Bharathi R

Edit 1 : This is something I wrote a long time ago. repurposing for entertainment purposes. any harm thus caused isn't intentional; it happens to be a byproduct. Nobody knows how old BK Uncle is. Some say he's 60; some say he's awaiting his 80th birthday next month. He's been around for a long time. "Long time" might not seem so long, but for this young flat, it feels like an eternity. Old BK seemed nice; he'd converse with anyone he encountered. The four W's never mattered until they came out of him. People got used to his habits, like any obedient student would in an assembly. Well, most people. My interactions with BK Uncle have been quite amusing on my end and irritating on his. Incidentally, most of my interactions with BK Uncle happen on Saturdays. Probably because that's when I'm home, and I take a stroll in the lobby. Not so long ago, I'd play with my friends in the same lobby—it didn't matter what day of the week it was. Times...

One of my goals for this year was to write about what I read. The reading ship has set sail, but I’ve been using lame excuses to skip the writing part. Well, I’m ahead of schedule for my next task, so now I have time to kill. Here we go—introducing "Afterthoughts," random notes on what I read. My first encounter with Khushwant Singh was through the English lessons we had as CBSE students. Years later, while browsing my college library, I stumbled across a book called Not a Nice Man to Know , a collection of Singh's work. I thoroughly enjoyed it. It was the first time I found myself enjoying an Indian author’s work in English, and that piqued my curiosity. When the Chennai Book Fair came around, I grabbed a copy of Train to Pakistan . It was the first book I read from my haul. Train to Pakistan Conflicts are never easy to read about, and certainly not easy to write about. My first introduction to the Partition of India came through my school history books, which provided a...

Rewind 2024 2024 was a year full of firsts, trials, and setbacks. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it was a year of learning, of real growth—both painful and rewarding. I almost didn’t write this post. After all, nothing about this year was impeccable. But out of respect for the tradition I’ve created, here we are. January began with a personal motto: skip my G1 slot and head to IIT BHU for a hackathon. Ironically, I ended up not having the G1 class at all, and I got to skip F1’s Computer Architecture CAT. It turned out to be the perfect way to understand the depth of the subject and its true value. A strange but happy accident. That same month, however, I faced disappointment when my scholarship application for the HPAIR Harvard Conference was rejected. It stung, especially since getting into such a prestigious conference felt like a milestone. Yet, the connection I made with fellow delegates became my first real taste of international collaboration, and for that, I’ll always be g...

The earthy smell of my sack did not do a very good job of hiding the post office’s odour. I have been inside the sack for certainly longer than I was supposed to be, and nothing can be done about it. After all, I’m just a letter addressed to nowhere. There’s a licence of a fifty-year-old, a greeting from a child who will soon learn about the postal system and many others. For times rooted in the speed of delivery, the oldest method surely is the slowest one.  The sole reason for its survival is its ability to connect dots that aren’t on the revised map, and yet some people do not value these connections. What are connections anyway? Among the various mates I’ve encountered in this sack do not lie a letter bringing home the return of a hero, or one bringing eternal love. Eternal love is now just calling each other and arguing endlessly about “liking” something. Or at least that’s what I could tell, because my postman hasn’t untied my knots to freedom yet. The place they’ve stacked m...

A muse of now or A memory of tomorrow Both seem amusing Greeted with sparkling eyes Yet one sparkles with joy And other a nostalgic sorrow. Is it because it ended? Or does time even matter? Only time can answer For itself, and for others. Are joy and sorrow The binaries of the emo world? Or are all humans compulsive, To classify their deepest memories? Is it because they might go away? When the bouncy ball no longer bounces Do you not remember your tiny head Following the ball with a heart? A heart that did not know  Of sorrow or joy Of pain of remembrance  Or the joy of forgetting Is that heart a memory now? A happy one I hope,  And if it is You're lucky.

I took my parents to watch Inside Out 2 this weekend. One reason for my excitement was that it marked my first time seeing a Pixar film on a big screen. I've been a fan of Pixar animation studios for a while now. While I never missed out on new movies, most of them didn't get theatrical releases here, and when the culture slowly started popping in, I almost always had exams.  To summarize, this movie will heal your inner child, just like Inside Out did. It does so beautifully, with Pixar's classic emotional peaks. And it'll make you laugh about it, maybe ponder a little bit. Normally I'm a stickler for watching movies uninterrupted and alone, but you must watch this one with your loved ones. I loved how they introduced the new emotions and captured them almost perfectly. Teenage years are often not easy for young people, especially for ones who grow up without siblings. It simply means they haven't seen someone experience it before, so every time they hit a ne...