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The Making of a Dumb Datum

Imagine 10,000 years in the future. Two archaeologists are digging a site, and they find the remains of human bones. They take those remains to the lab, perform tests on them, and try to reconstruct the habits and lifestyle of that human. Say those bones belong to me. They are trying to find out my story, how I lived, what I ate, where I traveled, etc. Once they find all the info they need, they toss it into a museum where they store all other such ancient human remains they find. I was essentially one data point to them in trying to understand how humanity evolved over time. Or I can also call myself a “datum”, the singular form of data, literally one piece of information to solve a bigger puzzle. Honestly, I don’t need 10,000 years to become a datum. I am already a part of several datasets people use these days to study many things. So for that objective learner, I am already a datum. Now let me get to how I got the dumb part of it. I have had an interesting and eventful life so far...
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Recent posts

A 12-Foot Mistake

I used to have a cocky attitude towards exams. I think it’s because I was lucky and never really had to study very hard to get a decent grade in school. But overtime I have come to realize that my luck actually screwed me over big time. It meant I failed to develop a habit of sitting in one place for hours and studying with vigorous intensity (I am always jealous of people who can do that). So, when school actually got hard and I could no longer escape with minimum effort, I tried to get some focus and build good study habits. But of course, I became miserable and felt like I wasn’t cut for it, so I accepted that my talents lie elsewhere. I am yet to find out where those talents of mine are hiding, but meanwhile as a consolation prize I found that I love consuming and telling stories. So, I remember there was a brief period where I was looking for a story in everything I read, and if there wasn’t one, I used to spin up some bullshit story. Especially during my undergrad when me and m...
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A Brand New Day

I think the concept of post-credit scene is one of the brilliant inventions in modern cinema. It gives a reason for people (at least, for those who are curious enough) to sit through the credits and read through names of technicians who were instrumental in creating that movie. But I remember there was a time when I used to hate this concept. It’s because I was an impatient youngster who didn’t want to sit through a never-ending stream of credits just to catch a brief sixty-second scene. I was also a youngster who purely watched movies out of my passion for story-telling. But I am not that young anymore and developed an inkling of what others may call ‘patience’ over time. I also saw my passion for movies fizzle out in between because I was too focused on big potato stuff in my life. But life smacked me in the face with those same potatoes, and I had to find a way to distract myself from that pain. So, I decided today to go watch Spider-Man: Brand New Day, and this was my second time w...
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Schrodinger and a lonely cat

Imagine that you are an uber driver. Your first ride at 5 am in the morning was booked by a brown guy to go to an establishment whose name ends in ‘Alehouse and Brewery.’ You are completely justified in assuming that this brown guy is an alcoholic. In fact, this happened to me three weeks ago when I booked an uber to go to white rock alehouse & brewery. My uber driver was confused and asked me “is it really open this early in the morning? Or you just go this early because you work there?” Maybe there’s a parallel universe where I learned how to brew a beer and landed a lucrative job in a brewery, but I had to break it to him that we are not in that universe, and that I am going there to run with my marathon training group. I did the same thing this morning again. If someone ever starts using my name as a verb, I hope it is to represent the act of “booking an uber ride to a brewery to run with a marathon training group” Whenever I am running with other people, I have this disease ...
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A Soap Opera

I confess I am a bit too dramatic and emotional. I have a theory for why I am this way. It has something to do with Indian Soap operas that my mom watches. I used to be annoyed at them as a kid because we only had one small television in our living room, and there was a pecking order for who gets to choose what we watch. Somehow, I was at the bottom of that order, even below my little brother, despite me outliving him by 4 years. I was always vocal about my hatred towards overly melodramatic and unrealistic stories in the soap operas my mom puts on. But secretly I was hooked to those stories. I used to keep an eye on television from a corner of my eye (I couldn’t give my whole eye; else my brother will know that I am invested in whatever crazy weird family drama is happening on screen and I won’t hear the end of it). These soap operas always have a female protagonist who is portrayed as a victim of the torture inflicted on her by cunning in-laws and a cruel husband. If this happens i...
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Life of a Junkie

This morning I woke up and went for a run, like almost every other morning of my life from past one year. The shining star of our planet, Mr. Sun was yet to wake up completely though, so it was still dark at 6:15 AM. I was the only human being out on the streets I need to run through before I reach the infamous Katy trail. And mornings lately have also been hot and very humid in Dallas, so the first 2-3 miles usually feel miserable. But I always persist and get my runs done. When people get to know I run regularly in mornings, they start saying things like “wow, that’s insane dedication to fitness.” But truth couldn’t be any far from that. Calling me a fitness junkie is like calling me an actual junkie. I never touched substances in my life, and I never really thought of myself as someone who is disciplined enough to exercise every day. When I try to explain this in my trademark mumbling, people get confused and just divert the topic to stuff like weather. This annoys me, and I am inte...
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Freud and Feynman

Sigmond Freud says “Love and work are two pillars of human happiness.” He is a wise guy, so I will take his word for it. And I do see his point - having someone to love and seeing that love reciprocated makes your heart full in a way that the fat from McD burgers could never (they only manage to fill one’s arteries). Despite all the horrors of this world, love makes this planet seem like a manageable place. And cherry on top is, in addition to finding such love, when one also has a work where they can meaningfully contribute to the society. I can only imagine the wonders it does to their self-esteem. I personally never shy away from loving and working. But love sometimes confuses me, makes me cry, and breaks my heart. In this case, love is not exactly being an enabler of good work. So maybe it is about time we retire Freud (I know he’s dead, I meant to retire his statement). But there’s an alternate thought process I keep hearing from the modern world. It is to combine love and work ...
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I will watch the sunrise by myself

I’ve always felt lonely. As a kid, I had to create an imaginary world inside my head filled with my two favorite things on planet back then – cricket and movies, to deal with all that loneliness. Over time I learned to talk to people and make friends. So, I became friends with all kinds of people - those who believed in different gods, those from different financial situation than me, those who grew up speaking a language I barely know, and those whose life experiences were from every angle different to mine. Yet what connected me with them were always stories, because I am a sucker for a good story. I love telling everyone who lends me their ear my story, and I love it when they trust me enough in return to tell me their story. It makes me feel validated and normal. It makes me feel like I am not the only soul on a deserted planet wandering aimlessly and wondering when this all ends. But here’s a harsh truth I learn every single time. People change and people move on. And when they mo...
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