Writing

It was six-thirty in the evening of the first day of November of the year 2032, the air conditioner roared like a stubborn beast, refusing to acknowledge the cold weather outside. Its refrigerated air poured relentlessly over Vyjayanti Kshir, slipping under her collar and past every layer of cloth to settle, sharp and uninvited, deep into her bones.

She was the CEO, or as everyone called her in the company ‘Beni’, of Ankhya systems and machinery. Along with a young engineer Rishi Uttam, she sat outside the doors of the ministry of defence, waiting for their names to be called.

Rishi couldn’t help but fidget with anticipation, his eyes fixed on the entrance doors. Although he was a brilliant engineer and had done many presentations in his nascent career, this was the first time he would be presenting to someone this important.

Vyjayanti patted him on the back. “It’s going to be alright Rishi…” she said in a calm voice and a smile on her face adding “… just like we practiced…” her tone soothing.

She had been waiting for this moment for what felt like an eternity. She knew that the real reason for Rishi’s carefully crafted presentation wasn’t its merits as a proposal in itself, but rather as a Trojan horse, a means to an end. By packaging it as a viable idea, she hoped to slip past the ministry’s defences and into a meeting where she could ask them just one question. An important question. One that her father had wanted to ask but couldn’t. An entire generation just to ask one question.

Vyjayanti was everything Rishi needed in a boss. Even though she was just a couple of inches taller than an average woman, at fifty-three, she still carried herself with poise and dignity. Her skin a warm, golden undertone, a testament to her Kashmiri Indian heritage. Her dark hair had begun to gray subtly, framing her face with wisps of silver that spoke to her age and wisdom.

Though her presence was unassuming, there was an aura about her that commanded respect. A sense of quiet authority, earned not through loud declarations but through years of listening, observing, and absorbing the world around her, so that when she finally spoke, her words carried weight, gravity, and a depth of meaning that few others could match.

The presentation began a few minutes later, in the secure conference room of the ministry, to an audience of bureaucrats and senior members of the Indian Navy. Rishi ran through the proposal as planned and practiced before, explaining technical details with ease. Vyjayanti was quiet, absorbing everything around her.

The minister, for his part, seemed to tolerate the technical portion, and only leaned forward and watched with intent, when it came to the matter of the costs that Ankhya systems and machinery proposed. The minister’s expression turned grave as he processed the numbers on the slide before him. These costs were indeed above what they had anticipated; an extra twenty percent on top of the already staggering maintenance budget. He let out a deep sigh, his eyes meeting those of Vyjayanti and Rishi in turn. “How can we justify these expenses?” he asked bluntly. “Look, I think you very well know that you are just one of two companies that has proposed a solution. And to be quite honest, it feels like the both of you are out to fleece the taxpayer… like a cartel.” He scowled.

Vyjayanti’s expression remained steady. Rishi was the one to answer. “Sir, our team has worked tirelessly to develop our personnel shielding system, which I must say, is vital in reducing the risk of radiation leakage from the reactors. Most of our costs goes into this shielding.”

“Hmm,” said the minister, his face still a glower from looking at the costs. “It’s a conspiracy I tell you…” he added, still not convinced. He then turned back to face the Navy staff and asked, “What do you all think?” All he got in return for an answer from them was a tepid agreement and not a unanimous one that he was hoping. “Tch…” he voiced.

It was now or never for Vyjayanthi. The trigger had been primed.

“We can do this for you… completely free of cost. We’ll absorb all the costs.” She said, speaking for the first time since the proposal began, her voice not betraying anything under. She felt the glare of Rishi on her temple. He didn’t know she was going to do this.

“Ma’am…” he began.

Vyjayanti held out her palm, requesting him to be silent. All Rishi could do was oblige.

The minister, a man with an intelligent face, but with a body that spoke to his love of carb-rich diet leaned back in his chair at the unexpected offer. There had to be a catch. There was always a catch.

“What… forever… you will do this for us free for ever?” he asked with his eyebrows high, steepling his fingers.

“Let’s say… seven years. I do this free for seven years.” She replied.

The minister sighed deeply and asked “So… what’s the catch? What do you want in return?”

Vyjayanti took a deep breath. “I want access to what you have in Konark.”

“Konark… what do we have in Konark?” asked the minister curiously.

“I want access to the tech you have in Konark.”

