On the subject of belief, I’m instinctively drawn to logical systems that demand consistency, closure, and introspection. And the KD45 system among them exerts a special pull. It consists of the following axioms:

• K (closure): If you believe an implication and you believe the antecedent, then you believe the consequent. E.g. if you believe “if X then Y” and you believe X, then you also believe Y.
• D (consistency): If you believe X, you don’t also believe not-X (i.e. X’s negation).
• 4 (positive introspection): If you believe X, then you also believe that you believe X, i.e. you’re aware of your own beliefs.
• 5 (negative introspection): If you don’t believe X, then you believe that you don’t believe X, i.e. you know what you don’t believe.

Thus, KD45 pictures a believer who never embraces contradictions, who always sees the consequences of what they believe, and who is perfectly aware of their own commitments. It’s the portrait of a mind that’s transparent to itself, free from error in structure, and entirely coherent. There’s something admirable in this picture. In moments of near-perfect clarity, it seems to me to describe the kind of believer I’d like to be.

Yet the attraction itself throws up a paradox. KD45 is appealing precisely because it abstracts away from the conditions in which real human beings actually think. In other words, its consistency is pristine because it’s idealised. It eliminates the compromises, distractions, and biases that animate everyday life. To aspire to KD45 is therefore to aspire to something constantly unattainable: a mind that’s rational at every step, free of contradiction, and immune to the fog of human psychology.

My attraction to KD45 is tempered by an equal admiration for Bayesian belief systems. The Bayesian approach allows for degrees of confidence and recognises that belief is often graded rather than binary. To me, this reflects the world as we encounter it — a realm of incomplete evidence, partial understanding, and evolving perspectives.

I admire Bayesianism because it doesn’t demand that we ignore uncertainty. It compels us to face it directly. Where KD45 insists on consistency, Bayesian thinking insists on responsiveness. I update beliefs not because they were previously incoherent but because new evidence has altered the balance of probabilities. This system thus embodies humility, my admission that no matter how strongly I believe today, tomorrow may bring evidence that forces me to change my mind.

The world, however, isn’t simply uncertain: it’s often contradictory. People hold opposing views, traditions preserve inconsistencies, and institutions are riddled with tensions. This is why I’m also drawn to paraconsistent logics, which allow contradictions to exist without collapsing. If I stick to classical logic, I’ll have to accept everything if I also accept a contradiction. One inconsistency causes the entire system to explode. Paraconsistent theories reject that explosion and instead allow me to live with contradictions without being consumed by them.

This isn’t an endorsement of confusion for its own sake but a recognition that practical thought must often proceed even when the data is messy. I can accept, provisionally, both “this practice is harmful” and “this practice is necessary”, and work through the tension without pretending I can neatly resolve the contradiction in advance. To deny myself this capacity is not to be rational — it’s to risk paralysis.

Finally, if Bayesianism teaches humility and paraconsistency teaches tolerance, the AGM theory of belief revision teaches discipline. Its core idea is that beliefs must be revised when confronted by new evidence, and that there are rational ways of choosing what to retract, what to retain, and what to alter. AGM speaks to me because it bridges the gap between the ideal and the real. It allows me to acknowledge that belief systems can be disrupted by facts while also maintaining that I can manage disruptions in a principled way.

That is to say, I don’t aspire to avoid the shock of revision but to absorb it intelligently.

Taken together, my position isn’t a choice of one system over another. It’s an attempt to weave their virtues together while recognising their limits. KD45 represents the ideal that belief should be consistent, closed under reasoning, and introspectively clear. Bayesianism represents the reality that belief is probabilistic and always open to revision. Paraconsistent logic represents the need to live with contradictions without succumbing to incoherence. AGM represents the discipline of revising beliefs rationally when evidence compels change.

A final point about aspiration itself. To aspire to KD45 isn’t to believe I will ever achieve it. In fact, I acknowledge I’m unlikely to desire complete consistency at every turn. There are cases where contradictions are useful, where I’ll need to tolerate ambiguity, and where the cost of absolute closure is too high. If I deny this, I’ll only end up misrepresenting myself.

However, I’m not going to be complacent either. I believe it’s important to aspire even if what I’m trying to achieve is going to be perpetually out of reach. By holding KD45 as a guiding ideal, I hope to give shape to my desire for rationality even as I expect to deviate from it. The value lies in the direction, not the destination.

