Just came across tinypost.blog today and was honestly surprised by how similar it feels to Veeblog. One thing I really liked is their comment system, anyone can leave a comment and simply verify it via email. Super minimal and straight to the point. Really nice implementation.

Pinggy.com - one of my recent fun projects has officially been shut down. I never planned for it to last very long, but I have to admit it was a fun experiment. I was exploring nano-blogging, where users could share one-word status updates. Anyway, RIP Pinggy.com.

You don’t have to have an answer for everything. Sometimes the most honest place to stand is simply saying, “I don’t know.”

Many of us struggle with being in the state of the unknown, so we end up believing what’s easy or convenient rather than taking the time to look deeper for the real answer. #random

Through my car roof #photo

The Famous Dosa Shop

My whole neighbourhood in Chennai is talking about this new fancy dosa shop that opened on the next street. A beautiful Saturday morning like this is the perfect time for a good breakfast after grinding through another week. I’m too lazy to drive my two-wheeler myself, and honestly, I’ve gotten comfortable with my laziness, especially on Saturdays, which bring out my worst. Let me call Kathir. I waited for him to answer my call, but he didn’t. A small knot of annoyance formed, but I’m too persistent to give up. He picked up the second time. “Hey Kathir, what’s up?” I asked, forcing genuine interest into my voice. I didn’t want to sound needy by asking for help right away. I barely registered his reply, something about a problem at his sister’s house, because my mind was already calculating how to get what I wanted. I needed to frame this request so it wouldn’t sound like begging, so he couldn’t possibly say no. “Dude, you said you wanted to try some new restaurants, right? My neighbour told me the new Famous Dosa Kadai is really good. Let’s go there for breakfast.”

He drew out a long “Hmmm... now?” That hesitation in his voice sent a small jolt of worry through me. He sounded like he wasn’t ready, like he wanted to postpone. No, no, no. Not happening. “Yeah, let’s go now. I have some work around 11 o’clock. If we miss this, we can only go next week.” The lie came easily, smoothly. “Okay dude, let’s go then. I’ll be there in 30 minutes.”

Now came the real ask. I knew Kathir was the kind of friend who never hesitated, who always showed up, and that knowledge made the guilt settle heavier in my stomach. But not heavy enough to stop me. “Cool. Can you pick me up too? You know my motorcycle has some starting problems.” Another lie, effortless as breathing. “Sure dude,” he said, without a trace of suspicion or resentment. That easy trust made something uncomfortable twist inside me, but I pushed it away.

As I rode on his pillion seat, the guilt nagged enough that I tried to show some interest. “So what happened at your sister’s house?” I asked. “You know about my nephew, right? He was riding his bicycle this morning and someone tried to steal it. The nearby people caught the thief. My brother-in-law and some neighbours got furious and hurt him pretty badly,” he said.

“Why would someone steal a kid’s bicycle? I think he got what he deserved,” I said, not really thinking about it.

“He deserved it? Are you serious?” Kathir’s voice sharpened with passion. “You can’t just hurt someone like that for their mistakes. The right thing to do is call the police and let them do their job. Who are we to take the law into our own hands?”

His intensity made me uncomfortable. He defended the thief like it mattered, like morality wasn’t just a concept but something real. Before we could argue further, the smell hit us. We reached the Famous dosa shop. The pleasant aroma of crisp dosas melted through our tension, and we forgot what we’d been talking about. Food has a way of erasing everything else.

“Why would someone name any shop ‘The Famous Shop’?” he wondered as we approached. “Hmmm, I think the owners believe it will make them famous,” I said. “Screw that logic,” he laughed, and I laughed with him. “Ha ha, I’m going to start The Famous Underwear Shop.” “THE FAMOUS UNDERWEAR!” he shouted, not realizing we’d just entered. I shushed him, pulling his hand, both of us grinning like idiots. “A table for two,” I told the receptionist, hiding our stupidity.

The restaurant was impossibly full even at this hour, but we got lucky. A table opened within minutes. I ordered masala dosa; he started with plain dosa. We didn’t stop there. I devoured two dosas and four vadas, and Kathir practically worked through their entire menu. We were warriors, conquerors of breakfast. As we struggled with the final pieces, his phone rang. “Yes, bro,” he answered, mouthing to me that it was his brother-in-law. He stepped outside to take the call.

