The Nature of Our Reality

1 + 1 = 2. 2 * 3 = 6. The Sun rises in the East. Water Molecules are made up of Oxygen and Hydrogen atoms. Science and Math consist mainly of definitive, precise, objective assertions, validated by logic and experimentation. 1 + 1 cannot, in someone's perspective, become 3. And Water Molecules cannot have Helium Atoms in another part of the Universe.

As an engineer, my Universe too, was therefore precise, well-defined and logical, with quantified, measurable truths. Yes or No were the acceptable answers to any question. Just as computing today doesn't require nuanced understanding of digital signals - the signal exists or it doesn't - the world didn't require nuanced understanding and analysis of emotions, body-language, non-verbal signals, positioning, subtle cues and localized mores.

Reality has come a long way since then. I currently am fascinated by the blacks and whites, by the 0s and 1s, by the Yesses and Nos of days-bygone, and I long for their simplicity and logic. While Yes and No simply mark two ends of a broad spectrum of pretty much everything, human language has evolved over the centuries to refer to the infinite possibilities in between.

I imagine that if we were a logical species, two gestures, noises or standard signals would suffice to cover the entire gamut of human communication. Perhaps a high-pitched grunt for a 1 and a low pitched grunt for a 0. We have, however, decided that definitions are limitations. Therefore, we shan't define as long as it isn't absolutely necessary. Ambiguity is the soul of freedom.

The ridiculous world we conjure for ourselves in the process has so many interpretations, it ceases to amuse us. In mathematical parlance, our nuanced freedom-of-opinion entitles us to opinions that aren't simply 0 and 1, but 0.1, 0.2, 0.3 ... 0.9, 1.0. Soon, that won't suffice as there would be sufficient differentiation created between the 0.2s and 0.3s, that it would require the creation of 0.23s, 0.25s and 0.27s.

But it doesn't stop there. So far, it has been easy. Our pursuit of individuality and freedom soon results in the statement: "What does the spectrum even mean?" The spectrum is, after all, just a super-set of all possible responses to a question that is posed to humanity as a whole. But there is one problem: the spectrum can only be defined when the question posed is understood as the same by all in question. If the question can be interpreted differently by N different beings, this would result in N potentially different spectra as potential responses to the question.

And therefore, the ineffectiveness of communication. If we cannot establish a premise, how can we begin a dialogue. Your understanding of God, Religion, Science, Law, Discipline, Freedom, War, Honour, Pride, Wealth and Love are all different from mine. It's astounding that we manage to talk the amount we do.

Or maybe, we're just hedonistic creations dissipating energy by exercising our jaws to produce sounds to no particular effect.

Prasidh, the Savage

I revived this website, and made a $16 payment to write this post. The past year has been a reckless explosion of activity and emotion, and I now realize how difficult it is to write when you aren't allowed the luxury of rolling around in an emotional state, exploring its nuances, diving into its depths... No, entrepreneurship makes that stuff impossible.

So why do I write today? Perhaps the emotional cauldron has finally been brought to a boil, and the contents of the past year will spill if I don't provide for an outlet through words. Bear with me as I unburden myself by telling you about a man with minimal direction and infinite energy - an incredible idiot and a crazy friend, who refuses to grow a day older than 21.

THE SAVAGE ARRIVES

February 2016: I was on my way from Jaipur or Bangalore or one of those places, boarding a plane when I received Karthik's text message: "Dude, my friend has come to Delhi. He needs a place to crash; hope it isn't a problem if he stays in your room a couple of days..." It wasn't a request, as much as a transfer of information.

I didn't have time to respond, as my plane took off. It landed in Delhi rather late, and I reached home at 1 am. I walked to my bedroom door only to find it firmly locked from the inside. Sleepy and annoyed that someone else was sleeping in my room, I banged the door. A few long seconds later, my door was opened by a semi-naked fellow with shaggy hair who asked me, "Who are you?".

That was how I met Prasidh Prasad (henceforth, P2).

