Welcome to my corner of the internet. I'm a builder, tinkerer, and curious human — this is where I keep the things I care about.
Born in Kathmandu, now based in Columbia, South Carolina. I spend my days writing software, and my evenings chasing ideas that don't fit neatly into a job description — old systems, quiet tools, things that ask to be understood slowly.
I like simple interfaces, honest writing, and technology that respects the people using it. This page is not a resume — it's just me, on the internet.
The old sky that watched my first breath placed me under the sign of the ancestors — the throne that remembers everyone who sat on it before. Magha. My soul's star carries the weight of a lineage, a house that was lived in long before I was born. It means I don't get to be only myself. I carry others. I finish things they couldn't.
My mind sits in a place of deep water — the kind of water that has moved past needing to be seen. Uttara Bhadrapada, the serpent of the depths, ruled by the slowest and most patient of teachers. My thoughts run quiet and long. I would rather understand something fully than win an argument about it. I would rather be true than fast. This is not a weakness, though the world often treats it like one.
My heart is a fire that rules — Leo, and not the loud kind. The kind that sits still and lets others come to it. But there's a peculiar thing about a heart like mine: it is tethered to something older than emotion. The part of me that feels most deeply is also the part that remembers what I came here to complete. Grief and love arrive in the same room in me. I've stopped trying to separate them.
There is a strange mercy in my chart though — a slow planet sits strong in my sky. Exalted, and retrograde — meaning it has already learned everything it needed to learn, and is now teaching me by making me wait. Patience is not my virtue. It is my curriculum. Time does not hurt me. It tests me, and then it rewards me, in decades rather than days.
And there is a warrior in me — placed where the old astrologers say it is most itself, in a water sign, in the last degree of the last constellation, where the zodiac returns to stillness before it begins again. My fight does not look like war. It looks like finishing what was started. It looks like staying when everything in me wants to leave.
One planet in my sky is weak — the one that governs speech, intellect, trade, cleverness. It is drowned, combust, not itself. And I've spent most of my life thinking this was a wound. But I've come to see it differently: the planet that is supposed to make me clever was never the one that was supposed to make me wise. I was never meant to be the fastest mind in the room. I was meant to be the one who listened until something true came out of the silence.
I am currently in a season of fire. The last several years have burned away almost everything that was not mine. What remains is smaller, and truer, and I am slowly learning to trust it. This is the work. Not to become someone else — to become the one I already was.