Where curiositymeets water.

Lenin is the man behind the fish, the farm and most things that actually work around here.

He knows the fish, understands the water systems and has the rare ability to identify a problem before everyone else has finished debating whether there is one.

Breeding, water quality, filtration, plumbing, the peculiar preferences of various aquatic residents — if it involves water or something living in it, there's a reasonable chance Lenin knows what to do.

He believes in working with nature rather than against it, and has turned a passion for ornamental fish into a thriving farm built around responsible breeding and water stewardship.

He is also the person everyone calls when something stops working.

A pump makes a strange noise? Lenin.

A pipe springs a leak? Lenin.

Something is floating that probably shouldn't be floating? Also Lenin.

At this point, we suspect the entire farm could collapse into a puddle and someone would still ask him to fix it before lunch.

His greatest professional achievement is keeping thousands of fish happy.

His greatest professional challenge is keeping the rest of us from touching things we don't understand.

Master of the waters. Keeper of the fish. Unpaid technical support for an entire establishment.

Priscilla is the woman who looked at a fish farm and thought, "This could be an educational movement."

And then a storytelling universe.

And then a conservation initiative.

And then, apparently, an entire new way of looking at the world.

A music educator and curriculum designer by profession, she has a particular talent for finding lessons in the most unexpected places. A fish becomes a teacher. A pond becomes a classroom. A conversation about water somehow turns into a discussion about the future of the planet.

She is the mind behind Symfiny's learning initiatives, storytelling and its growing mission to inspire a generation of Waterkeepers.

Where others see tanks, pipes and a frankly unreasonable number of guppies, Priscilla sees possibilities.

Lots of possibilities.

Possibilities that tend to arrive with names, backstories, educational objectives and a proposed launch date.

Her imagination rarely operates on a small scale. A passing thought can become a project, a project can become a programme, and a programme can acquire its own identity before anyone has finished the original conversation.

She calls it vision.

The rest of the team calls it another meeting.

Big vision. Bigger plans. Absolutely no shortage of things to do next.

Asher is a fish enthusiast, a young entrepreneur in the making and living proof that you can know absolutely everything about aquatic life and still have no desire whatsoever to be the face of it.

He knows his fish, understands their habits and has developed the kind of practical knowledge that cannot be acquired by watching three YouTube videos and declaring yourself an expert.

He gets things done, has ideas of his own and generally prefers doing something useful to explaining to everyone else how useful he's being.

Unfortunately, Symfiny has cameras.

And social media.

And a team that believes every perfectly ordinary moment has the potential to become content.

Asher has consequently found himself in the rather unfortunate position of being a brand ambassador. A job that requires him to be photographed, interviewed and occasionally persuaded that standing next to a fish tank is a perfectly reasonable use of his afternoon.

He remains unconvinced.

Knows his fish. Knows his business. Still negotiating the terms and conditions of fame.

Aidan is seven years old and already asking questions that make the adults wish they'd paid more attention in school.

Why does that fish do that? What happens if this happens? Who decided that? And, most importantly, why?

He has appointed himself the farm's principal investigator, chief question-asker and unofficial auditor of adult competence.

Nothing escapes his attention for long. Every unusual movement requires investigation. Every explanation is subject to review. Every new discovery must be announced to anyone unfortunate enough to be within hearing distance.

His scientific method is admirable.

His patience with incomplete answers is not.

Occasionally, he arrives at a conclusion before gathering the evidence. Occasionally, the conclusion is entirely correct, which has done absolutely nothing to improve the adults' situation.

He is curious, observant and gloriously unconcerned with whether his questions are convenient.

Seven years old. Infinite curiosity. An adult approval rating that remains under investigation.

Also known as Miss Bossy Boots.

Kefira is the brains behind many of Symfiny's bright ideas, clever campaigns and public appearances. She has a flair for spotting opportunities, turning ordinary happenings into interesting stories and making sure the world hears about them.

Part creative strategist, part PR wizard and part self-appointed authority on absolutely everything.

She comes armed with ideas, opinions, plans and an alarming number of suggestions that usually begin with, "You know what we should do?"

She dreams them up, gets everyone excited, delegates with remarkable efficiency and then has the audacity to ask why things aren't finished yet.

We suspect she has a plan for world domination.

For now, she's settling for Symfiny.

Brilliant ideas. Impeccable PR. A delegation strategy that leaves everyone else remarkably busy.

Manilal is the man you call when romance is in the water and your personal life has become a little too complicated.

He runs what is possibly Mumbai's busiest matrimonial bureau, specialising in introductions, partner selection and the provision of private accommodation for couples who have shown promising signs of mutual interest.