FEB - JUNE 2016

P2's visit was supposed to last 2 days. It became 2 weeks... a month... 2 months... and soon P2 was paying rent. In those initial days, we used to work out of my hall: at 10 am, the house would remarkably transform from a place where I lived to a place where we worked.

Even more remarkably, I soon realized that P2 was working with us, on our team. But that's the way of P2: he becomes your teammate long before you can tell. P2's self-discovery began with him working at various startups - Karthik's (then) InstaLively, Saahil's Khetify etc etc. 

And soon, inspired by a stoner conversation, P2 decided to become an entrepreneur!

P2 RUNS A STARTUP FOR 3 DAYS

Prasidh ran a parantha startup for 72 hours. And then he got bored.

It was based on a brilliant concept: a mobile app with just one button. You push it, you get a parantha delivered at home in 15 minutes. You push it twice, you get two paranthas - so on and so forth. The concept of choice was deftly avoided, thereby empowering the hungry with confusion-free, standardized food.

One problem: who will make the paranthas? Who will deliver them? How will they hear about the startup? Who will code out the app. You will be amazed to know that all these problems were solved within 72 hours. (Following posters were visible all over Delhi's South Extension) But the startup closed the next day, as the founder got bored.

SAVAGE, THE DIRECTOR

P2 eventually found his calling in the world of movies, shortly after closing down his startup. He became an AD (Assistant Director) overnight, and has put in insane hours into the job. He worked 24x7, a few weeks straight - possibly becoming a one-man production house. When he finished one month at the job, we posed him this question: "Macha, what does an Assistant Director do?" P2 then opened Wikipedia and YouTube, to find the answer to that question.

Soon, though, he grew into the job: you guys should follow @prasidh on Instagram for some of the coolest content ever. His misadventures in Bengaluru are expected to start in another 120 minutes.

WHY SAVAGE?

Well, he took a liking to the "Savage" sticker on Instagram and began molding his personality around the term. He is also the most savage party-creature I have ever known, and can easily dance to really bad music until 7 am in the morning.

I started this as a sulky goodbye note, but see what it has become! Prasidh always manages to do this.

Sigh, I'll miss you man.

Being Emperor. On Sunday afternoon.

I'm trying to make sense of the pattern: Pentagons in a circle, leaving a pointed star in negative space. Five such stars, all in a circle, connected by incomplete eights. Chiseled in exquisite detail into monolithic windows. My brain is running short of the juice required to understand the mind of an sixteenth century artisan.

The sun filters through stone, and forms stars on my face. The past makes no noise. Afraid of succumbing to silence, I get up. And rush through the stone archway into the balcony that faces the Eastern garden.

Trumpets! The city is here. Here I stand, on the majestic balcony, flanked by flag-bearers, watched by the ladies in their veiled terraces. And in front of me, the city stands. For they have come to see their king!

"Jahanpannah," I hear, whispered. And someone speaks in an ancient dialect that I understand. The flag bearers advance, and I proceed to - ironically - follow their lead.

The king's elephant, draped in armour and red gold, stands at the base of the stairway. As I look up at the great beast, it falls to its knees.

"Sir," said a voice that broke into my universe.

"Can you step aside? We want to click a photograph."

"Of course," I said, and took off my AR Wear. I looked back at the great monument in awe, the one I built 400 years ago.

When the Democracy goes Digital - Part 1

“A democracy is only as effective as its citizens, and requires your active participation to thrive and grow.” Someone told me this. I had, clearly, failed my democracy. And so I sought to mend my ways.

Eighteen months ago, I decided to avail my right to vote. To strengthen my resolve: a Voter ID, much more than a Passport, is a solid source of identity in this country. I applied for my right, and my application was graciously accepted at the Corporation Office.




Every three months or so, I’ve visited this office to enquire about the status of my application. Here are a few accounts:

Attempt 1:

I showed them a scanned copy of the receipt, and asked them for the ID Card. My request was met by a happy officer who said, “Sorry, we accept only photocopies. Please bring me the original, or a photocopy of the receipt.”

“But why?”

“Because we need to file it…”

Attempt 2:

Producing the photocopy first, “Where’s my card? It’s been nine months,” I said.

