This torus-shaped emblem represents the heart of The Pao of Physics — a place where mass and motion, myth and molecule, Kafka and Kekulé converge. Inspired by the topological form of the torus and the dreaming serpent of benzene, it stands as a symbol of cyclical thought, perpetual inquiry, and baked metaphors. Here, the universe curls upon itself — and rises like daily bread.
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Wisdom imaged as a fool by the mirror
Cleopatra asks her mirror each night, “Who is the dullard of them all?” The idiot never asks, the imbecile half-answers, the moron forgets—and the queen keeps asking. With Camus in the shadows and a cobra at her side, she discovers the only answer the world will give.
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Tara and Bopa Circumambulate Narmada
Over three years, Tara and Bopa walk the Narmada’s full length — through forests, towns, and marble cliffs. Their Parikrama becomes both a river’s biography and a love story, ending in a hymn of remembrance and flow.
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🕊️ The Courtyard Parliament of Birds
At dawn in Kuthar, Sandhya lays out a small langar, and the courtyard becomes a parliament of wings — sparrows, magpies, parrots, crows, and one thieving romantic named Magie. A fable of hunger, vanity, and quiet devotion beneath the mango tree.
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Lilavati’s Garden of Mathematics — Part II: The Equation of the Heart
A lyrical continuation of Lilavati’s Garden of Mathematics—where equations meet affection and the laws of algebra turn into laws of the heart.
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Mr Morose and the Happiness Tumour
A tired cleaning woman laughs her way through exhaustion, her joy as involuntary as breath itself. The narrator—Mr Morose—watches, half-in-awe and half-in-need, discovering that her laughter is both her survival reflex and his quiet medicine.
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A Happy Toy, A Moody Human
Consistent happiness is domain of the toys, people have mood swings, better be an AI for that matter.
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Bopa Rai and Tara at Amarkantak: The Narmada River and the Rift
Bopa Rai and Tara journey from Kedarnath to Amarkantak, the birthplace of the Narmada River. Amid sacred forests and tectonic scars, they uncover a landscape where myth meets geology — a rift valley carved by the Earth’s stretching crust and sanctified by Shiva’s legend.
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Four Deaths (Shades of the Same Dawn)
A doctor reflects on four faces of death—sudden, delayed, prolonged, and peaceful—to show how modern medicine can change the tempo but not the colour of mortality.
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The Grammar of Balance: YIN and Yang to Ancient Cosmology to Modern Psychiatry
Introduction: The Enduring Quest for a Grammar of Balance Shallow Dive-Yin & Yang: A Simple Grammar of Balance Across cultures, we keep returning to one lesson—health is balance; trouble is imbalance. 1) Yin–Yang: opposites in motion 2) Wuxing (Five Phases): growth + brakes 3) Freud: a house of arguments 4) William Blake: contraries create life…
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KITCHEN-LEVEL PSM
A retired PSM general turns from campaigns to kitchens and meets his oldest foes: the fly and the mosquito. One gorges, one sips; both outwit empires of hygiene. Between a perforated swatter and a buzzing in the dark, “Kitchen-Level PSM” remembers that public health is patience—one more cover on the pot, one more emptied bucket,…
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Fracture of the Soul The Chronicles of Bopa Rai
“The bottle is my morphine. I am never drunk; only titrated. I keep an oxygen cylinder nearby. Why save this life? The liver is not the seat of anger. It is the archive of suppressed light. I swear it sounded like laughter. I looked up — and there he was, uncannily like Bopa Rai. He…
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Memoirs of Bopa Rai, Sometime Governor of Jalalabad
What good is wealth if only one temple gleams? Let Amritsar and Kashi shine alike, and let Hazratbal be guarded with stipends, for God is One, His houses are many
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बोपा राय की दास्तान
भाग I: चेतना का युद्ध अध्याय 1: कोलाहल और शांति पंचकुला के सेक्टर 28 में चेतना का युद्ध घोड़ों और तोपों से नहीं आया।यह आया एक जनरेटर की घरघराहट से।लोग कहते थे — यह जनरेटर कार्तिकेय का है, जो मोर पर सवार युद्धदेवता हैं। महत्वाकांक्षा अब भक्ति का वेश पहन चुकी थी। फ्लडलाइट्स ने सांझ…
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Chronicles of Bopa Rai: The War for Consciousness
In Panchkula’s Sector 28, faith becomes a broadcast—floodlights bleaching dusk, loudspeakers staking claims. Bopa Rai turns away from the ruckus toward a dim bulb by a cracked ditch, where a Tantric healer practices “dirty-hands” medicine. The first lesson is absence: watch the crows, hear the earth. The war is for consciousness, not territory.