“What tech?” asked the minister, his eyes furrowed in concern. “You mean access to the DRDO facility? Why would you want that? You have no business there. There is no need to ask for all of that.” He added. He closed the proposal file with a thump, signalling the end of the meeting. “We’ll review your proposal and let you know in fifteen days. The taxpayers don’t need your charity. Thank you so much.” He said, wanting to abruptly stop the conversation that Vyjayanti had started.

Then slowly and deliberately, Vyjayanti said the names, “Shankari, Somaara, Trika, Haarati, Martanda, Nilamata, Ananta.” She said the names, only those names, and nothing else.

The irritation in the minister’s face vanished immediately. It turned to one of surprise. Everyone in the room could see he understood the significance of those names… said in that specific order.

His voice had become a tremble now. “Everyone out of the room please…” he requested, then turned to the chief of the Indian Navy, whose face was also one of surprise, and said, “You stay back.”

Vyjayanti turned to Rishi and nodded, signalling him to leave. All he could do was follow her orders, yet his mind kept wandering back to what had just transpired. He left without question, hoping that she would tell him later.

When the doors of the rooms squeezed shut, the minister walked to it and gave it a tug to ensure it was indeed locked. He hadn’t taken his eyes of Vyjayanti the entire time. When he sat back down, he asked, “How do you know those names?”

Vyjayanti relaxed a bit with a deep sigh. “You should have run the background checks with my original name. My birth name. Vyjayanti Bhairav. Then you would have learned that I am the great-granddaughter of Kechar Bhairav.” She said and then asked, “Do you know who Kechar Bhairav is?”

“He brought them to Konark from Kashmir, didn’t he?” the minister asked.

“Yes. The ones that Raja Hari Singh handed over to India. Yes, he did.” Vyjayanti said. Then with her voice almost apologetic she added “I know men like my great-grandfather had to take secrets like this to their funeral-pyre, but in his last days, I and my father happened to be near him. That’s when he spilled all the secrets. I can assure you, sir, that outside of this room, no one knows. We’ll take it to our own end. All I want is access to the tech.”

There was silence in the room, for quite a while, as the minister considered the request. It was the chief of the Indian Navy who then asked, “Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar couldn’t crack the technology. How do you expect to crack it if he could not?”

“I don’t want the spacecraft, Sir. I know it’s broken. Perhaps even degraded beyond repair,” Vyjayanti said, then added “I want the beings. I know they are artificial beings… manufactured… perhaps to cross the vast distances across space and time. I want them.”

“What will you do with them?” asked the minister.

“I want the computing paradigm that ran them. Digital computing… for lack of better words… has run its course…”

The minister’s eyes narrowed, a hint of curiosity flickering in their depths as they leaned forward, voice low and measured. “People before you have tried to unlock their secrets, Vyjayanti. They haven’t been successful. But all of them… and I mean all of them, across generations, have said one thing. That this is a dangerous idea.”

He paused, his gaze drifting away from her, as if pondering the weight of his own words. “The seven artificial beings,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve seen them with my own eyes. Nothing in the world… even today… matches the technology they possess.”

His eyes snapped back to hers, and for an instant, Vyjayanti thought she saw something there; a glimmer of understanding that threatened to upend everything. But then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone. The minister’s expression smoothed into its usual mask of detachment.

“Very well,” he said and without any hint of importance, “I’ll grant you access to... the seven. Let’s see if you have any luck with it.”

Vyjayanti felt a shiver run down her spine as she processed his answer.

But before she could fully process it, the minister added with a chuckle “… and don’t forget your promise. Seven years, free of charge. I’ll send you the contract papers soon.”

And then, without another word, the minister and the chief of the Indian Navy stood up, and walked out of the room, leaving Vyjayanti alone.

As the door closed behind the minister, Vyjayanthi felt the air thicken around her, like the moment before a storm breaks.

She remembered the last words of her great-grandfather. For the longest time she thought it was said in delirium.

“I’ve seen the Devas. They are as beautiful as the stories say. They don’t decay even in death. Remember their names, Vyjayanthi. Remember their names. Shankari, Somaara, Trika, Haarati, Martanda, Nilamata, Ananta.”

