Another friend jumped in.
“Responsibilities are a social construct,” he argued. “But think about how devastated they’d be.”
He paused. “No, living is not optional.”

Well, I didn’t say that if living is optional then one should die.
Why do we jump to conclusions like that? Why do we skip the thinking part? Why do billions of neurons stay idle while we sprint to the end of the thought? I’ll never understand.

Anyway, living is optional.
I stand by it.
But let me sell the idea properly.

First, let’s define living.
Living is staying alive. Experiencing… life. The good parts, the bad parts, and mostly the mediocre parts. Living, by corollary, means not dying. Which means not staying alive, not experiencing anything—no good, no bad, no mediocre. I don’t think there’s a simpler definition.

Now, what do I mean by optional?
Usually when we use that word, it’s attached to something sarcastic, the “less desired” option. I don’t know how or why that became the norm, but thankfully, that’s not what I mean here.

What I mean is: living is the more desirable option.
Living is optional, and it’s the option I choose every single day. Just like billions of others. Living is an option, and I choose it. I look the thought of death in the face and say, “No thanks. I’ve got another day in me.”
On edgier days, it’s more like: “Not today, bitch.”

Living is optional, I repeat.
And it’s the option I choose. Not because of responsibilities, not because people would be heartbroken, not because of guilt or fear or duty.

I choose it because I can.
Because natural selection and entropy somehow conspired to make me one of their few self-reflecting creations. I am nature studying, observing, and critiquing itself. A product of millions of years of one of the strongest forces in the universe: the indomitable human spirit.

Through beds of flowers and through streams of spit, it has carried strong men and women. And even though the voice of Marcus Aurelius whispers “memento mori” in my ear whenever I get proud—you are mortal—I still thank the gods that today isn’t that day.

When I was 21, I promised myself that when death comes, it won’t be by my own hand. I echo that promise today and every day. For when death comes, it will meet me grinning, pointing me toward the gates of Valhalla. I won’t go down without a fight—even if the fight is with my own self.

And I will emerge victorious.
And I will choose to live.
For living, it is optional.

Of course, there was a time I couldn’t run at all. In the beginning, it was shin pain. Every step felt like the road was politely stabbing me. Then came the actual injury. Two whole months of not being able to run. Which is to say, two months of restless scrolling, imaginary pacing, and realizing how much I’d built my mornings around this ridiculous ritual. Coming back after that break was like meeting an old friend. You can’t believe you ever let them slip away.

Now I wake up to sunrises I never thought I’d wake up to see three years ago. But the mornings have their own quiet payoff. Sometimes, in between breaths, I’ll notice the sunlight cutting through trees in streaks. It reminds me of the Tyndall effect, that science experiment from school. Which then spirals me into thinking about my science teacher, the one who forced us to actually think instead of memorizing answers. If she hadn’t made me believe in the value of curiosity, I doubt I’d be here running, writing, or even questioning why I still do this. Funny how a simple beam of light can drag you back through years of memory.

Not everything is poetic, though. This is a metro city. Which means fat, dead mice line the pavements. Guts spilling, flattened by traffic, a grotesque wallpaper of urban life. And yet, every time I see them, I can’t help but think: isn’t this what life does to all of us? We’re sprinting, ambitious, full of frantic movement, and then, one random day, we’re roadkill. Not to sound grim, but it’s a reminder: you better enjoy the stretch while you can.

That’s what Murakami gets at when he compares running to meditation. The idea that thoughts come and go. Clouds drifting across a sky you don’t need to control. The trick is to let them pass. Sometimes I’m worrying about a deadline. Sometimes it’s what dosa I’ll eat after. Sometimes it’s about the aunty who used to shuffle past me and hasn’t shown up for a week. The thoughts arrive, they leave, and I keep moving.

Murakami also writes about aging. How you won’t outrun your younger self. I’m only 24, but it still resonates. I already know the pride of smaller races, of doing something quietly instead of chasing a shiny finish line. I already crave solitude, to be left alone in my rhythm, away from the noise of people and their expectations. Maybe I’m aging in dog years. Or maybe I just get what he means when he says consistency matters more than glory.

Running has given me more than cardio endurance. It’s given me those little joys: missing strangers I’ll never talk to, watching light split into colors I studied in dusty labs, realizing how absurd yet vital it is to keep showing up, day after day, in the same shorts. There’s comfort in the repetition, even when life is unpredictable.

And maybe that’s the whole thing. Running is just me carving out a small space where nothing else matters. Where I can remember science class, mourn dead mice, laugh at myself, and still feel strangely proud for not quitting. Murakami may have said it better, but in my own way, I’ve lived it.

But my mind is so clouded, I can barely think. And there’s work to do—so much work. Yet I can’t seem to prioritize. I can’t decide what’s important. And it’s definitely not from a lack of rest—I’ve had plenty of that. Maybe too much. Maybe it’s inertia. I always struggle to move on the days that follow a lazy one.

Momentum. That’s it. That’s what’s missing.

An object at rest will stay at rest. And a mind in chaos will stay in chaos—unless some idiot does something about it. Funny. Those are the exact words I wrote in my video yesterday. Good stuff. But it didn’t work.

I don’t think I’m working hard enough. Then why am I expecting great things to happen to me? Why do I expect at all? First deserve, then desire.

