By the time I finished reading Parmenides, Melissus, and Zeno, I no longer felt as though I were reading Western philosophy. It felt like something else—something older, quieter, more solemn. Like stepping into a forgotten ashram. A lineage severed. A thread that once shimmered with truth, now frayed at the edge of memory. These…
This is a continuation of an earlier reflection—on the early Greeks not as textbook thinkers, but as seekers. In the first part, I wrote about Thales, Anaximenes, Heraclitus, and Xenophanes. Men who stood beside rivers and caves and tried to listen to what the world was saying. This next set of figures came later,…
This year, I began a slow, deliberate journey into Western philosophy. It had long been on my list of things to do. I had a general familiarity with the Western thought, but a systematic study is something that I wanted to do. After all, I call myself a philosopher. I decided to begin with…
Michael Crichton’s Eruption, co-authored with James Patterson, is the kind of science thriller that makes you nostalgic for Crichton’s heyday. After finishing Dan Brown’s The Secret of the Secrets, which flirted with metaphysics and brushed past science fiction, I found myself aching for something tighter, colder, more precise. I missed Crichton’s rigor. His thrillers…
After a break of a few days, I returned to Teixcalaan—because it felt like unfinished business. A Desolation Called Peace is the second and final book in Arkady Martine’s duology, and I’d left it unread. That’s not good form when you choose a series precisely because the story arc spans only two books. Not…
Over the past week, I returned to my favorite genre—science fiction. A duology that had earned critical acclaim was waiting on my shelf, and I thought a space opera that ends in two books would be a manageable read. So I picked up A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine—the first of the Teixcalaan…
The market flirted with happiness this month—only to forget why it was smiling in the first place. We are back to where we were at the end of May 2025, and we have been there for quite some time now. This month it felt like that Mr. Market has finally thought enough is enough,…
I was really waiting for this one. Ever since I heard Dan Brown had a new thriller coming, I’d been waiting. Got this as soon as it showed up in bookstores. Robert Langdon and his symbology. He dazzles, he races, he illuminates ancient texts with modern light. And yet, in The Secret of Secrets,…
Friend Trump turns Bully Trump. That, it seems, has been the story of August. Last month, I said what goes up must come down, and the reasons—only God knows. Now, I suspect Mr. Market might also know a thing or two. It just doesn’t always become apparent to us mere mortals. Suddenly, Trump seems…
I picked up Helgoland thinking it would be a book about physics. Equations, experiments, and the occasional anecdote about eccentric scientists. What I didn’t expect was a philosophical detour into the very nature of being. Rovelli gave me all the quantum mechanics I’d hoped for—but layered beneath it, like a whisper through a canyon,…