly, surrounded by their peers, while slowly taking on adult tasks. What was theirs to do, they had to do, but always within a shared, supportive structure.

Cooking and community

The kitchen was the beating heart of Kailash. With 14 residents at full capacity, cooking was organised in pairs. Each person cooked once a week, with six nights covered by others. This rhythm kept things light and practical. The cooking team shops and cleans up too.

It also offered opportunities for creativity and sharing. Residents tried new recipes, introduced each other to foods from different cultures, and often surprised themselves with what they could prepare. It wasn’t just about feeding the group, it was about contributing to a common life.

When youth move in, they quickly discover that Kailash is not just a place to stay. It is a community. That understanding deepens over time, as they take up roles, responsibilities, and relationships.

Who is Kailash for?

Kailash welcomes anyone between 16 and 21 years old who is part of the Auroville system. Residents must either be Aurovilians, children of Aurovilians, children of Newcomers, or registered as students or volunteers. One cannot live at Kailash as a guest, as it is not a guest house. It is a committed, structured community, and that distinction matters deeply.

Some come because they want to live near friends who already stay in Kailash. Others are seeking a break from family life, perhaps needing space, distance, autonomy, or simply a bit of breathing room. Teenagers often go through phases where communication at home becomes difficult. Kailash offers an alternative, without breaking ties.

For those planning to leave Auroville in the future, for study, work, or exploration, Kailash acts as an intermediary step. It helps them prepare for independence while remaining rooted in their familiar environment. They learn the skills of living alone, but within a net of support.

And for youth arriving in Auroville on their own, without family, for school or volunteering, it provides a rare opportunity to integrate meaningfully. In earlier times in Auroville, such young people might have lived with families or in existing communities like Aspiration or Ami. Today, those options are more formalised, and Kailash fills that gap.

Joining the community

Usually, young people hear about Kailash through friends, school, or siblings who’ve lived there before. When someone expresses interest, we take note of their name and add them to a waiting list. Depending on the moment, that list may be short, or it may mean waiting a year or more for a spot to open.

When a place becomes available, we reconnect with the applicant, sit with them, and discuss where they’re at in their life. Are they still interested? Do they understand what Kailash really is? Visiting friends at Kailash is very different from becoming a Kailashian. It’s like the difference between visiting Auroville as a guest and becoming a Newcomer. The shift from visitor to resident brings new dynamics and responsibilities.

If the conversation goes well, the young person is invited to attend a Monday community meeting, a weekly tradition in Kailash. There, they introduce themselves to the whole group. The current residents then explain how Kailash functions: the rules, the structure, and the expectations.

After the meeting, the prospective resident leaves, and the community holds a round of reflections. How does everyone feel about the idea of this person joining? If any concerns arise, we address them in follow-up conversations. If the group feels aligned, we move to the next step: a joint meeting with the applicant and their parents.

During that second meeting, we go through a written agreement, a contract that outlines all aspects of Kailash life, point by point. This is also a space for parents to raise questions, express concerns, or clarify anything unclear. The family then takes the contract home to review it. Once they agree, the parents alongside the new resident signs it and is officially welcomed. They are shown the available room, a move-in date is set, and they join the rhythms of life.

A temporary but formative home

Residents generally stay in Kailash for several months to several years. The maximum stay is around five to six years, from the age of 16 to 21. We don’t accept people who only plan to be here a few weeks. It’s not a short-term solution, it’s a place to grow.

And so they grow. Together.

A place that grew with us

We have recently been working on a documentary for Kailash’s 25th anniversary. This opened a door I hadn’t fully walked through before. It started on 28 February, the same date the foundation ceremony had taken place back in 2000. I was going through some old papers. Kailash is such a daily part of my life that I’m often engaged with something or other related to it, and it suddenly hit me: it’s been 25 years since we formally started the construction!

That realisation sparked something. I felt it was time to celebrate, to document what had happened over these two and a half decades. I imagined a video project, interviews with past residents, reflections from caretakers. It gave me a reason to go back into the archives. I opened the old box with files, diaries, and photos and started scanning documents.

What came from that process wasn’t just nostalgia, it was perspective. I began to see the full arc of the story, not only of Kailash, but also of Auroville’s evolution, especially in relation to youth. Because Kailash wasn’t created from an idea imposed from above. It came from a genuine, felt need. It came from the kids. We were just the instruments that helped bring it into form.

That raised the question: what created the need in the first place?

Looking back, I saw how it grew from the early structure of Auroville. In the beginning, everything was connected to the Ashram’s office in Pondicherry. The Bureau d’Auroville and other core functions were all housed there. There wasn’t a clear distinction between Pondicherry and Auroville in those days. Kids even came in by bus from Pondicherry to attend school here. But after The Mother left her body, the separation began. The Ashram and Auroville diverged. Financial support was cut off, schools were closed, and life on the Auroville plateau became purely about survival, planting, building, and pioneering.

Children were around, but no one was actively focused on them. They had no formal schooling. Most teenagers left Auroville for their studies because there was simply nothing here for them. That was the experience of my sister’s generation, those who were small when Auroville started or born in the early years.