I remember hearing that in my school assembly. It made me laugh when I was seven—probably because of the alliteration. I’ve always loved alliterations. But recently, I heard myself say it again, only this time, more slowly. Not in an assembly, but in isolation. In my small Hyderabad room. That room has seen my worst—and my best.

That was momentum.

The year 2023 was one of the hardest I’ve worked, and it showed. But I didn’t carry that momentum into 2024—not as well as I’d hoped. And now, with 25% of 2025 already gone to the dogs, I need to work twice as hard in 37.5% of the time.

Does the math add up? I don’t know. Does it? I was never good at math. I always preferred to wing it. When I say, “Don’t tell me the odds,” it’s not because I don’t want to hear them—it’s because I can’t really comprehend what they mean. But regardless of the odds, I can push.

Create momentum.

I bob my head in a figure-eight motion, shifting my weight with every turn of the hip. Building up for a barrage of punches. Building momentum.

Breaking inertia.

Breaking free from myself—or maybe running free toward who I’m supposed to be.

There’s a quiet revolution underway—a rebellion of brains that refuse to play by society’s staid, linear rules. For too long, women with ADHD have been mischaracterized as merely bubbly or scatterbrained, their intricate inner lives reduced to mere quirks. But if you’ve ever felt like your mind is a cluster of Google Chrome window with dozens of tabs, distractions, and daydreams, you’re in excellent (if maddening) company.

A History of Being Overlooked

In many Indian households for generations, a girl’s inattentiveness or forgetfulness was seen as an endearing trait, an “idiosyncrasy” to be managed with a gentle scold or an extra cup of chai. The traditional narrative painted these behaviors as simply part of being a “graceful, soft-spoken daughter” rather than a signal of a neurodevelopmental condition. In our rich tapestry of cultural norms and familial expectations, a distracted mind was so often normalized that the telltale signs of ADHD were swept under the proverbial rug. It wasn’t until recent decades—when global research began to challenge long-held assumptions—that the true story of ADHD in women began to emerge.

The Numbers Tell a Tale

Globally, research indicates that while ADHD is diagnosed in roughly 10% of boys, only about 5% of girls receive the same label. In India, the gap can be even wider; recent studies hint that formal diagnoses in girls hover around the lower single digits, not because they are any less vibrant or creative, but because their symptoms are cloaked in societal expectations of calm and composure. Imagine trying to send an urgent email from a perpetually overactive inbox—only to have it marked as “just bubbly chatter” by a system designed to flag only overt chaos.

The Highs, the Lows, and the Unruly Brain

Living with ADHD can feel like having a hyperactive, never-snoozing brain that insists on remixing your thoughts at every turn. For many women, this manifests as a unique cocktail of brilliance, anxiety, and a tendency to overcompensate with impeccable organization at home—only to find that the same superpower turns into a wild, unpredictable storm in the workplace. It’s the paradox of the “neurodivergent multitasker”: while your mind may be sprinting at 100 miles per hour, the world still expects you to follow a leisurely stroll.

Take Asha, a talented engineer from Mumbai (a name that, like her, lights up a room). Despite her unconventional approach to problem-solving—often described by colleagues as “creative chaos”—Asha was repeatedly dismissed as simply “quirky” until a mentor finally recognized that her hyperfocus on innovative projects was, in fact, a hallmark of ADHD. Asha’s story is not isolated; it’s a recurring narrative of brilliance hidden behind misinterpretation and neglect.

The Social Minefield for Neurodivergent Women

In India’s fast-paced, often unforgiving societal framework, navigating life as a woman is no small feat. Add to that the challenge of a neurodivergent mind, and you’re essentially juggling flaming batons on a tightrope. Women in middle- and lower-socioeconomic groups face even steeper odds—where access to proper diagnosis and support is as scarce as a quiet moment in a Mumbai local train. The economic and social cost is immense: lost opportunities, unmet potential, and a quality of life that often falls short of the vibrant futures these women could have had. It’s like being given a brilliantly composed symphony, only to be forced to play it on a broken piano.

Masking: The Art of Hiding in Plain Sight

One of the most remarkable, and often misunderstood, phenomena among women with ADHD is their ability to “mask” their symptoms. From a young age, many learn to hide the swirling chaos of their thoughts behind a façade of politeness and cheerfulness. Society rewards conformity—so when you’re constantly told that “girls are supposed to be delicate and demure,” you quickly become a master of disguise. Yet beneath that polished exterior, a restless mind churns away, plotting innovative ideas and wrestling with internal storms of anxiety and self-doubt.

Masking may serve as a temporary bandage, but it also delays much-needed diagnosis and treatment. As a result, many women discover their ADHD only after years of silent struggle—often in the midst of life-altering events such as career transitions, motherhood, or even during a global pandemic that turns our daily routines upside down.

A Call to the Neurodivergent Community and Beyond

The time has come to reframe ADHD—not as a deficit, but as a distinctive way of thinking that brings with it a host of unique strengths. Imagine if we celebrated that wild, creative wiring as the secret ingredient to innovation, rather than trying to iron it out until it fits a predetermined mold. The neurodivergent community, along with allies in healthcare, education, and policy, must rally together to create awareness, demand better diagnostic tools, and ensure that support systems are in place for every woman whose brain dances to its own beat.

Here’s what can be done:

• Advocate for Awareness: Educate families, schools, and workplaces about the diverse presentations of ADHD in women. Share stories, research, and personal experiences.

• Push for Better Screening: Encourage healthcare providers to adopt gender-sensitive diagnostic criteria that recognize the subtler signs of ADHD in girls and women.