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Note from the Author : The story you just read is a prequel to 'Exodus', a short story in my published science fiction anthology titled 'LIM : At the limits of reality'. In Exodus, we witness the dawn of a new computing paradigm. A dire necessity, its mother. These advanced machines, exhibiting unprecedented levels of self-awareness and sentience, challenge the very definition of humanity, forcing us to consider the implications.

The book is available for sale on Amazon here. https://www.amazon.in/dp/819936548X .

Over the years I've collected a lot of advices and posts on writing. There's one that has helped a lot when it comes to world building. I think the original post was on Tumblr... and for the life of me, I can't find the post. So, here's the text I saved from that post.

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If you're doing worldbuilding on something, and you're scared of writing -unrealistic- things into it out of fear that it'll sound lazy and ripped-out-of-your-ass, but you also don't want to do all the back-breaking research on coming up with depressingly boring, but practical and -realistic- solutions, have a rule:

Just give the thing two layers of explanation. One to explain the specific problem, and another one explaining the explanation. Have an example:

Plot hole I: If the vampires can't stand daylight, why couldn't they just move around underground?

Solution 1: They can't go underground, the sewer system of the city is full of giant alligators who would eat them.

Well, that's a very quick and simple explanation, which sure opens up additional questions.

Plot hole 2: How and why the fuck are there alligators in the sewers? How do they survive, what do they eat down there when there's no vampires?

Solution 2: The nuns of the Underground Monastery feed and take care of them as a part of their sacred duties.

It takes exactly two layers to create an illusion that every question has an answer - that it's just turtles all the way down. And if you're lucky, you might even find that the second question's answer loops right back into the first one, filling up the plot hole entirely:

Plot hole 3: Who the fuck are the sewer nuns and whats their point and purpose?

Solution 3: The sewer nuns live underground in order to feed the alligators, in order to make sure that the vampires don't try to move around via the sewer system.

When you're just making things up, you don't need to have an answer for everything - just two layers is enough to create the illusion of infinite depth. Answer the question that looms behind the answer of the first question, and a normal reader won't bother to dig around for a 3rd question.

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Here's a screenshot of the original post.

I'm currently writing "The Zero Point", that's about a quarter of a way done. The rest of the story has been gestating inside me like a behemoth, refusing to be birthed into the world without strangling me with its tentacles of confusion and frustration.

My characters are like unruly children, running amok in their own private playground while I frantically try to herd them towards some semblance of plot coherence. It's like trying to corral cats into a stockpot filled with Javarisi Payasam. They're just as slippery, but much more likely to leave me covered in sticky mess.

My writing process has devolved into a series of bizarre rituals, complete with burning incense, chanting mantras, and sacrificing small portions of my sanity on the altar of Progress. And yet, despite these efforts, I'm stuck in this mire of mediocrity, unable to find my way out. In desperation I asked a friend... "Does having a drink help?".

His advice "You know what helps? Actually writing..."

Each day feels like an eternity as I stare blankly at my screen, trying to coax forth some semblance of creativity from the depths of my parched and barren imagination. It's like attempting to hold water in my hands. No matter how hard I squeeze, it just slips through my fingers, leaving me feeling empty and defeated.

So, if anyone sees me wandering the streets, muttering incoherently to myself, or frantically typing away at 1 AM with a look of manic desperation on my face... just know that I'm not having a midlife crisis. I'm simply communing with my muse, trying to wrestle this unruly beast back onto its tracks.

Help me, dear reader! Someone, anyone, please – throw me a lifeline before I drown!

I'm sitting here trying to decide how to move forward with my work-in-progress science fiction novel, but the truth is, it's been a struggle. The emotional toll of publishing was unexpected. I thought I'd feel relieved, proud, and maybe even a little euphoric after finally putting out the book into the world.

But that's not what happened. Instead, I felt drained. And now, when I look at my manuscript, I just don't know where to start again. The thought of diving back into the story feels like adding another burden to an already full plate.

I've been so focused on marketing and promoting my book that it's hard to find time for anything else. Trying to balance my day-job with making posts, meeting people, it all takes a toll. I'm starting to wonder if anyone even reads what I write anymore, or if they're just there because of the image or persona that comes with being an author.

It's like I've lost sight of why I started writing in the first place: to tell stories and connect with readers on a deeper level. Now, it feels like I'm stuck in this never-ending cycle of promotion and self-promotion.

Send help!

