dev
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
life
Austin Kleon wrote a nice article advising creators, especially writers, to not fall prey to a belief frequently floated around - “you lose a book for every child”. I do not think the fact that such a belief exists is much of a stretch. Being a parent is work, a
life
Time. Those fleeting moments of time. Those crazy, affected attempts to catch up to them. To not let them pass. To slow them down. Those foolish attempts, unsuccessful every time. 24 hours. 1440 minutes. 86,400 seconds that dawn with a promise to provide enough time to complete all the
writing
I have always believed that anyone can write. Life throws at us many opportunities to express ourselves in words — something short or long, in public or in private. It is incumbent on us to grab the chance. Colin Walker had expressed a similar sentiment while summarising his lessons from his
dev
For many, that’s too much jargon in the title. So, to the basics first, I would not go into the history or setup of this website. TL;DR this site is was at one time built with a static site generator Hugo themed by a custom port of Ghostwriter
Fiction
“Yes?” Ninad heard a confused, deep whisper at the other end. “This is God speaking,” Ninad spoke loudly, trying hard to control his laughter at the same time. “You have some dues to clear, mister. Can we talk?” Ninad was having the time of his life, making prank calls from
Fiction
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
Fiction
“Gotya, wake up, you bum.” Gotya was shaken up from his sleep. He shuddered, then forced his face to point to where the sound was coming from. He let in as much of his father’s looming figure as his hazy vision allowed. Gotya’s father was tired of Gotya’
Fiction
Rains were lashing the village of Tikwadi. No being, living, dead or inanimate, had had any respite from the persistent downfall of loaded raindrops. Pathways full of potholes were transformed into rivulets with uneven bed. Not that there was a dire need for use of any of these pathways. Tikwadi
Fiction
Oas looked at the grumpy old sod again lying down in front of Sara’s picture. Well, at least that is what he thought Mr Marvel was. Somewhere deep down he knew he too was exactly the same — an old grumpy looking sod. And Marvel had made sure Oas is
meta
It is August. I like to think I am a writer. Somewhere deep down, I also know, though, that I am first a developer. So every August, I happen to relook at the current setup for my presence on the web, go back to the drawing board and change things.
Fiction
Sara is getting restless in the queue. There are still a couple of people standing ahead of her; they both look defeated. She wonders if she, too, is donning the same look. I am a Roy, she reminds herself, Roys may lose, but are never defeated. She plasters a smile