• Build Support Networks: Whether it’s through local support groups or online communities, connecting with others who understand your struggles can be incredibly empowering.

• Policy and Access: Urge policymakers to invest in mental health services that are accessible, affordable, and sensitive to the needs of neurodivergent individuals.

Embracing the Chaos

To every brilliant, neurodivergent woman reading this newsletter: your mind may zigzag like a wild dreamcatcher during a windy day, but it is also capable of creative leaps that can transform the world. You of all people know that better than anyone else. Embrace your differences—they are not flaws, but the very source of your innovation and resilience. It’s high time we stopped asking women with ADHD to tone down their vibrancy and instead celebrated the beautiful, unruly symphony of their minds.

After all, if life were a perfectly scripted drama, where would the fun be? In the unpredictable, offbeat, and magnificently chaotic moments lies the real magic. Let us champion a future where every neurodivergent voice is heard, every unconventional idea is celebrated, and every woman is seen for the powerhouse she truly is.

Yours Hyperactive Cheers and Calm Determination,

Ruthicc

Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria (RSD) is one of those things that sounds made up until it happens to you. If you have ADHD, you probably know the drill: one ignored text, one offhand comment, one lukewarm response to something you poured your soul into—and suddenly it feels like the universe personally filed for divorce against you. No lawyers, no alimony, just straight-up abandonment.

The worst part? It’s not just emotional. The pain is real. Studies suggest that the brain of someone with ADHD processes rejection the way it would physical pain. The anterior cingulate cortex—the part responsible for emotional regulation—essentially short-circuits, sending distress signals all over the place. It’s like your brain’s firewall is missing, so every rejection—big or small—burns straight through your defenses.

I wish I could tell you I learned about RSD through a textbook or a deep dive into neuroscience journals. But I learned it the old-fashioned way: by getting pummeled by it.

How 60 Rejections in 50 Days Sent Me Spiraling

Back in 2022, I was raising capital for a startup. In theory, I was prepared for rejection. I had read the founder war stories. I had mentally rehearsed my responses to polite "we’ll pass for now" emails. What I was not prepared for was getting rejected sixty times over fifty-odd days.

Sixty. That’s more than the number of matches I’ve gotten on dating apps. More than the number of unread WhatsApp messages from my extended family. More than the number of times my mom has reminded me to eat vegetables in a month.

Each rejection felt like someone was slowly erasing me from existence. I kept telling myself it was just business, that these investors weren’t rejecting me, just the business model. But my brain wasn’t having it.

At rejection #15, I told myself this was normal. At rejection #30, I started questioning my entire life trajectory. At rejection #45, I began to wonder if I was just fundamentally unfit to exist in this world. At rejection #60, I didn’t even have the energy to check my inbox anymore. The spiral was complete. The depression that followed was long, dark, and existential. I stopped working out. Stopped sleeping well. Stopped believing in anything, except the certainty that I had failed.

And yet, looking back, I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything. Because it taught me how to fail properly.

How I Stopped Letting Rejection Eat Me Alive

Rejection is inevitable. But letting it dictate your self-worth? That part is optional. Here’s what helped me claw my way out:

1. Practicing Stoicism (Or, Learning to Not Take Everything Personally)

For the past two years, I’ve been practicing Stoicism. Not in a "cold shower at 5 AM" way, but in a "reminding myself daily that I control my response to events, not the events themselves" way. One of the core Stoic ideas is that external events have no power over you—only your perception of them does.

So instead of seeing rejection as a referendum on my worth, I started seeing it as data. If 60 investors said no, what was the pattern? Was it the pitch? The business model? The market? Was it actually about me, or was my brain just catastrophizing? (Spoiler: It was always the latter.)

2. Finding a Philosophy That Resonates

If Stoicism doesn’t work for you, find something that does. Existentialism, Buddhism, Taoism—every major philosophy has some version of "you are not your failures." The key is finding one that makes sense to you and committing to practicing it, especially when your brain is screaming otherwise.

3. Changing Perspective: Failing Upwards

The most successful people I know have failed more than anyone else.

Take Reid Hoffman. Before LinkedIn, he launched a social network called SocialNet. It flopped. Steve Jobs got kicked out of his own company. Elon Musk got ousted from PayPal. These people didn’t let failure define them. They used it as fuel. Because the reality is, every failure is an iteration. It teaches you what doesn’t work. It sharpens your instincts. It forces you to adapt.

If you only succeed, you’re not actually learning. You’re just coasting.

4. Life Is a Marathon, Not a Sprint

Rejection feels like the end of the world because we assume we’re running out of time. But life is long. If your startup fails, you build another one. If you get fired, you find a new path. If someone doesn’t love you back, you move on.

Nothing is final except death (and even then, some philosophers would argue otherwise). Everything else? Just a chapter in the book, not the ending.

Final Thoughts: Rejection Is a Skill

The biggest lesson I learned from those 60 rejections? Rejection is a skill. The more you experience it, the better you get at handling it. It never stops hurting, but it stops breaking you.

So if you’re struggling with RSD, here’s what I’ll tell you: Keep going. Keep failing. Keep learning. Keep finding ways to make peace with the fact that rejection is just part of life’s algorithm. And most importantly—never, ever let it stop you from showing up again.

Because sometimes, the best things in life only happen when you refuse to stay down.

