I suppose I'm starting a blog then

Dear Reader,

I had been meaning to get to this; I’d been playing around with the idea, and somehow, I have finally taken the plunge. I am here, world! Hear me in my journey as I try to find my voice! Nawrr, I’m not hoping or expecting something dramatic to come of this. Honestly, I don’t think many people, apart from my friends and family, will ever even touch this blog. Who knows—maybe it’ll soon be wiped off the internet.

It feels strange: I’ve interacted in the online sphere for so long, “surfed the web,” and today I finally feel like I’ve found my little spot here. As with all things, I remind myself that this is most likely temporary, too. And if it doesn’t get wiped out during my lifetime, and if some philanthropist finds it in their heart to host servers for the sake of archiving and the love of history, then maybe this blog could even outlive me.

I think this is my first post; I’ll attempt to tag or pin it somehow. Think of it as an introduction to me. I won’t bore you with the technicalities of who I am, since if you’re reading this, chances are you already know me personally. If not, let me remain an enigma.

I intend to use this blog to share and document my poetry, prose, philosophy, slice-of-life writings, and more. I imagine it unfolding along these lines, but I’m open to whatever it wants to bloom into. For now, I can tell that these will surely be sections here. I might also include socio-political commentaries or thought pieces whenever I have opinions worth sharing. I’ll make sure to be well-researched before I speak on such topics.

There isn’t much else to say for a first post. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading whatever it is that I have to offer :) I can’t seem to decide what to name the blog. I have a few ideas, but nothing feels right yet. I suppose I’ll keep changing it until I find the one that does. 

Love,

Appu :)

Written on 12th September 2025, 21:44. I can't find a way to pin this post so I've changed the date of publishing. I wanted to keep this on top- I want this to be my first post, my introduction. 

On Rationality

I have had a love-hate relationship with math. I didn’t care for it as a kid; I hated it for how it was imposed on me, but I loved its simplicity when I grew up. Every answer is either right or wrong. There is certainty, rationality, and beauty in math. Of course, this is only the math I had touched, and things become more complex and greyer the deeper one dives into the topic; even math is no exception to ambiguity and “we don’t know”—well, at least not yet. What I loved most was being able to put things into equations: clear systems of push and pull, cause and effect, outcomes, consequences, etc. This is not only true for math but also for any subject that involves scientific thinking and rationality. I am a creature raised on these belief systems, and I have integrated them well within myself. I like to think of myself as rational—not because that is how I am, but because I realise how irrational I can be. I understand that even my awareness of my irrationality only goes so far, but it is the process of trying to determine the rational, my loyalty to the value of rationality, that defines me as someone who is rational. Rationality is a kind of madness. To assume that my chosen path of epistemology is obviously superior, and to blatantly reject other paths simply because I do not understand them, is itself irrational. If I am being honest, I don’t really know how to exist outside the framework of rationality.

I think this is where I brush up against the limits of rationality. While I am a sucker for the elegance and charm of that which is rational, I can't help but notice that my beloved framework doesn’t explain everything. Turning my face the other way doesn’t work when these events occur from within. Profound experiences, feelings—I can deny them in other people. But in myself? Feelings, esoteric experiences, spirituality and mysticism confound me. I can’t prove them out of existence, but I can’t prove them into integration either.

Maybe everything really is just hormones and physiology. An appetite for ambiguity is helpful because complexities appear when one tries to determine the exact cause and effect. It is like tugging at a pair of tangled earphones; more effort is counterintuitive to sorting the situation. Or maybe it’s more like the weather: you can never truly model it because of entropy. These explanations are a few of the many I have come up with to try to make sense of it all. They assume that there is a problem, a situation to be ‘solved’, a system that can be modelled. I am a schizophrenic vulture circling over a carcass that exists only in my imagination. I believe I have yet again neatly placed myself in the confines of rationality. The efforts in meaning-making feel futile. Can I ever really know? Can teeth bite themselves? Can Taylor Swift experience herself in the Eras Tour?

Perhaps not…. Yet?

The Void

Where do I even start to try to describe this? It’s been happening for a long time. Okay. Ever since I joined IIT Madras, there has been this unshakeable feeling of deep sadness. This was the college of my dreams for a long time. I didn’t understand why I was feeling that way. I thought maybe it was boredom. I tried to fill in with novel experiences. No matter what I throw at the void- knowledge, self-discovery, attachment, new friends, paradigm shifts, feelings of accomplishment, coffee, nothing makes it go away fully. I think I am finally confronting it without trying to understand it. I am standing in front of it. I used different things- romance, attachment, anxiety, career, family ties, new ideas- all domains I could obsess over to try and feel something, some kind of achievement, some purpose, some framework I could dabble in. All of them feel like distractions from the void, and they were. I am not saying I didn’t make progress or that these efforts were not worthwhile; these endeavours were fruitful. I think I thought that somehow if I looked away long enough, it would disappear, the void. It doesn’t grow, it doesn’t itch, I say that it comes and goes, not because it actually leaves, but because I look away for a bit. I am describing it. I don’t know how much of it I can understand; I am not attempting to at the moment. God, I even threw in the guitar and the joy of artistic creation into this. Great distractions, not cures. I'm wondering if I have to live with this forever. Is it a problem? Is it unaddressed trauma? Some scar from a long-forgotten childhood? Or is this life? Just how things are? Is it characteristic of my age, my generation, the socio-political condition of the world?

No one is at peace. Everyone keeps moving from one goal to the next. Do they also sense the void? Are they also running away, like me? I think I understand why people lean on religion. I wonder what pushes people. I think it is desire for sure- a desire to prove yourself, to feel more secure, to contribute, to be loved and respected, to be a part, to not be forgotten, to be affirmed. I think I am losing focus and my train of thought now; the sands are shifting. I think I will go back to my room now. I am mildly tired. The void feels seen, and soothed, for a bit. Another distraction? 

The Blender

A kitchen. Broad, like an open set in a music video. Floating beige shelves, island counter, grey marble. Soft light fluttering in through yellow linen curtains, a small breeze floats in. It smells like summer. You’re near the sink, standing with your back to the counter, looking at your feet. You have a faded old navy-blue shirt and trousers on; a belt holds it in place.

I’m the blender. Off white, not new but not old, just the right amount of used. I’m plugged in, a semi-solid mix of beets, shame, bananas, guilt and whatever else they put in a smoothie. The switch is on, and so I blend, with force, intensity, and speed, red liquid flying everywhere.

It’s on the roof, on the floor, on the walls, on your clothes.

It’s in your hair, in your hands, on your face, on your pants.

It’s residue, from past lives, it keeps me stuck as a blender- I am a blender without a lid.

No, you cannot kiss this frog into a prince.

I’m embarrassed.

Why are you here?

Why do you still stand next to me when I’m spilling all over? 

I blend faster; it’s like I’m daring you to leave me. What will you do when it falls on your eyes, itches in your nose? What if it burns on your skin?

You take a step back. Ah, I have finally pushed you out, haven’t i?

I tried to keep it in me- God, I try- but I have no lid, I can’t stop.

Why do you bother with staying?

No one will reward you for your kindness

No one is looking, save yourself, go

You can’t kiss this beast into a king.

I turn away from you, don’t want to watch you leave.

But I look back to find you’re still here, still getting drenched, talking to someone, occasionally wiping the red liquid from your face.

I’ve not seen a greater declaration of love.

One day, when all of it is spilt, I’ll be calmer. The spirals will stop. One day, when you aren’t looking, you’ll notice the splatter has stopped. You’ll turn to see me, on the counter, off white shirt and shorts, dripping from head to toe, not in red but water. Timid, newborn human.