For my generation (I was born in 1974.), it will still be the same. When I reached my teenage years, the options were very limited. There were so few kids in my class at Last School, I ended up studying through correspondence. Then I went to the French Lycée in Pondicherry, and later to France, where I trained to become a social worker. I came back to Auroville at 24. Like so many in my age group, I had to leave in order to continue growing.

When I returned in 1998, the landscape was starting to shift. Kireet Joshi had become Chairman of the Governing Board and of the IAC. He was putting immense energy into education, especially into revitalising Last School and the principles of Free Progress. He brought momentum, attention, and a sense of structure. At the same time, Gateway funding helped launch Future School, offering Auroville its first proper internationally recognised high school setup allowing students to pass exams.

These developments created a foundation that could finally allow teenagers to stay in Auroville, not just as children but as youth preparing for adulthood. And yet, even then, there was a missing piece: a place to live.

Around the same time, the Youth Centre was also established. But the youth themselves were clear, they didn’t want just a place to hang out or do activities. They wanted a home. A space that was theirs. And so Kailash was born out of that space in Auroville’s timeline, at the intersection of social growth, educational development, and the desire to retain youth within the community.

It was a time of alignment. The city was ready, and the teenagers were ready too. And for the first time, Auroville had enough structure to raise children from infancy all the way to the end of high school, right here, without sending them away.

Then and now

Looking back over those 25 years, a lot has changed. And yet, the core principles of Kailash have stayed the same. The rules we laid out in the beginning, the balance of freedom and responsibility, the structure of daily life, are still in place.

But the social atmosphere around those rules has evolved. When Kailash started, Auroville itself was freer, more open. The environment was different. We had fewer phones, fewer screens, and no constant access to the digital world. So community life was more tangible, more physical and shared.

Residents of Kailash would do sports together, eat together, hang out, dance, go on outings. They listened to music in the same room, not just through headphones. There was more face-to-face connection, more shared presence. But over the years, especially with the rise of personal devices, that changed.

Then came COVID

The impact of the pandemic on teenagers was enormous. During the lockdowns, with schools closed and movement restricted, young people in Kailash were stuck in the building. Fourteen teenagers in one space, day after day, unable to follow their usual rhythms, that had a huge psychological and social impact.

During that time, Jean-François and I were in France. The caretakers then, Inge and Fabien, were holding the space. They navigated that intense period with incredible presence. But it shifted something, not only in Kailash, but in the whole generation.

Many of their social interactions moved online. A lot of real-world social muscles stopped being used. We’ve had many conversations since about the lingering effect of that period. It made the contrast between earlier generations and current ones more visible.

Still, through all that, the spirit of Kailash held.

A living, adapting place

Over the years, Kailash evolved along with us, its caretakers. Jean-François and I had two children. There were periods when we travelled or stepped back for personal reasons, but we always remained connected. Each time we returned, we rejoined the rhythm of Kailash, not trying to pick up where we left off, but meeting the space where it had grown to.

Twice, we reached a point where it looked like Kailash might have outlived its purpose. The number of residents dropped dramatically, and we began to wonder if the building should be repurposed, maybe handed over to someone else, or used for a different kind of youth project.

But each time that idea was voiced, word spread like wildfire.

Suddenly, youth from across Auroville, those who were too young to move in yet, or just old enough, started showing up, calling, messaging. They made it clear: this place still mattered. They wanted to move in. They wanted us to keep it alive.

It was a powerful reminder that the need hadn’t gone away. The younger generation still saw Kailash as theirs.

Life, love and loss

Living in community means embracing the full spectrum of life. Over the years, we’ve experienced so much within these walls.

One resident passed away. That was a devastating moment for all of us.

There was one instance of aggression, which was difficult to navigate but not defining of the community. It became part of the collective learning.

On the brighter side, we’ve also seen love blossom. Two residents who met in Kailash went on to build a life together and now have three children. Another couple who lived here later wrote to us from abroad, sharing that they had a baby too.

In that way, Kailash doesn’t end at its walls. Its story carries on in new families, in people who’ve learned how to live together, how to care for each other, and how to take ownership of their lives.

We’ve also been challenged, not so much by external threats, but by assumptions. When the Crown Road was built, and people started speeding along it, any teenager seen riding fast was assumed to be from Kailash. It didn’t matter whether they were or not. The label stuck easily. It became an easy place to project fear or blame.

But Kailash has never been a place of chaos. It’s been a place of structure, responsibility, and community, one that always held strong.

The end of a chapter

After 25 years of growth, Kailash suddenly found itself in the middle of what we understand as a political storm and a plan for centralising and restructuring Auroville’s assets and activities.

It began with a single ground-floor room. Funds had been tight during the original construction, and Arlet, who ran a reflexology school, needed space. In exchange for using the room to teach her final-year course, she financed its completion. This sparked an idea: the room could serve as an incubator for educational projects.

