I was three when I started taking things apart — toys, mostly, dissected and smashed for the crime of being interesting. The software came later. At thirteen, working through a school Python book, I wrote a small password-and-login system, and something clicked: the same itch, now with no screws to strip.
Before that I just thought programmers were the coolest people alive — they could make anything. My phupa — my uncle — turned that into a direction and told me to start with C. I did. My first real war was a missing semicolon that cost me three hours; I've respected compilers ever since.
What followed was a long stretch of building for its own sake: a Minecraft server for friends, a pile of rough Python minigames I'd rather not link, and a genuine obsession with how the internet works underneath — how a server gets discovered from the other side of the world, how packets actually move, and how you serve something from your own machine when your ISP hides you behind carrier-grade NAT. That rabbit hole became LameCRAFT, the home server this site's whole approach to self-hosting grew out of.
The turn from “messing around” to “I build real things” has a date on it: the buildathon. Thirty-six hours, a brief set on the day, and StockSaathi built from nothing. The first morning started with twenty-three minutes of sleep, ended by a friend barging in at 5am to pack my things while my mum tried to wake me with buckets of water. When the organisers sent everyone home that evening to prepare for the judges the next day, I didn't stop: I kept shipping on a laptop wherever I happened to be — in a Nike store, around the city, and at the friend's mansion we were staying at, until I passed out at 2am, slept straight through the burger I'd been waiting for, and had to be carried up two floors to bed by two friends.
We finished one point behind first place, and the judges kept circling back to two things: the idea and the speed. I haven't really slowed down since.
When I lock into something, it's fifteen-hour days — through breakfast, lunch, dinner, and well past when I should have stopped. I don't stay stuck for days at a time; I chase the bug, ask the people around me, and keep the thing moving. If I had to name the one rule I won't compromise on, it's speed — the distance between an idea and something you can actually use.
Not everything works. The project I learned the most from is the one that burned me — literally, over-soldering a biomimetic bionic hand for a science exhibition. It wasn't ranked and it didn't win. People still stopped to stare, and I walked away knowing more about hardware, patience, and my own limits than any project that simply worked has taught me.