The Years Without Fingerprints

Some years don’t leave fingerprints.

For the last few years, time feels like it has quietly pressed fast-forward. I finished tenth grade in 1997. Twelfth grade in 1999. I exited my teens right as the new millennium arrived. And somewhere along the way, I crossed a strange milestone: I’ve now lived more of my life after 2000 than before it.

Yet most of my vivid memories still belong to the pre-2000 world. Maybe childhood memories are denser. Or maybe adult life is just better at overwriting itself. Post-2000 is one thing—but post-2020 is another entirely. The last five years feel like I took a hand towel, wiped my face, and tossed it away. Gone. Just… blur.

Nothing makes time’s passage more obvious than children. Akhil and Sahana are growing up fast, each carving out a personality that couldn’t be more different. Akhil’s fascination with basketball has only deepened—remarkably so, given his usual talent for boredom. Middle school is around the corner, and we’re all quietly hoping Roblox loses its grip this year. Sahana, on the other hand, is drawn to music, art, and theatre. She often follows her brother into things that aren’t naturally hers—an early lesson, perhaps, in sibling gravity.

Parenting, I’ve learned, is less about authority and more about negotiation. Constant negotiation. Frankly, some of these discussions would put international trade deals to shame.

The last year and a half also blurred by geographically. Japan, Jamaica, the UK, India, and Colombia—each with its own rhythm. Japan stood out for how effortlessly it blends the ancient and the modern. Serene temples in Kyoto. Excellent sushi and ramen approved by the kids. Endless walking. I’m convinced that if you live in Japan, weight gain is structurally impossible.

The UK was wonderful too—though it’s hard not to notice that a good portion of the world’s wealth seems to be on display in its museums. The donation boxes are particularly amusing. You looted us for 200 years… and you want £5 more? Jokes aside, London feels inexhaustible. Ten visits wouldn’t be enough; the eleventh would still surprise you.

India, as always, grounded us. If earlier trips were about the Western Ghats, this year was about Kalady. Having Akhil’s Upanayanam there was deeply special—one of the high points not just of 2025, but of my life. To stand in that atmosphere felt aligned. There’s no better word for it.

We ended the year quite literally on the move—landing at 11 PM from Colombia the night before the year closed. Medellín, with its trees, climate, roads, and traffic, felt uncannily like Bangalore. Cocora Valley, though, was something else entirely.

Amid all this motion, I also published my first Kindle Single in 2025. Writing feels easier now—not because it’s effortless, but because tools (especially AI) remove friction. I’ve been more consistent with blogging since August, and I’ve stopped worrying about readership and metrics. I write because I enjoy it. Anything that comes from that is just a byproduct.

Places that slow time down.

My inner-life experiments were more uneven. I began writing a Bhagavad Gita verse each day—then stopped halfway. The intention was right; the approach wasn’t. If I’m going to resume in 2026, it needs structure: learning the verse, the meaning, and letting it settle.

I did finish Swami Sarvapriyananda’s discourse on Drg Drishya Viveka, which was outstanding. Aparoksha Anubhuti, however, is still suspended around lecture six or seven—patiently waiting for me to return. YouTube has been a quiet ally here: an endless supply of Vedic chanting, Vedanta talks, and mantras. It really is a remarkable time to want to learn anything.

I also completed Shankar Iyer’s first Sanskrit course on Udemy—one of the best introductions I’ve found—and plan to continue steadily.

2025 was unmistakably the year of AI. ChatGPT became my default place for questions, ideas, and exploration. AI is accelerating everything—work, learning, creation. Which brings me back to the blur.

If the last five years taught me anything, it’s this: speed without anchoring dissolves meaning. My work for 2026 is simple to say and hard to practice—move faster with technology, slower with meaning, and refuse to let one cancel the other.

The goal is clear: bridge the ancient and the modern. Deeper roots in Sanskrit and Vedanta. Sharper skills in AI. Another year of exploring the world—and the self.