Yours Lovingly,

Frodo Mercury

So, I was doom-scrolling the internet the other day (as one does), and I stumbled upon a study that felt like a plot twist in the worst kind of way. According to this paper by The British Journal of Psychiatry, having ADHD can reduce life expectancy by 8.64 years in women and 6.78 years in men. Yeah, you read that right. It's like life decided to hit us with a "Gotcha!" moment. And the wild part? No one's really talking about it.

We often joke about the "ADHD tax"—those extra costs we pay because our brains are like browsers with too many tabs open. But it's not just about the money; it's about the unseen toll on our lives.

The ADHD Tax: More Than Just Spare Change

Let's break it down:

• As Students: Remember signing up for multiple exams because you either forgot the dates or couldn't focus during the test? That's the ADHD tax in action.

• As Working Professionals: ate fees become our constant companions. Bills pile up because we forget to pay them on time, leading to additional charges.

• In Personal Life: Impulse buys that seemed like a good idea at the time but now gather dust? Yep, that's part of the tax. But here's the kicker: It's not just about money or missed opportunities; it's about the years shaved off our lives. It's like we've been paying a tax we didn't even know existed, and the currency is time.

  

Accommodations: The Game Changer

So, what do we do? How do we level up in this game called life? Enter accommodations.

Accommodations are adjustments or supports designed to help us navigate life's challenges more effectively. Think of them as cheat codes—not to make the game easier, but to make it fair. In educational settings, accommodations can be life-changing. hey might include extended time on tests, note-taking assistance, or even a quiet room to minimize distractions. These aren't about giving us an unfair advantage; they're about leveling the playing field.

The Indian Education System: A Mixed Bag

Now, let's talk about the Indian education system. The Rights of Persons with Disabilities Act (2016) recognizes specific learning disabilities, including ADHD. But the implementation? It's like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Some institutions are inclusive, while others are still stuck in the past. I consider myself one of the lucky ones. My college was inclusive and provided the necessary accommodations. My exam papers were marked with "SWD" (Student With Disability), ensuring I received the support I needed. But it wasn't always smooth sailing. There were instances where peers, out of ignorance, ridiculed these accommodations. Comments like, "Must be nice to get extra time," or "Why do you get special treatment?" were not uncommon. This highlighted a significant issue: discrimination stemming from a lack of awareness.

Why Accommodations Matter

Accommodations aren't about giving us an edge; they're about giving us a fair shot. Without them, we're not just at a disadvantage—we're at risk. The reduced life expectancy associated with ADHD underscores the importance of proper support and understanding.

Final Thoughts

Life with ADHD can feel like playing a video game on hard mode. But with the right strategies and support, we can not only play the game but master it. I have a lot more to say about accommodations in the next edition, but I gotta keep my newsletters short because of the target audience. Let's continue this conversation, share our stories, and advocate for the changes we need. Our lives depend on it.

Stay focused, stay strong, and remember: we're in this together.

Until next time,

Ruthicc

This little showdown was basically my daily routine after school. I knew deep down that there had to be a reason for my struggles. But every time I brought up the idea of getting tested for ADHD, my parents waved it off like I was suggesting we adopt a pet rock.

But then, there was my older brother. The man, the myth, the legend, who could go from guardian angel to drill sergeant in 0.2 seconds. He saw me skibidding my way through life and took it upon himself to drag me to the doctor. I still remember that fateful day – it was the day of my CET entrance exams. Talk about pressure!

After a chat with the psychiatrist and a tense assessment test, the verdict was in: I had severe inattentive type ADHD, not to be confused with the hyperactive kind. Suddenly, everything clicked into place: every missed deadline, forgotten assignment, and all those Pokémon cards I swore I put somewhere safe

That moment felt like a grand unmasking, the weight of perpetual guilt for being “lazy” was lifted off my shoulders like a backpack full of books that my school made us carry!

If you think you might be self-diagnosed, congrats on figuring that out! But seriously, I recommend getting a formal test done. because

Sh*t was never the same again!

As I navigated through the chaos of my mind (think of it like a video game where the map keeps changing), I realized I wasn’t alone in this struggle. Many of us share similar experiences, and that's what sparked the idea behind this newsletter.

I had to build systems to manage my struggles, and let me tell you, that change has been life-altering! Seriously, it’s like opening the inspect element for life. Our brains are meant to speedrun through life, and it’s time we harness that power. This newsletter is designed as a guide for all my fellow ADHDers, helping you create your own custom systems so you can feel less alone and foster a sense of belonging (because who wants to be the lone wolf when you can have a gang of outlaws?).

Every two weeks, we'll dive into the ADHD stuff that I've encountered, learned from, and experienced firsthand—no boring lectures here, just the good stuff! Plus, I’ll curate tools that have made a difference for me or that I plan to try in the future (I promise, they’re more exciting than your average stapler).

I’m excited to share, learn, and grow with all of you. And hey, I want your input! Below, you'll find a link to a form where you can suggest anything else you’d like to see in the newsletter. Your feedback is super valuable, and I can’t wait to hear from you (I’m like a kid waiting for the ice cream truck!).

Let’s do this, Spartans! Give your suggestions here.

Subscribe to the newsletter so it comes tiptoeing into your inbox every fortnight.

See you soon homie,

Ruthicc

Life before 2001?