So it's not just me right? I put myself out there as an author on X (formerly twitter), Instagram, Discord and others. I've been inundated with a constant stream of emails, direct messages, and comments from strangers claiming to offer writing services, editing help, or marketing solutions.

If you are an author yourself, I am betting you are no stranger to this.

It's SO overwhelming for me. Especially having to juggle writing with a full-time job. How do you navigate this deluge? I know you think the answer is to just ignore them. But unfortunately that doesn't work with me at all. I'd hate to self-diagnose myself with some kind of OCD, but I have this innate need to read every message. Some of these are so earnest, I find it difficult to ignore them. I also have a need to "close the loop" on these requests.

This wouldn't be an issue, if I didn't have such a big problem saying "No" to people. :-/

And to add to the complexity, some of these requests (most of them actually) are bots. And thanks to how sophisticated AI has become, I only figure out that I am talking to a bot some four or five exchanges in.

I have no solution or advice for you dear reader. Ignore them maybe. That's the only advice I have.

That's all I had for this post. I hope whoever you are, where ever you are, you enjoy writing! Have a fantastic day!

I am beyond thrilled to share with you all the exciting news that has been months in the making. After years of writing, my book is finally available to readers! I am yet to receive a physical copy, but I am sure it will be a a surreal feeling to hold my published book in my hands.

Some of you may know, I've been writing for quite some time now. Since 2020, I've been pouring my heart and soul into crafting stories, building characters, and weaving plots. But as much as I loved the process, there was always a desire to share my work with others. What you might not know is just how challenging it's been to balance writing with my full-time job. I've had to juggle late nights, early mornings, and every spare moment in between to squeeze out time for writing. Whether it was scribbling notes during my daily commute or typing away on my laptop during lunch breaks, I made the most of whatever time I could find. It wasn't always easy, but knowing that I had a dream to chase kept me motivated.

I knew I was ready to publish in January of this year (2025). However, as the months went by without any responses or offers from publishers or agents, I began to wonder if it was all worth it. The waiting game can be tough, especially when you're passionate about sharing your work with others.

In July of 2025, I was out on a walk one day and stumbled upon Scube Prints, who were operating a printing business. They connected me with a local publisher, Paperoin Publishing, who could help me bring my book to life. They stepped in and guided me through the final stages of publication. Their team was instrumental in helping me navigate the process and ensuring that my book meets the highest standards.

And now, after months of waiting, I'm proud to announce that my book is available for purchase! It's a dream come true, and I couldn't be more grateful to all those who have supported me on this journey. From family and friends to fellow writers and readers, your encouragement has meant the world.

Here's a link to my book if you want to buy it for yourself. https://www.amazon.in/dp/819936548X

Why write the blog at all? I understand it's a little late to be answering this question but I guess It needs to be said at some point.

I have a vague recollection of my grandfather (Paddu Tatha) and whatever memory I have of him is of him either scolding someone or the other. He was short tempered and had very high expectations of people. I remember him scolding me a lot. Not his fault though, I was a stupid kid and I'd hate myself at that age if I saw him now. For example, I'd constantly steal the vegetable vendor's weighing scales and run away with it to home. Anyways he was a good man I have a good sense of the man from memory and from stories I have heard of him. Unfortunately he passed away when I was 7 or so.

I have never seen my other grandfather (Seshadri Tatha). He passed away before I was born. From what I've heard he was very intelligent, was pretty wealthy and liked to play around with his kids a lot. He was pretty infamous too for a lot of things. I didn't really have a sense of who he was until one day my uncle showed me a letter that he'd written to the collector of the district asking for a permit to ply buses between Perambalur and Trichirapalli. It was in English and he'd written it beautifully. It had great penmanship and was written better than what you'd expect of someone who grew up in rural Tamil Nadu. As far as I can recollect It didn't have a single grammatical or spelling error.

Writing is a window into the workings of a person's mind. You can see a side of a person that you normally don't get to see. For example I had this colleague back in Chennai who was generally very shy. We'd be lucky if we got two sentences out of him in a day while talking. But boy could he write. His emails would be perfect. You'd never see this side of him unless you spoke to him over an email.

And that's why I blog. My grand children may never get to see me and I just don't want them to be curious as to who I was. Or where they come from. This is the intent of this blog. To give them a peek into my mind.

That's all I had to say really.

I think my next entry will be of all the stupid shit I have done.