March 31: One Year of Writing

It’s been exactly a year since I wrote my first blog. What began as an experiment—a quiet corner of the internet to collect thoughts, musings, and occasional ramblings—has become a living, breathing journal of my mind over the seasons. Today, as I mark this milestone, I find myself scrolling back through fifty-odd posts, revisiting the words I penned in buses, dorm rooms and quiet afternoons in Pune. Each one of these entries is a window into a moment, an obsession, a curiosity.

This past year has been an eclectic mosaic of topics, unified only by a restless pursuit of understanding—of film, music, literature, mathematics, culture, and the messy, beautiful world we live in.

A good film doesn’t just entertain—it lingers, provokes, and sometimes quietly shifts the way you see the world. Yojimbo did just that. In Akira Kurosawa’s dusty town of shifting loyalties, I saw the foundations of modern storytelling laid with striking elegance.

Likewise, Groundhog Day, beneath its comic repetition, offered profound philosophical depth. What begins as slapstick gradually unravels into a meditation on purpose, kindness, and the slow art of becoming a better version of yourself. Then there was Mughal-e-Azam, Shatranj ke Khiladi, and the poetry of After Life—each enriching my understanding of narrative and emotion.

I also rediscovered Guru Dutt, whose tragic brilliance has left an enduring imprint on Indian cinema, and watched Do Bigha Zameen, which reminded me that some stories don't age—they only deepen.

From Ghalib’s haunting ghazals to Premchand’s earthy realism, the year was full of literary encounters. Reading Manto and writing about the Partition was especially powerful—it reminded me that literature is history with a soul.

Tolstoy and A Gentleman in Moscow offered sweeping portraits of society, while my short story experiment was a leap into vulnerability.

And then, of course, there was maths. From Euclid’s Elements to the eternal question—Euler or Gauss?, I revelled in both the elegance and eccentricity of the discipline. I wrote about Ramanujan with awe, debated Mathematics vs Physics, and confessed my inexplicable obsession with the number 17. The Jane Street Estimathon was pure joy—a reminder that play and precision aren’t mutually exclusive.

The year also saw me confront Newton and Leibniz, marvel at modular forms, and find strange comfort in mathematical logic.

I wandered through the corridors of the Indian Museum, traced Hiroshi Yoshida’s prints, and stood in awe of ancient sculpture. Music, too, had its place—from the soulful power of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan to choosing My Favourite Beatle. I called one post The Perfect Album—and while the title was obviously flawed, the process of searching for it was sincere.

This year also meant movement—physical and emotional. I wrote about Bye Pune and First Impressions of Seattle, got lost in a Corn Maze, and watched kites fly in the winter sky. Unite UW and The Amazing Race offered new friendships and silliness, while My First Thanksgiving was a moment of unexpected warmth.

There were posts on Periyar and Manmohan Singh, Lohri and Julius Caesar, spies and satire, Panipat and Young Sheldon. Some were deep dives, some were scribbled on impulse—but all came from a place of curiosity and care.

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As I re-read these blogs, I’m struck by how much they've taught me—not just about the subjects, but about myself. Writing, I’ve learnt, is how I make sense of things. It’s how I remember, question, mourn, and celebrate.

A blog is a strange thing—it’s public yet deeply personal, chronological yet chaotic. But in its imperfection lies its charm. I don't know how many of you read these posts, but I do know that each time I write one, I feel more anchored.

Here’s to another year of wonder—of stumbling into new ideas, of asking weird questions, and of holding on to the joy of writing, one post at a time.

Thanks for reading. Always.