But keeping casual narcissism aside (for a few paragraphs), while poop-scrolling and catching up with 428 reels that my friend shared with me between 1 am to 4 am, a reel made me laugh. Unironically. The friend asked me, “Why did you laugh?”. “It was funny.”, I said. To my surprise, he did not find it funny. Can’t blame some people for not having a sense of humour. But that persuaded me to ask myself, was there a joke in the reel? Yes. Well, probably. I think so? Can a joke both exist and not exist?

For the sake of Schrodinger and his big brain quantum physics idea, I would approach the question using a framework in quantum physics called the ‘Copenhagen Interpretation’ which includes the particle (in this case the joke sayer (JS), yes that’s a word) and the observer (in this case joke hearer (JH)) both are taken into account and affect the overall outcome. Trust me, this will all make sense. I have thought of it for all of 30 seconds so far as I type away on my keyboard.

Also laying the foundation for what a joke is, “A joke is a statement that is found humorous by at least one of the parties (JH or JS).” Then by simple mathematics, the probability of a statement being a joke is 33.33%. Let me explain how:

Case 1: JH and JS both find the statement humours

Case 2: JS finds the statement humourous, but the JH does not

Case 3: JH finds the statement humorous, but the JS does not

“But Rutik”, you might ask, “Wouldn’t the JS find the statement always funny?”. To which I reply, “Who are you, and what are you doing in my thought bubble at 2:34 am?” But then I would be kind enough also to tell you that there are unironic jokes as well, which are statements that become funny due to delivery or some random connects JH’s brain might make within their puny heads. Then I kindly ask you to bugger off and let me cook :)

This is where things get interesting when I introduce you to the ‘ICI’ model which stands for Intent, Comprehension, Impulse model when it comes to identifying a joke.

Intent: A JS’s intent matters when making a statement. Do they want to make a humorous statement?

Comprehension: A JH’s ability to comprehend if the JS’s statement was with a humorous intent or not?

Impulse: If either of the parties get offended, would the other party impulsively change their intent or comprehension and waive it off as a joke or a generic statement?

With these ICI variables, the probabilistic model of joke determination falls flat on its face. Especially impulse is uncontrollable by external or even internal factors, giving every statement in the world a superposition of being a joke and not a joke at the same time. I call it the ‘Silly Superposition’ coz it's really silly if you think about it.

So can a joke both exist and not exist? Yes, in the state of ‘Silly Superposition’ it does. Does it make a difference in your daily life? Not really. But did it give me a dopamine boost? Yes, it did. See, sometimes in the world, which is almost all the time, everything is about me. Because I said, the most I can do is just set out my casual narcissism for a few paragraphs. Now bugger off from my thought bubble, I need to sleep, pookie.

Yours lovingly,

Frodo Mercury

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Nobody exists on purpose. Nobody belongs anywhere. We’re all going to die. Come watch TV.

- Morty, Rick and Morty

A fortnight ago, when I was sick, I had a fever dream. Somehow, the intergalactic cable service from Rick and Morty was real, and I was setting it up in my living room. This newsletter is an exaggeration of that dream. Bear with me, but imagine a world where the intergalactic cable service from Rick and Morty is a real thing. You'd be able to watch TV shows from all over the universe, from different galaxies and dimensions. The possibilities for entertainment would be endless.

But how exactly would this service work? Well, first of all, you'd need a special device to access the intergalactic cable. This device, known as the "Interdimensional Cable Box," would be able to tune into different frequencies and dimensions, allowing you to watch all kinds of shows. I am sure we already have the proto version of this that we call the 'Amazon Fire Stick'. It is all a part of Jeff Bezos' plan that is filled with rockets that look like a d*ck, and a sentient Artificial Intelligence that listens to your conversations when it is not playing song requests.

Anywho, of course, with such a vast selection of shows available, it might be overwhelming to choose what to watch. That's why the Interdimensional Cable Box would come with a built-in AI assistant, who would recommend shows based on your viewing history and preferences. The AI assistant would also be able to answer any questions you might have about the shows, characters, and universes they take place in. Why does this sound like Alexa to me?

As for the shows themselves, they would be unlike anything you've seen before. For example, you might come across a cooking show where the host is a giant, tentacled alien who demonstrates how to cook other aliens for dinner. Or, you might watch a talk show hosted by a wise and ancient being who interviews other beings from different dimensions. The possibilities are endless. If you think that is ridiculous, and sounds expensive af, tell me who produced the most expensive TV show? Yup, Prime Video has produced Rings of Power for over a $1 billion.

Looking at all these facts, it is as clear as your reflection on Bezos's head that Amazon is indeed building the intergalactic cable service. And by the power of transitivity, it means Jeff Bezos is actually a Rick Sanchez variant. audience gasps

If you have read this far, please DM me and let me know what you thought about today's newsletter. If it even makes a single person's day, my day is made, too.

Yours seducingly,

Frodo Mercury

The Lord of the G-Strings

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If you enjoyed reading this newsletter, consider subscribing to my newsletter. I write this every morning before I take a dump, to bring you the randomest (no, it is not a real word), yet life-changing and not to mention hilarious (occasionally) stuff into your inbox.

He that lives upon hope will die farting.
― Benjamin Franklin, Fart Proudly: Writings of Benjamin Franklin You Never Read in School

Did you know that the word fart comes from the english words 'far' and 'art'? Coz if you take a fart too far, you end up with abstract art in your pants. Did you find that funny? Well, at the very least it does make sense for a lot of people, which makes it funny. It's funny coz it's true they say. But why are fart jokes funny? Is it funny coz it's true? Is it the sound? The smell? The sheer ridiculousness of it all? Or is it something deeper, something fundamental to the human experience? It's a question that has puzzled philosophers, scientists, and comedians alike for centuries. Hence, a funny, deep-thinking person with a physics degree (me) is intrigued.

