I travel to escape reality

I remember that airports are reality, just with more crying. Photography lets me pretend I’m artistic, even though my camera roll is 90% blurry coffee shots and accidental selfies. But secretly, it’s all UX research.

Observing how people interact with terrible transit systems? User testing. Framing the perfect shot? Visual hierarchy. Getting scammed by a street vendor? Lesson in dark patterns.

My Delusional Artist Phase

I sketch—not because I’m good at it, but because it’s cheaper than therapy. Most of my "art" lives in a graveyard of half-finished notebooks, where every wobbly line is a reminder that I should’ve just stuck to Figma.

But hey, it’s basically low-fidelity wireframing with extra self-doubt. If I can tolerate my own rough sketches, your clunky UI doesn’t scare me. (And yes, I did just compare your product to my questionable doodles. You’re welcome.)

My Chaotic Background Noise

I listen to music—not to "expand my horizons" or whatever, but because my brain refuses to function without a Telugu melody playing in the background. From Kalki 2898 AD’s epic synth waves to Mr. Perfect’s Bommarillu nostalgia trips, my playlist is a chaotic mix of "supposed to be working" and "suddenly emotional over Tholi Prema violin solos."