The subjects wander - calm, strategy, food, poetry, the human condition - but they're all the same instinct: notice the pattern, then say it plainly, ideally with a joke.
A field guide for imperfect people negotiating with chaos. Politely. With snacks.
Not a manifesto from an enlightened monk who wakes at 4 a.m. to chant on a mountain. A field guide from a man who overthinks emails, occasionally doomscrolls, and maintains that coffee is a personality trait. It won't eliminate the chaos. It'll teach you to negotiate with it.
The unauthorised MBA of being human.
Everything business school teaches you about strategy, quietly smuggled into the decisions you actually make - what to cook, when to quit, how to argue, whom to trust. No case studies about airlines. Just the frameworks you were using anyway, finally named.
A love letter to a cuisine the rest of the country keeps forgetting.
Unapologetically partial, occasionally indignant, and hungry throughout. Part food writing, part cultural defence, part personal history - a vibrant, funny, deeply biased tour of Odia food by someone with no intention of pretending to be objective.
Poems for the restless and the slightly lost.
A collection of poetry and small worlds - the quieter, stranger register of the same mind that builds data centres and argues about hydrogen pricing. Proof that the world-building doesn't stop when the spreadsheets close.
On staying human while the machines get interesting.
Reflections and narratives about people - tenderness, absurdity, resilience - set against an era determined to automate all three. Less a warning about technology than a reminder of what it's supposed to be for.
The bias travels south.
Data-protection law, made readable by someone who resents that it wasn't already.
Fiction.
The 112 meditation methods of the Vigyan Bhairav Tantra - the oldest instructions for being alive.
Quantum computing, taught without the customary intimidation.