I grew up in Bhakundebesi, a quiet corner of Namobuddha, taking apart every piece of electronics I could find. The devices rarely went back together with the same number of screws, but the habit stuck. That curiosity about how things work eventually led me to computer engineering, where at least a compiler error doesn't leave spare parts on the floor.
My technical work sits between web architecture and applied machine learning. I like turning mathematical and probabilistic ideas into software that is responsive and dependable, along with whatever new technology has my attention that week. To me, code is less syntax than structured reasoning: a way of organizing logic so hard problems become clear and maintainable instead of accidental puzzles. It's architecture for thought, taking a messy idea and shaping it into something people can use without a manual.
Away from the terminal, I'm usually hiking, reading about astrophysics and geopolitics, or watching documentaries that have nothing to do with my coursework. I contain multitudes, or at least a lot of unrelated hobbies. Walking uphill in the hills around Kathmandu does wonders for debugging memory leaks and resetting perspective.
The questions that pull me hardest sit at the edge of what AI can do. What is intelligence once you strip the metaphor away? Is it substrate-independent, or does the substrate help constitute it? Can cognition be fully formalized, or does something essential live only in the embodied, the situated, the social? These questions have engineering consequences. Thinking about where formalization runs out has led me to build interaction systems around behavioral affordances, the real patterns in how people act and anticipate. That shapes what I choose to compute and what I leave to the human.
Film, science fiction, competitive gaming, and writing on AI ethics and space exploration all feed how I think. Good cinema trains attention. Science fiction rehearses possibilities before they arrive. Gaming sharpens strategic reasoning under uncertainty. Writing demands precision. The work absorbs all of it.