To get to the bottom of fart jokes (pun intended), let's go through some history. Fart jokes have been around for a very long time. Some of the earliest recorded fart jokes can be found in ancient Greek and Roman literature. The Roman playwright Plautus, for example, wrote a play called "The Braggart Soldier" that included a scene in which a character named Tranio farts to get out of a tight spot.

But it wasn't just the ancient Greeks and Romans who loved a good fart joke. The medieval English also had a fondness for flatulence humor. In "The Canterbury Tales," for example, Chaucer writes about a character named the Miller who tells a story about a man named "Sir Thopas" who "let a fart as loud as it had been a thunder-clap." Clap hehehehe.

So as you can see, fart jokes have a long and storied history. But why are they funny?

One reason is that fart jokes tap into our sense of the absurd. The idea that something so gross and mundane can be the subject of humour is inherently funny.

Another reason is that fart jokes remind us of our humanity. They remind us that no matter how high and mighty we may think we are, we're all just a bunch of farting, pooping, burping, belching animals. And there's something reassuring about that. It reminds us that we're all in this together, that we all have to deal with the same bodily functions, and that we all have the potential to make each other laugh (or gag) with a well-timed fart joke.

But fart jokes aren't just funny for philosophical reasons. They're also funny because they're gross, and gross things can be hilarious. When we laugh at something gross, it activates the same part of the brain that's associated with physical pleasure. So the next time you laugh at a fart joke, remember that it's not just your sense of humor that's being tickled, it's your pleasure centre as well! But, I am sure there is already a Dr. Cuterus video about it smh.

Fart jokes are funny for a variety of reasons, from their history and their absurdity to their grossness and their surprise factor. At the core, farting is also a celebration of being human. All those uncles lifting a thigh to let out an earth-shaking fart are the ideal specimen for aliens to understand what human beings are. A bunch of farting, pooping, burping, belching animals.

If you have read this far, please DM me and let me know what you thought about today's newsletter. If it even makes a single person's day, my day is made, too.

Yours seducingly,

Frodo Mercury

The Lord of the G-Strings

_________________________________________

If you enjoyed reading this newsletter, consider subscribing to my newsletter. I write this every morning before I take a dump, to bring you the randomest (no, it is not a real word), yet life-changing and not to mention hilarious (occasionally) stuff into your inbox.

Two slices of bread on top of each other isn't filled with nothing. It's full of air, and that means the possibility of flight, which makes it a duck's favourite sandwich.
― Jarod Kintz, Ducks are the stars of the karaoke bird world

The metaphysics of a sandwich is a deep and complex subject, one that has puzzled philosophers for centuries. If we deconstruct a sandwich down to its individual ingredients, what makes it a sandwich? Is it the bread, the filling, or the way they are put together? What if I keep the peanut butter and the jam on the outside? Then it quickly becomes a wichsand, which is a delicacy from where your mom is.

A sandwich can be divided into two parts. The bread, and the filling. First, let's consider the bread. Without bread, is a sandwich still a sandwich? Some might argue that bread is the defining characteristic of a sandwich, and without it, it's just a pile of filling. But others might counter that bread is just a vessel for the filling, and a sandwich can be made with other types of bread-like substances, such as lettuce wraps or tortillas. So, the bread alone does not necessarily make a sandwich a sandwich.

I hate the Kiwis, man. For the water sandwich and the 2019 Cricket WC semi-final.

Next, let's consider the filling. Is the filling the key ingredient that makes a sandwich a sandwich? After all, a sandwich without filling is just two slices of bread, and that's not very satisfying. But then again, the filling doesn't have to be the traditional sandwich fillings like meat, cheese, and vegetables. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, for example, is still a sandwich, even though the filling is not what we usually think of when we think of sandwich filling. So, the filling alone does not make a sandwich a sandwich.

Finally, let's consider the way the ingredients are put together. Is it the act of putting the bread and filling together that makes a sandwich a sandwich? If that's the case, then any old combination of bread and filling would qualify as a sandwich. But we all know that's not true. There's a certain je ne sais quoi (a quality that cannot be described or named easily) about a sandwich that makes it a sandwich, and it's not just the way the ingredients are put together. That means the wichsand ≠ sandwich.

Behold A Sandwinge

So, what is it that makes a sandwich a sandwich? The answer is simple: it's the sandwichness of the sandwich. It's the essence of sandwichness that makes a sandwich a sandwich, and that essence cannot be broken down into its individual ingredients. A sandwich is a sandwich because it is a sandwich, and that's all there is to it.

Is this a sandwich?

It is. Although, just a tad bit too much bread to my liking. But that does not take away its sandwichness. This is also exactly the reason why a hotdog is not a sandwich, simply because it is a hotdog.

What makes you is the youness of you. It's the essence of youness that makes you a you, and not me. You are you because you are you, and that's all there is to it.

So the next time someone asks you what makes a sandwich a sandwich, you can confidently reply, "It's the sandwichness of the sandwich, my friend. The sandwichness of the sandwich." They may think you're a weirdo, but you're just a person I deeply love and care about. Let me kiss you goodnight to bed tonight, homie.

