Stories and Opinions by Amit Gawande
Howdy! I am a software developer living & working in Pune, India. I am currently a product architect at Quick Heal – also a casual blogger, an amateur writer and a technology enthusiast.
Recently I read an article by Nick Bilton that announced, or at least inclined to, the demise of the pen. “Fare Thee Well, My Pen”, the headline read. It claimed “the pen is murdered by finger”. It claimed today’s technology driven world rarely gives us an opportunity, or rather rarely necessitates us, to use a pen. It claimed we use fingers on touch screens/keyboards, a proven superior alternative by few, to perform most of the jobs.
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It was pitch dark across the town of Diu. The street winding down was deserted as usual. It had recently been washed off its weariness by the unseasonal rain. In a way, it was a perfect setting for one pleasant, romantic walk. A couple silhouetted against the discontinuous bouts of illumination from the lighthouse nearby. But their walk was no way romantic, may be a tad tipsy rather. Roy and Joel had been walking down the street for almost an hour.
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Rick was following this foreign body across his own home for quite some time now. He did not like new people entering his den, rather he scorned all who did. The loneliness that the fate had stewed into his existence had made him finicky. For him, the life was far better when he was left alone. And Rick was always alone. He was alone when he first opened his eyes in an orphanage.
..cont'd.
I have been using Blot, a simple blogging platform with no interface, for quite some time now for running my blog. I am not alone when I say this, but am mighty impressed with how simple it is to post things on blot and maintain the overall site. They are just some files in Dropbox - that’s about it. So, it was pretty straightforward to customise the theme to my liking and to enable the support for IndieWeb principles.
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FeaturedToday’s was a typical summer morning in Tikwadi. It was a calm & pleasant dawn that the midnight breeze & the sun-beaten land had hatched together. And like every typical morning — summer, winter or of the rainy season — Paka sat expressionless at the window seat of his bus. His bus it was, as he was the lone conductor available in the village. It would not have been the case in reality though, if not for Paka.
..cont'd.