I attacked the remaining dosa like an animal, scraping my plate clean with satisfaction. Life was good. Life was perfect. I signalled for the bill, feeling full and content, and reached for my wallet.

My pocket was empty.

The realization hit like ice water. I’d forgotten my wallet. The comfortable warmth drained from my body instantly, replaced by a cold, creeping panic. Okay, okay! Kathir will be back any second. No problem. I have exploited him many times, but this time it was not intentional. The waiter will be here any minute with the bill. Kathir wasn’t back. My eyes kept darting to the door. Where was he? I should call him. I grabbed my phone. It shows 2% battery. My heart started beating faster. I hit call. The 2 turned to 1. The call didn’t connect. Hit call again. Nothing. The screen went black.

Dead.

“Fuck.” I said it out loud without realizing. The man at the next table shot me a disgusted look. My face burned with embarrassment.

Kathir would be back any second. Any second now. I kept telling myself this as I turned to stare at the door. Once. Twice. Ten times in a single minute. The waiter approached with the card machine and bill, and suddenly he seemed taller. Maybe I didn’t get a better view of him before. My earlier confidence had evaporated completely. My throat felt tight. What would I say? How would I explain?

“Can I get the menu?” The words tumbled out before I could think.

What? What the hell was I doing? But maybe I could order something, buy time until Kathir returned. “Of course, sir.” The waiter handed me the menu too quickly. I wished he would move slowly, wished time itself would slow down.

He stood beside me, looming, while I pretended to browse. I’d memorized this menu before my first dosa arrived, but my eyes traced every line like it was scripture. Finally, desperately, I ordered one masala dosa for takeaway. “Sure, sir. I’ll get your takeaway.” He rushed toward the kitchen. I wanted to say “Take your time,” to slow everything down, but he was already gone.

I moved to Kathir’s chair, the one facing the exit to get a better view of the door and better view of the security guard standing just outside. My mind raced through impossible scenarios. If only I could remember Kathir’s number, but I couldn’t remember anyone’s number except my mom’s, and she was 600 kilometers away. Time was moving impossibly fast now, each second ticking away like a countdown. I’d added an extra dosa to my existing bill of 512 rupees. Not much money. Not much at all, if I had my wallet.

Should I confess to the waiter? Tell him I forgot my wallet, ask for time to retrieve it? They’d never let me leave. They’d think I was trying to run. Sweat prickled on my forehead despite the air conditioning. My heart hammered so loudly I was certain everyone could hear it, a drum announcing my shame to the entire restaurant.

The waiter appeared with my carry bag. “Here is your takeaway, sir.” His smile was kind. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much,” I replied mindlessly. My voice sounded desperate, pathetic. He gave me a strange look but smiled again. “I’ll get your bill, sir.” He walked away, and I felt tears prickling behind my eyes. I was going to cry. Over 500 rupees. Over my own stupidity and selfishness.

One last glance at the door. The security guard was gone. My body tensed. Maybe I could just walk out. The thought was insane, humiliating, but it gripped me with desperate urgency. The waiter was at the counter. The door was clear. Now. It had to be now.

One. Two. Three.

I started to stand.

A hand touched my shoulder.

I almost screamed, my heart exploding in my chest. Kathir. It was Kathir. He’d come through a different door. Relief flooded through me so intensely my knees felt weak.

“What happened?” he asked, concerned.

I wanted to collapse against him. My eyes filled with tears. “Sorry, Kathir. I forgot my wallet.” The words came out broken, small. He looked at me strangely. “So what? I’ll pay, and we can split later. Why are you apologizing for this? Did something happen while I was gone?”

“I... I thought you wouldn’t come back, and I don’t have the money to pay the bill. I’m sorry, Kathir.” He couldn’t understand what I’d just gone through in the past twenty minutes of silent panic. The relief should have felt good, but it didn’t. It felt hollow. Because now, with him standing here, so casual and unconcerned, offering to pay without a thought, I didn’t feel saved.

I felt guilty.

The weight of guilt sat heavier than any unpaid bill ever could.

A short story. Originally published on my previous blog on November 14, 2025.