If you have read this far, please DM me and let me know what you thought about today's newsletter. If it even makes a single person's day, my day is made, too.

Yours seducingly,

Frodo Mercury

The Lord of the G-Strings

_________________________________________

If you enjoyed reading this newsletter, consider subscribing to my newsletter. I write this every morning before I take a dump, to bring you the randomest (no, it is not a real word), yet life-changing and not to mention hilarious (occasionally) stuff into your inbox.

I close my eyes
Only for a moment,
then the moment's gone
All my dreams
Pass before my eyes, a curiosity...

All we are is just GIFs on the internet
Just GIFs on the internet...

- Dust in the Wind, Kansas

If you think about it, a GIF is the most well-travelled yet underrated thing in the world. A certain 3-second clip cut out from a beloved sitcom or movie, gets forwarded a gazillion times, each time getting compressed by different algorithms until it is barely legible. A bunch of pixels that would put an Indian 3gp video to shame. Trust me, the GIF deserves better, and it does want to do better. It is not the GIF's fault that its life is controlled by absolute nincompoops, foolish featherless bipeds.

Take, for example, my favourite GIF of all time. Le and behold, Michael Scott exposing his blot

Now, this 1.5-second Michael Scott and his blot GIF set out from its home (The Office Sitcom) after being torn apart from their entire family (the whole 20+ minute episode). On a journey to catch all the Pokemon, there are, and there are 1000+ fuckin' Pokemon. What the actual fuck is going on at the Pokemon company? How much are they gonna milk out of a 10-year-old's journey of self-discovery? I'm sorry, I got distracted, which is a regular occurrence in this newsletter.

Like I was saying, the GIF set out on a journey across the internet all alone being forwarded, looped, laughed at, and even looked at inappropriately sometimes. All of this is just to express itself and fulfill its potential. But still failing at its purpose, time and again for all eternity. For, a momentary GIF is mostly all but forgotten in the next 5 minutes. It's like in the Disney Pixar movie 'Coco'. The GIF dies twice, once when it was taken away from its family and friends to wander across the internet, and the second time when the GIF is forgotten.

But the GIF forgets an important thing. That at the core, it is just a small part of its family. Although torn out for entertainment purposes of the aforementioned bipedals, the GIF can never be separated from its source. From its family, and friends. That the journey across the internet is bumpy, you almost die every day (both literally and figuratively), but you are known by the names and reputations of your family and friends. What makes this perception even more beautiful is that there will always be someone who tells the world that you're their favourite GIF in a hilarious newsletter. Family, friends, and love all make this endless journey worthwhile.

The GIF might feel like it has not lived up to its potential, or expressed itself properly but to be honest, it's doing a rather splendid job. Even if things go wrong, the GIF's family and friends would never think less of it. For, it is a dangerous business, going out your door. You step out on the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to. But what is certain is that the GIF is not alone when it carries the love and warmth of its loved ones in its heart. This, the GIF must always remember.

As you might have figured out by now, this newsletter is not about GIFs.

If you have read this far, please DM me and let me know what you thought about today's newsletter. If it even makes a single person's day, my day is made, too.

Yours seducingly,

Frodo Mercury

The Lord of the G-Strings

_________________________________________

If you enjoyed reading this newsletter, consider subscribing to my newsletter. I write this every morning before I take a dump, to bring you the randomest (no, it is not a real word), yet life-changing and not to mention hilarious (occasionally) stuff into your inbox.

Michael Scott from the Office (2005-2013)

Image courtesy: NBC

I have been working on creating opportunities for myself, and those around me. There's a lot of rejection mails in my inbox right now. Even more are the mails that never got any responses. As an entrepreneur it is expected of you to learn something new every day. It's a rigorous practice that needs consistency, but pays in the long run. So, today I learned how to twerk, as a backup. In case my startup does not work out.

I always say, life as an entrepreneur is like swiping through Tinder.

rejection

rejection

rejection

match! didn't reply :/

rejection

rejection

rejection

rejection

download OkCupid

Even some of my biggest accomplishments are actually rejections. Like being left on seen by Mr. Prashant Kishor, the Indian political strategist. I am obviously kidding. Leaving me on seen was one of HIS biggest accomplishments.

But do you know what is the best thing about rejections? They help you realize that the whole world does not revolve around you. Initially, every rejection feels like the astral form scene from Dr. Strange. It feels so light! The ego leaving your body, one rejection at a time.

Every day is a new rejection. But every day is also a new iteration. I have to be agile, be lean. Adapt. Work on myself, every second of every minute of every day.

Everyday I build myself, measure, evaluate my actions and their consequences, learn from it. Ever evolving, ever learning, I gather compounding. One day I'll probably be unstoppable. It's just a matter of time. So will be you! If a good-looking 20 year-old entrepreneur with balls of steel can try to emerge out of rejections, so can you!

This is not a motivational newsletter. No sir. At least not for you. This is a feel-good activity for my own self. You learning stuff from my documentation of this journey through hell is a by-product. A solid by-product powered by collaboration, curiosity, and failures. Lots of failures between all of us. But that should not stop us from going out and trying different things. Things that you do will provide value to other people. You just don’t realize it.

Jack Butcher once said, “If one person can benefit from what you do, many can.” If your art page on Instagram makes someone pick up a brush and paint their hearts out, you’re far away from being a failed artist. If your workout inspires someone to lift weights, you’re changing someone’s life! If something that YOU created, nudges someone to do something, don’t mind the rejections. For someone accepted a part of you into their lives to change it for the better. And I think that is beautiful.