There are no dating apps. No awkward introductions over coffee. No family meetings to discuss compatibility.

Manilal simply puts two fish together and lets nature take its course.

Occasionally, nature takes a rather aggressive course.

When courtship turns into a swimming lesson nobody signed up for, Manilal steps in with the authority of a seasoned marriage counsellor and the equipment of a particularly determined fisherman.

His clients are numerous, his waiting list is growing, and the population statistics speak for themselves.

Arranged marriages. Excellent fertility rates. Divorce proceedings conducted with a fishnet.

Nilam runs the only department at Symfiny where everyone is hungry, nobody listens and absolutely everyone expects to be looked after.

Her charges are small, adorable and collectively responsible for a level of administrative chaos that would bring most nursery managers to tears.

Feeding schedules must be maintained. Accommodation must be immaculate. Missing juveniles must be located before someone notices they're missing.

And then there are the bullies.

Some fry disappear into corners. Others emerge from nowhere at precisely the wrong moment. A few have mastered the art of looking completely innocent while causing absolute mayhem.

Nilam handles it all with admirable composure, although we suspect this is less a sign of patience and more the result of having accepted that rational behaviour is unlikely to occur on her watch.

Her department produces the next generation of Symfiny residents. It also produces a frankly unreasonable amount of work.

A nursery full of tiny freeloaders. No maternity leave. No staff discounts. No end to the feeding.

Every successful business has a revenue stream. Savita has a waste stream.

And she's found a way to make it pay.

While the rest of us admire the fish, discuss their breeding habits and take photographs of them looking particularly photogenic, Savita concerns herself with what happens after the fish have had their lunch.

Someone has to.

She collects their contributions, keeps their accommodation in order and turns what most people would consider an unfortunate by-product into a valuable resource for the farm's plants.

The plants grow. The vegetables flourish. The fish continue doing what fish do best.

It's the kind of circular economy that business schools should be teaching, although we suspect the case study might prove unpopular at lunchtime.

Savita doesn't waste a thing. Not even the things nobody particularly wants to think about.

From fish poo to farm produce. Sustainability has never been quite so literal.

Liger is an American Bully and the first line of defence against absolutely anything that has the audacity to exist near his gate without prior approval.

Visitors are investigated. Unfamiliar footwear is treated with suspicion. Delivery personnel are subjected to a thorough security assessment, usually accompanied by a great deal of noise.

He takes his responsibilities seriously. He patrols his territory, monitors movement and ensures that everyone knows exactly who is in charge.

There is, however, a small flaw in the system.

Liger is susceptible to bribery.

Not particularly sophisticated bribery, either. No offshore accounts. No discreet envelopes. No elaborate negotiations.

A biscuit will do.

Two biscuits may result in the immediate abandonment of his post, the suspension of all ongoing investigations and an enthusiastic welcome for the very person he was supposed to keep out.

Management is aware of this vulnerability. Management has chosen to keep him employed.

Highly intimidating. Easily bribed. A security breach waiting to happen at snack time.

Maya is senior management.

Not because she has applied for the position, attended an interview or demonstrated any measurable leadership ability.

Simply because she has decided that she is.

She supervises the establishment from a position of comfort, keeps a watchful eye on everyone else's activities and delivers performance reviews through a series of expressions that require no translation.

Her management style is minimalist.

A glance means you're being watched. A prolonged stare means you've disappointed her. A complete lack of interest means you've somehow managed to offend her without even being present.

She has no time for excuses, no interest in your achievements and absolutely no intention of pretending to be impressed.

Her demands are straightforward: comfortable accommodation, excellent catering and service that meets standards she has never bothered to explain.

The staff have learned not to question her authority.

Nobody wants to find out what happens when she gets genuinely cross.

Head of Disapproval. Chief of Side-Eye. Employee of the Month, according to herself.

The chickens are Symfiny's intelligence network.

They know when you've arrived, where you've been, what you've brought and whether you've had the audacity to walk past them without acknowledging their presence.

They operate in groups, conduct emergency meetings at inconvenient hours and communicate important developments through a sophisticated system of clucking that nobody has successfully translated.

Their investigations are exhaustive.

A newly planted patch of soil must be examined. A passing insect must be apprehended. An unidentified object must be surrounded by at least three officers, all of whom will then proceed to shout at it.

Their findings are rarely conclusive.

Their reports are never brief.

And their ability to raise the alarm over absolutely nothing is unmatched anywhere in the organisation.

We have considered introducing a reporting hierarchy. The chickens have responded by becoming louder.

Classified information. Unclassified noise. An intelligence agency with absolutely no indoor voice.