“We are unable to check the records now. For the past four to five days, our systems are down. Please come again after a few weeks.”

“Can I check this online?”

“Yes, but first you have to confirm your ID with us. Once we confirm, it will reflect online…”

Attempt 3:

“Can I have my Voter ID? I filled my application last year…”

“Please come after lunch. That madam will be able to help you,” said a smiling, moustached man.

So I waited. I didn’t leave. And when they returned, I confronted them: “Where?”

“There is a process for this,” she said, in a matter-of-fact way. “First, you need to check the Voter Lists at any of the polling booths. If your name is there, please note down the number, and come back to us with this. We will give you the ID.”

“I have to find my name myself? What is the use of this receipt then?”

“That is for your reference,” she said, and dismissed me.

Attempt 4:

I admit I am not a top-class citizen. I didn’t act promptly enough. It took me five months to check one of the polling booths, and return to them with my number. But when I got there, I produced it valiantly: “Here. That’s my number. Please give me my Voter ID.”

“Today, we don’t have the material to print these Cards. We have contacted the supplier… You will have to come back in one week.”

“Can I help you? I can get you the material right now… Where do you get it from?” I asked.

“Denmark,” she said.

“Oh…”

“So I should come back…?”

“Not to worry, you’re now an eligible voter. Even without the card, you can use your ID Number. Just carry another ID Proof.”

Attempt 5:

Yesterday, I visited the office again. “ID!” I said, and produced my details.

“Your ID is there, sir, but it cannot be printed now… There’s some problem…”

“What’s the problem now?!”

“Don’t get agitated, sir.”

“I applied nearly two years ago! What is the problem?”

“It is not reflecting in the system…”

“What should I do for it to reflect in your system?”

“Please call the Toll Free number. And tell them your ID. They will resolve the problem; then, you can come to us…”

In the meanwhile, another woman barged into the line and shouted over my shoulder: “I have applied for an Address Change. When can I collect my card?”

“Don’t shout, madam. It will take us some time to update.”

“Should I come after one month,” she said, as if it’s the most natural thing to wait one month for a deliverable.

“Not one month. Come in October,” she said. I looked at my phone to confirm: we were still in January.

I'd spent so much time in their queues, I was unwilling to accept their tardiness. So I stepped aside and called the Toll Free number right there, from the office. The officers asked me to leave. I didn't budge.

An annoying song, conducive to a Government setting, blared through my phone's speakers. I held on for nine whole minutes ("You're in queue. Please wait."), before a lady answered my call. I conveyed to her my issue, my reference number, and my frustration. She replied, "Looks like you can vote... But your number doesn't identify on the system."

The System! As if it was a place with a mind of it's own. Does anyone even know what The System is? Who controls this System? What are its rules?

"What must I do now, if your stupid system doesn't have my ID?"

"Please wait until Monday, sir. We will call you."

"You will call me?! But this is a Toll Free number... Who will speak to me?"

"One of the officers will call you." Very helpful, thanks.

I hung up the phone, and looked up at the officer at the counter, wondering what to say next. I realized there was no point. The democracy was moving along smoothly.

Product-Market Fit V/S High Art

A tried and tested technique for internet entrepreneurs, especially those based in China, is this:

1 - Look up international comparable with unicorn potential.
2 - Perform extensive local search-engine queries to check organic traffic.
3 - Optimize and tweak business-model to fit observations.

Even if Step 1 is overlooked, Steps 2 & 3 are considered critical. E.g. if you want to start selling cakes online, then perform enough searches to verify traffic on the keyword "cake". Your findings may show great demand for blueberry cheesecakes; boom, that's your MVP (minimum viable product).

In other words, the market precedes the product. The grand-question of Product-Market fit is neatly obviated. You give people what they want. Why try inventing things which may or may not have buyers?

Of course, killer innovation may not happen. So some may question this method, and call it inferior to the conventional maverick route. But it's hard to imagine a sad billionaire. So the ends must justify the means.

