I enjoy writing. It allows me to take apart the intricacies of my value system, and find stronger footing on which to stand. It's an endeavour that's intrinsically biased, but I'm also sufficiently hard on myself to be able to … well, cut the crap.

I'm a finance professional by trade (and a Chartered Accountant by the hand of Fate). I spend a disproportionate percentage of my waking hours on Excel worksheets and between the lines of law. My line of work regularly throws up questions that require deep dives. You won't learn the discipline on here, but I'm willing to share my 'Oh?!' moments here — and those are actually fun, as suspicious as that sounds. And true to the overall theme, I also learnt valuation — a discipline that sits at the sweet spot between numbers and narratives — through an online certification program conducted by Professor Aswath Damodaran. That fact is just that, it's best you don't develop expectations for something like equity research reports, unless you have an extra few hours to add to my day.

Sometime in 2014, I decided I would irredeemably, irrationally fuse my emotional state with the game of cricket. In hindsight, cricket made me. Rounded off the edges, gave me a reason to be loud, and the will to look forward to the next day even when that day went to hell. For seven years, I ran a cricket website of my own, writing and publishing cricket stories totalling to nearly two hundred thousand words. In 2022, I stopped watching cricket. I don't know of a single cricketing event that occurred between 2022 and 2025. It was awful. In 2025, I started watching the sport again. Slowly, but surely. Six months out, it feels okay again. Like I might finally, finally be back where I belong. Until I start writing again, I intend to sift through the archives and restore the best stories from the first website. Stick around. I had a great spell, and you'll get the best bits.

On September 3, 1802, William Wordsworth composed Upon Westminster Bridge. Sometime in April 2018, I read Upon Westminster Bridge. It's not a life changing poem, by any measure. But reading through that poem was the first time that I was witness to the magic of poetry, and privy to its secrets. That you can say so little about so much, or that you can say something without saying anything at all — these were thrilling prospects for someone who took pleasure in breaking things down, and building them back up. In the eight years since, I've dabbled in poetry of all forms, from iambic pentameter to free verse to even my own (ahem). Four years back, I started a YouTube channel. I've created more than seventy videos. I don't know that I want to — or can — indulge in video production anymore. I'd rather write. And I'll be writing — restoring old scripts, and then writing fresh ones. I'd love to have you witness me witness magic.

I read my first novel when I was eight. Someone set fire to Mr. Hick's cottage. I read Six of Crows when I was sixteen. Kaz Brekker pulled out an eyeball. I read The Raven Cycle when I was nineteen. Something about dead Welsh kings. The downside of my reading habit is that I form intense parasocial relationships. The upside is … well, this person that I am. Much like the other bits and pieces, I lost my reading habit in favour of being dealt a fair hand by Fate (supra). I regret it everyday. These shelves are how I retrieve it — the habit, and the person.

Of all the lifestyle changes that Koramangala has introduced in people, I doubt there is another instance of enrolment in a cheese certification program. It's fairly simple, really — I found a fromagerie, spread boursin on a bagel, and haven't had a bite of processed cheese since. It's an effortful, expensive hobby, but I'm writing this at the end of a full day of configuring the right mix of cheeses for my toast, so I think I might keep it up. And like most of my inclinations, it's gone the academic route. I'm a Level 1 student at the Academy of Cheese. And I need to fill up tasting sheets for twenty-five cheeses. I plan on sharing them on here, in due course. Stink up the place a little. Find you a few new cheeses for your toast. Break the bank a little, too, enroute.