I was born in Barnala. Then, my dad moved us around New Jersey. First, To Perth Amboy into a one-bedroom apartment. Next, to Edison into a two-bedroom apartment. And finally, to South Brunswick into a three-bedroom town-house, what I consider my childhood home. Just like that: India, One, Two, Three.
These days, I live in Brooklyn, NYC. I write stories, make funky blob drawings, gather others to make art with me and for themselves, move around, enjoy basketball (both watching and playing), and eavesdrop on public conversations whenever possible.
The story I will tell my children about the universe is something like this:
Before the Big Bang, there were only shenanigans. Not quarks or leptons or electrons. All that buzzed were shenanigans. Neither protons nor neutrons nor strings. All that sung were shenanigans. Neither energy nor matter. Whether dark or light. Just shenanigans. All that mattered were shenanigans.
A silly thing: those shenanigans, and in fact, they encouraged such silly things. And as they sculpted the world, they left a few traces of morality and innovation and death—some elbow room for humanity.
There are so many stories I can tell you about the cosmos. About nature. About god. About humans. About art. About science. About building a personal brand. But, when all is confusing and hopeless, I hope you remember that we are just the reverberations of shenanigans.