"Cogito Ergo Sum"- A Philosophical Quest

  A Year That Begins with Headaches, Heresies, and a Stubborn Hope This year does not begin with fireworks. It begins with a headache —specifically, Latin . Declensions, conjugations, dead verbs refusing resurrection. Latin does not ask whether you are interested; it simply assumes discipline. It is the perfect metaphor for this year: submit or suffer . I choose both. This is the year I want to make a new start —not the Instagram kind, not the motivational-poster lie, but the uncomfortable kind. A year of discipline and focus , where hard work overtakes everything else. Not because I am certain, but because uncertainty has failed to stop me . I am ready to do whatever it takes to follow my vocation—to become the one I am called to be. I guess everyone is expected to do the same, but very few actually mean it. There is a strange, burning desire in me to do something no one has done yet . And yet, paradoxically, there is also a desire to be normal , to not always go out, to not alw...

A Question the Year Keeps Asking Me Just tell me—this year, when you go, will you come back the same? Will you return like the same breeze, the one that feels like home even before it touches the skin? Because my heart is no longer with me. It is not even pretending to be independent. My heart has quietly moved into you . It waits. Patiently. Almost stubbornly. This year alone. My heart behaves strangely now. It does not speak to anyone. It does not negotiate. It does not explain itself. It remains silent, loyal, and fixed—only in youuu. Can anyone even speak to a heart like this? This year. Writing as I Miss Her As I write this blog, I miss my grandmother deeply as I am so far from her. Her absence is loud. Her teachings have become a mirror I can no longer avoid. Every decision, every failure, every hesitation now asks me one brutal question: Have you become what she hoped you would be? This year has truly been a year of memories—both gentle and painful, comforting and cruel. Many le...

Philosophy Walks into My Life  Philosophy did not enter my life like a gentle teacher. It entered like an intrusive relative who comes without notice, questions everything, eats your peace of mind, and then refuses to leave. I did not choose philosophy. Philosophy happened to me—slowly, stubbornly, and with an irritating sense of moral urgency. So when philosophy walks into a bar, it is not alone. It carries human anxiety, historical wounds, political anger, childhood questions, classroom confusions, prayerful silences, and the unbearable weight of asking why in a world that prefers obedience over understanding. The bartender asks, “Why the long face?” Philosophy replies, “Because reality contradicts itself, knowledge keeps changing its story, the mind does not know where it ends, light cannot decide what it is, and liberation is still waiting in a queue.” The bartender nods. He has heard this before. We all have. This blog is not an attempt to solve philosophy. That would be ...

  Knowledge: The Most Confused Faction in Human History Knowledge. Everyone treats it like a deity, but nobody knows what it actually is. It’s the central character in every discipline , yet the most questionable entity— because everyone is busy questioning it . In my last blog, I ended with the statement that everyone has knowledge . Every culture has knowledge. Even today has knowledge—fancy theorists call it situated knowledge . Very poetic, very elegant, very useless—because if knowledge is supposed to bring equality, and it clearly does not , then sorry, this must not be knowledge at all. Plato, Buddha, and the Sleeping Buddhas Plato would say education must be equal for all. Cute. Meanwhile, every one of us is a sleeping Buddha , trying to wake up but being taught and influenced by—wait for it— the ignorant . So how exactly are we expected to wake up? Every knowledge is incomplete or partial, so the job is to bring it into equilibrium—which sounds beautiful until you realise ...

  🌏 I Come from Two Indias—And Both Are Running Out of Breath I come… from which India? I come… from two Indias. Those are the Indias I drag with me everywhere, like two contradictory lungs—one trying to inhale hope, the other exhaling smoke. I come from an India where children wear masks and hold hands with each other… and I come from an India where leaders hug each other without masks , because apparently politics is immune to PM2.5. I come from an India where the AQI hits 9000—yes, 9000—yet we still climb to the terrace at night, look at the sky, and pretend the stars aren’t coughing with us. The Ecological Irony Parade I come from an India where we worship women in the morning and destroy forests by afternoon—because goddesses deserve flowers, but trees don’t deserve to live. I come from an India that proudly chants “Green Kumbh!” while preparing to cut 1,700 trees in Nashik , including ancient banyans and peepals—because nothing says spirituality like erasing the environm...

“Sometimes to be an empty slate is also knowledge” — Ronnie B A Philosophical Rant from the Edge of Sanity, Abstractism, and Ginger Tea Addiction (A Blog by… well, obviously me.) A new venture I started — which even I don’t understand — and trust me, if I don’t understand it, you also won’t understand what I write. But still, make an effort. Philosophy demands suffering, and I am kindly offering you mine. My life has taken a dramatic turn toward abstractism . Maybe God Himself looked at me and said, “This boy cannot survive in the real world. Give him the abstract one.” And honestly, there is no higher world than the abstract. It kills me, resurrects me, and brings me to salvation — all before breakfast. They say “philosophy of knowledge,” but the knowledge itself is so confusing. Is it even knowledge? Epistemology — the study of knowledge — is already terrifying by name. Who in their right mind wants to study something called epistemology ? And then people go hunting for the Greek ...