If someone reading this newsletter decides to do something they’re good at, or want to improve at, I think I will no longer be Rejection Rutik. I will have found my salvation, my Nirvana. This would only be possible through failing repeatedly, collaboratively, and helping pick each other up.

Nirvana is only real when shared!

Biiiig hugs,

Frodo Mercury

Lord of the strings.

Image by Amber Clay from Pixabay

It has been a crazy week. Crazy crazy crazy. The Paradigm launched its android app this independence day!!! If I have learned one thing from the last few months, it is that creating stuff is hard. Very, very difficult. It often comes with tight deadlines, sleepless nights, 2 am debugging sessions with the team (for a tech product), and a shitload of anxiety. But when people tell you that they love what your team has created, and that it provides value to someone somewhere, it all feels worth it.

But its not that simple. In a collaborative world, where you're building for a politically instable world, the fall of an internationally recognized government at the hands of a militant group takes a toll on you. 15th August 2021 was a bit overwhelming.

Here we were in India, launching a product, and organizing a socio-political convention on the country's independence day. We were elated from all the great reviews the users were giving us, worried about bugs, talking to India's experts in public policy, entrepreneurs who have built and scaled big startups. It felt like a festival, really. It felt the same way Diwali used to feel back when I was 8 or 9 years old.

But out there in Afghanistan things were different. The night brought with it a news about Taliban's takeover of Kabul, without any violence. The militant group explicitly mentioned that a swift shift of power would ensure that there would be no violence. The Taliban even waited outside the capital's gates to ensure the said swift transfer of power. Videos of people clinging on to the US Air Force's planes during take off emerged the next day. People were desperately trying to leave the now Taliban controlled region.

Things were totally different for the Afghans, than they were for our team here. For every moment that we were jumping with joy, there was probably a lot of confusion & fear for the Afghans. I was following the news of the Taliban's rapid movement towards Kabul, but it also seemed in a way very sudden because of the kind of day we were having.

I read a Pew Research Center Study that says a very large majority of people in Afghanistan want the Sharia law to be the official law of their country. What made me think deeply about the situation is the collapse an internationally recognized government, with not much help from other democratic nations. I surely need to read more about it, to understand the situation better. But the collapse of internationally recognized democratic government seemed weird to me.

What remains to be seen is how different would be the Taliban rule now, compared to the 1996-2001 Taliban rule. Some visuals have been disturbing, but a few visuals from the local vloggers like Farhan Hotak show girls going to school, and the Taliban representatives talking to the women in healthcare about continuing their services during the pandemic.

If you want to understand about the issue, I would suggest you to mindfully consume information about from different sources. The most important part of being a better citizen of the world is not jumping to conclusions. It is to read, and understand about the issue more deeply, and not for the purpose of forming a black or white opinion in most cases. Time will tell how the situation in Afghanistan will turn out to be when the dust settles. Until then, we can only wait.

Peace,

Frodo Mercury

Lord of the strings

Image Courtesy: Reuters / Aleksandra Szmigiel

To anyone reading this in the future, first of all, hello! I hope people have taken the damn vaccines, and the pandemic is now an endemic, or even better, completely eradicated. It is 7th August 2021, India has created history by winning its first Athletics gold medal! (Courtesy of Neeraj Chopra)

India is having a dream season with 7 medals at Tokyo 2020, the best one yet! But all along this buzz of medals won and lost, only a few have been able to look through the noise. The noise of underdevelopment, casteism, social status, and the other responsibilities these sportspersons carry on their shoulders.

India is a status-driven country. India’s most used used currency isn’t the Indian Rupee. Far from it. The most important transactions, the ones that actually matter, happen through social currency.

What does it mean to be an Olympian in a status-driven country? Every medal won is a new school built in the hometown, or a new road to connect your village with a nearby town. Every medal lost is casteist slurs being hurled at your family, and being called a bad omen just because you belong to a certain community.

For someone not from India, having to win an Olympic medal to help the government realise that they've not paid attention to your village/community, might seem weird. But in reality, it is the norm. For so many athletes, winning isn't just personal. It is also to ensure that the government builds a school/road in the village. So much pressure!

Olympics are not only to prove their excellence in the sport, it also helps the sportspersons earn social currency that they can spend once they’re back in the country.

To,

Head,

Local municipal body.

Subject: Building a school in the village for a better education.

Dear sir/madam,I know what will nudge you to take action. Please find attached my

Olympic medal and certificate from the International Olympic Committee.

Regards,

Sportsperson

Attachments: Medal & Certificate.

To,

Sportsperson,

Re: Building a school in the village for a better education.

Dear sportsperson,

Received 👍

Don’t get me wrong I am in no ways a spoilsport (pun intended), trying to ruin the historic moment in Indian sports. Contrarily, what I mean to bring to your attention is that Indian Olympians will perform a lot better when they’re focusing on doing their best and not busy worrying about the schools/roads not built if they lose. Or their families being attacked (verbally) when a bronze medal match is lost, even after creating history!

Being an Olympian from a status-driven country is a high risk, high reward situation. Indian Olympians are probably not trying to primarily change the world. They are trying to build a better future for themselves, their communities, and their fellow villagers. Changing the world is a by-product for them. Changing their own lives is a priority. That tells you a lot about status-driven countries.

Signing off,

Frodo Mercury

Lord of the strings