Over the years, it housed various initiatives, from a children’s library to a clinic. While not all were strictly educational, they served community needs. After the Clinic, Koodam, the conflict-

resolution group, used that space. As Auroville’s internal tensions grew, one faction of the Working Committee, excluded from Town Hall, joined in using the space in 2022.

On the 5th of May 2025 the FAMC issued an ultimatum: vacate the office in days, the entire building by month’s end. No conversation. No notice. Just a directive addressed to “the residents of Kailash” on the Kailash email ID.

A project without a voice

The email wasn’t copied to SAIIER, under whose educational umbrella Kailash has always existed. SAIIER objected, citing its mandate and funding. As a response, the asset was transferred to Housing.

No one contacted us caretakers directly, as executives, or as people who’ve birthed, parented, held, breathed and lived this project for over 25 years.

The youth living here were told to vacate by 31 May. It was exam season, 15 April to 16 June, and they studied under the weight of uncertainty, with no transition plan, no support.

An extension was then granted till 16 June, not because of any real discussion, but simply because there was no prior thinking nor planning for the repurposing of the building.

Now, we’re in direct contact with Housing about a handover. But it’s not a dialogue. It’s a conclusion. Kailash is no more and it will be repurposed.

What happens to the spirit?

We meet with the residents regularly. Recently, there was a beautiful meeting, honest, raw, and moving. They spoke about the spirit of Kailash, and how those who’ve lived here carry it forward with them.

But it’s hard. It’s painful. Because the way this is happening, without conversation, without care, it reflects something deeper. It says something about the Auroville of today.

Just as the founding of Kailash reflected a community that was open to need, the abrupt closure reflects a community where that space seems to have shrunk. It’s not necessarily forever. But it is what is right now.

What hurts most is the lack of acknowledgement. The lack of understanding of what this space has been, for individuals, for families, for the collective, and how it covered a need.

Over the years, more than 170 youth have lived in Kailash. They’ve written to us since this news broke. Former residents, parents, people who still feel the imprint of this place. I asked people to write and share what Kailash meant to them, hoping that those letters might help the decision-makers understand.

Instead, the response was that this was “nostalgia”. That people who had left Auroville were clinging to old memories. That those letters were backward-facing, and that Auroville needed to leap into the future.

They said if one day, in the future, we still feel the need for Kailash, we can fundraise, get permissions, and build it again.

As if Kailash didn’t already exist. As if exactly all of that had not already been done because of a real need. As if it weren’t full of life and thriving, today, now.

All the residents have been told to leave. Some have already gone. Others are packing, or waiting to see if anything changes. But the sense is clear, this is the end of this Kailash.

The Foundation wants to centralise everything under a pyramidal structure. Decisions now move through narrow channels. Housing says they can’t decide anything unless the FAMC approves it. And the FAMC isn’t speaking to us directly.

A celebration, and a farewell

With the 16 June extension in hand, we’ve begun to plan a final celebration of Kailash, something meaningful, inside the building itself, before it changes form.

It’s hard to say what will happen next. But the feeling among the residents is clear. This is the end of something. The end of a time. The end of a space that was never just bricks and rooms, but a lived experience. A bridge between childhood and adulthood. A painting made by many hands.

Maybe, someday, it will return in another form. Maybe in this building. Maybe somewhere else.

But right now, we are witnessing the close of a chapter, not just for Kailash, but for a version of Auroville itself.

And that deserves to be honored.

Carrying the spirit forward

The discussions with the residents gave me a sliver of hope. Not in the structure, but in the spirit. They said something I will carry with me for a long time:

“The spirit of Kailash lives in us. Every resident of Kailash is its continuation.”

That’s true. Even if the building changes, even if the sign comes down, what they’ve lived will travel with them. It will shape how they relate to others, how they build community wherever they go. Maybe it will guide the spaces they create one day.

Still, it’s painful. Painful to see a place that once represented Auroville’s openness to youth now feels like an afterthought. A structure to be “reallocated” by those who don’t even ask what it meant. Who haven’t walked its corridors. Who haven’t known the smell of the kitchen on cooking night or the sound of a Monday meeting slowly becoming something deeper than logistics.

But I also know this: Kailash didn’t fail.

It didn’t end because it broke. It ended because the space around it changed.

That change may one day shift again. Maybe Kailash, or something like it, will return. Maybe the children of today’s residents will find a home under its name. Maybe the spirit will find new walls.

Letting go, with love

I’ve cried a lot these past weeks. Been angry. Had headaches. Felt crushed by the weight of it all. But I’ve also found a still place inside me. A place of trust. I know that when something real is built with sincerity and service, it leaves a trace that can’t be erased, not entirely.

And maybe this is what life in Auroville has always been. A cycle of building and letting go. Of answering a call, holding it for as long as it’s needed, and then stepping back when the time comes.

Kailash was never mine. It was always ours. And its story now belongs to those who lived it, and to those who might dream of it again.

So as we prepare our farewell, we celebrate.

Not just the place, but the time it represents. The Auroville that said yes to something beautiful, bold, and quietly revolutionary.

And perhaps, in that celebration, we plant a seed for whatever comes next.