During one long boring day, I started looking at my past posts to see just how much the mind has changed from 2004 till date. And I have to admit, the amount has been staggering.

I started this blog in 2004. Actually, I started blogging way earlier (2002 in fact if memory serves) but that was on my own domain under a different name of “The Rat Race”. Moving to wordpress, I shifted all the blog posts in one go and dated them as 30 Jan 2004, thus giving birth to Ahamkar.

One of the most astonishing changes I noticed is in the sheer quality of work. My earlier posts were intellectually stimulating, with hardly any personal anecdotes. Then came the poems and retrospections. This led to day-to-day affairs and now it’s just run-of-the-mill post akin to twitter.

So a resolution was made. Henceforth, there would be at least one post every week and an honest attempt at a good one at that. Remind me if that doesn’t happen 🙂



A lot of things have happened during the past few months; starting with my previous company behaving in the immature and short-sighted manner they did to finding new jobs and going back to a long loved hobby: books.

Looking at the last decade of my life, I realised that I had pretty much given up on reading. The reason for that is numerous and irrelevant; suffice to say that it was a habit which should not have been discarded as casually as it was.

Reading is a pleasure which very few other hobbies give. By reading I refer to fiction only and discount the numerous other genres out there as reading a good fiction is an art. Yes, I reiterate that reading of fiction is an art. But why do I say so? What is so different from reading fictions as to reading other forms (non-fictions) and from other hobbies?