The issue only occurs when you gauge artistic value of a business; all businesses are a form of art. I can't bring myself to digest the thought of an artist who Googles his or her audience's tastes, and tailors art accordingly.

Two Men Who Spoke

There was once a man who spoke the truth. He always told you what you already know. When you were fatigued, he'd say "go sleep it off, you look like you're dying". When you spoke too loudly, he'd shush you. If you lied, he'd smack you on your back and make you swear you wouldn't do it again. If you did well, he'd commend you and ask you to keep it up.

Sometimes, when you felt naughty, you'd do something bad - cheat someone, maybe - and then feel bad about it. He'd come down on you like a brick wall. "You're a shitty person. Go think about what you've done," he once shouted.

The man who spoke the truth was a failure. No one liked him. He got nowhere.

But there was another man, his friend. He never spoke the truth. He'd tell you what you wanted to hear. He'd asked you if you'd lost weight ("you look so fit") when you were tired. When you were loud, he back-patted you for confidence; he called you smart when you lied. When you achieved something big, he'd say - "Dream big! This is nothing... You are capable of great things".

He always said people oughtn't be judged. You obviously had your justifiable reasons to cheat other people. He would support everything, and their opposites too. If it happened, he'd say something you'd like hearing about it.

The man who never spoke the truth was a smashing success. Everyone loved him. He did whatever he liked.

You Owe Them Nothing

You owe them nuthin'. Nuthin', you 'ear me? They will come, they will go, but you must go on. Only you must go on. They don' mean shit!

They ain't gonna care for your happiness.They never have, they never will. It ain't in their blood. They aren't programmed to! They're bloodsuckers, those creeps. Sugar-coated leeches. Yes, you need 'em now, you may need 'em again some day. So use 'em, like they ought to be used! Don't get in bed with 'em. They're shit, man.

If there's one thin', and only one thin' tha' you can learn, it's this: you owe them nuthin'. You're your own man. You built yourself from ground-up. Own it. You don' have to be vain, but there's no shame in sayin' it. So say it with me. I MADE ME WHUT I AM. Say it aloud, say it to the fuckin' mirror.

You're responsible if things go shit... but if you win, then get out there and own it.

How Great Teams Win

This day, last year. The passes were getting stuck in the grass. Men weren't getting forward. Chelsea was in the bottom half of the league table, out of the Champions League, and without a proper manager: The Special One had, finally, failed. Diego Costa was at his boorish worst; Eden Hazard, once boasting of CR7/Messi-like potential, had lost his way. Football at the Bridge sucked.

The summer was strange as it didn't bring an overhaul. No major buys, the new manager was a relatively unknown face, and there was little change in fortunes. The results went Win-Win-Win-Draw-Loss-Loss. The losses came against top quality teams, Liverpool and Arsenal. The 3-0 defeat at Arsenal on 24th September should have been much worse! But something changed that day...

Chelsea are now on a 13-Game Winning-Streak. Tactically, they changed from a 4-1-4-1 to a 3-4-3, and Conte has been hailed a tactical genius. I'll tell you what else he is: a genius a mental management.

The players are the same, the grounds are the same, the league and the fans are the same, but the game is so different. The animal in Costa has been unleashed; he roars as he smashes the back of the net. Hazard runs the wing-backs ragged, before cutting in and curling a delightful shot from outside the box. Matic and Cesc are back from the dead.

Can this change of fortune be attributed to tactics alone? Does 3-4-3 make Chelsea a winning team, or is Chelsea a winning team that plays 3-4-3? The energy at the bridge is unbelievably positive; right now, they could win playing 2-5-1-2 or 5-2-2-1 or some other phone-number type formation.

The tactical switch was essential to generate the positive vibe, to make good players believe they are great. And in that belief, the game has been won. Manchester United under Sir Alex was a team that excelled at winning the game in the mind long before they had their first attempt on goal. Great teams are built on incredible confidence, positive energy, and - of course - great amounts of hard-work and skill.

But energy is the key. Without it, you're nothing. With it, everything is suddenly within your reach. Here's hoping you unleash that energy in 2017. Cheers.