Attachment is the Root of All Suffering

We all know about the Buddhist philosophy that attachment is the root of all suffering. While this idea is often applied broadly to relationships, possessions, or desires. I want to explore a very specific type of attachment today: attachment to the self-image we hold of ourselves.

Each of us carries a mental picture of who we are. This self-image could be shaped by our upbringing, achievements, failures, or the roles we play in life. It is the story we tell ourselves about ourselves. On the surface, having a self-image seems harmless, even necessary. It helps us navigate the world with a sense of identity. But what happens when we become overly attached to it?

The Burden of Protecting Self-Image

When we are too attached to our self-image, we start to guard it fiercely. Every comment, action, or situation that seems to challenge it can feel like a personal attack. This attachment often manifests as stress and anxiety, as we feel compelled to uphold and defend the version of ourselves we believe to be true.

For instance, if your self-image is that of a competent professional, a single mistake at work might feel devastating. You might replay the scenario in your head, overanalyzing what others think of you. Similarly, if you see yourself as a kind and generous person, any criticism suggesting otherwise can feel like a deep wound. This incessant need to protect your self-image can make you overly sensitive and reactive.

Taking Things Personally

One of the clearest signs of attachment to self-image is taking things personally. A critical remark, a disagreement, or even someone else’s bad mood can feel like a direct assault on your character. The reality, however, is that most of these situations have little to do with you as a person. But when your self-image is on the line, it’s easy to lose perspective.

For example, if someone points out a flaw in your work, your attachment to being “perfect” might cause you to feel hurt or defensive. Instead of viewing the feedback as an opportunity to grow, you may see it as a threat to your identity.

Let It Go

How can we free ourselves from this attachment to self-image? The first step is awareness. Recognize when your self-image is at play and notice how it influences your thoughts and emotions. Ask yourself:

• Why does this bother me?
• What am I trying to protect?
• Is this worth my peace of mind?

Practicing mindfulness can help you observe these patterns without judgment. Over time, you may realize that your self-image is just one aspect of who you are, not the entirety of your being.

It’s also helpful to embrace impermanence and flexibility. Just as people and circumstances change, so can your self-image. Instead of clinging to a fixed version of yourself, allow it to evolve naturally.

When you release your attachment to self-image, you open the door to freedom. You’re no longer burdened by the need to prove yourself or maintain a facade. Instead, you can focus on living authentically, learning from experiences, and connecting with others without fear or pretense.

Originally published on my previous blog on December 12, 2024.

Power of it’s alright

In our fast-paced, hyperconnected world, misunderstandings and mistakes are inevitable. It could be a friend running late, a colleague missing a deadline, or a stranger bumping into you on the street. In these moments, a simple phrase has the power to diffuse tension, foster understanding, and build bridges: “It’s alright.”

While seemingly ordinary, these two words carry profound meaning. They convey acceptance, forgiveness, and empathy—qualities that are often in short supply.

Fostering Emotional Connection

When someone apologizes, their vulnerability is on display. Responding with “It’s alright” acknowledges their effort to make amends. It shows that you value the relationship more than the mistake. This small act of grace can deepen emotional bonds, creating an environment where people feel safe to be imperfect.

Diffusing Tension

In stressful situations, tempers can flare. Imagine being stuck in traffic when another driver accidentally cuts you off. Reacting with anger escalates the situation, while a mindset of “It’s alright” helps you stay calm and move forward. This approach reduces stress—not just for others, but for yourself.

Practicing Self-Compassion

Saying “It’s alright” isn’t limited to interactions with others; it’s equally vital for yourself. We all have moments where we fall short of our expectations. Instead of harsh self-criticism, offer yourself the same kindness you would extend to a friend. Remind yourself that mistakes don’t define you—they’re simply part of being human.

Final Thoughts

Of course, “It’s alright” doesn’t mean condoning harmful behavior or ignoring serious issues. It’s about letting go of the small stuff, choosing kindness over criticism, and recognizing that everyone is doing their best with the tools they have. The next time life throws you a curveball, or someone seeks your forgiveness, pause and consider saying, “It’s alright.” You might be surprised at the warmth and connection it brings—not just to others, but to yourself. In a world that often feels harsh, these two words can be a powerful act of kindness.

Originally published on my previous blog on December 9, 2024

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