Therefore, I state plainly (he said pompously):

• I admire the clarity of KD45 and treat it as the horizon of rational belief
• I embrace the flexibility of Bayesianism as the method of navigating uncertainty
• I acknowledge the need for paraconsistency as the condition of living in a world of contradictions
• I uphold the discipline of AGM belief revision as the art of managing disruption
• I aspire to coherence but accept that my path will involve noise, contradiction, and compromise

In the end, the point isn’t to model myself after one system but to recognise the world demands several. KD45 will always represent the perfection of rational belief but I doubt I’ll ever get there in practice — not because I think I can’t but because I know I will choose not to in many matters. To be rational is not to be pure. It is to balance ideals with realities, to aspire without illusion, and to reason without denying the contradictions of life.

I hadn’t checked my notifications on X.com in a while. When I did yesterday, I found Pradx had tagged me in a blog post called “a challenge of blog questions” in March. The point is to answer a short list of questions about my blogging history, then tag other bloggers to carry the enterprise forward. With thanks to Pradx, here goes.

Why did you start blogging in the first place?

I started blogging for two reasons in 2008. I started writing itself when I realised it helps me clarify my thoughts, then I started publishing my writing on the web so I could share those thoughts with my friends in different parts of the world. My blog soon gave me a kind of third space on the internet, a separate world I could escape to as I laboured through four years of engineering school, which I didn’t like at the time.

What platform are you using to manage your blog and why did you choose it? Have you blogged on other platforms before?

I’ve blogged on Xanga, Blogspot, Typed, Movable Type, various static site generators, Svbtle, Geocities, Grav, October, Mataroa, Ghost, and WordPress. And I’ve always found myself returning to WordPress, which — despite its flaws — allows me to have just the kind of blog I’d like to in terms of look, feel, spirit, and community. The last two are particularly important. Ghost comes a close second to WordPress but it’s too magaziney. The options to host Ghost are also (relatively) more expensive.

Earlier this year, Matt Mullenweg of Automattic tested my support for WordPress.com with his words and actions vis-à-vis his vendetta against WP Engine but the sentiments and conversations in the wider WordPress community encouraged me to keep going.

How do you write your posts? For example, in a local editing tool, or in a panel/dashboard that’s part of your blog?

I used to love WordPress’s Calypso interface and its WYSIWYG editor both on desktop and mobile and used to use that to compose posts. But then WordPress ‘upgraded’ to the blocks-based Gutenberg interface, which made composing a jerky, clunky, glitchy process. At that point I tried a combination of different local editors, including Visual Studio Code, iA Writer, and Obsidian.md. Each editor provided an idiosyncratic environment: e.g. VS Code seemed like a good environment in which to compose technical posts, Obsidian (with its dark UI) for angry/moody ones, and iA writer for opinionated ones with long sentences and complex thoughts.

Then about three years ago I discovered MarsEdit and have been using it for all kinds of posts since. I particularly appreciate its old-school-like interface, that it’s built to work with WordPress, and the fact that it maintains an offline archive of all the posts on the blog.

When do you feel most inspired to write?

I’ve answered this question before in conversations with friends and every time my answer has prompted them to wonder if I’m lying or mocking them.

When I feel most inspired to write is not in my control. I’ve been writing for so long that it’s become a part of the way I think. If I have a thought and I’m not able to articulate it clearly in writing, it’s a sign for me that the thought is still inchoate. In this paradigm, whenever I have a fully formed thought that I think could help someone else think about or through something, I enter a half-trance-like state, where my entire brain is seized of the need to write and I’m only conscious enough to open MarsEdit and start typing.

In these circumstance my ability to multi-task even minor activities, like typing with one hand while sipping from a mug of tea in the other, vanishes.

Do you publish immediately after writing, or do you let it simmer a bit as a draft?

That depends on what I’m writing about. When I draft posts in the ‘Op-eds’ or ‘Science’ categories, I’m usually more clear-headed and confident about my post’s contents, and publish as soon as the post is ready. For ‘Analysis’ and ‘Scicomm’ posts, however, I distract myself for about 30 minutes after finishing a draft and read it again to make sure there aren’t any holes in my arguments.

I also have a few friends who peer-review my posts if I’m not sure I’ve articulated myself well or if I’m not able to think through the soundness of my own arguments by myself (usually because I suspect there’s something I don’t know). Four of the most frequent reviewers are Thomas Manuel, Srividya Tadepalli, Mahima Jain, and Chitralekha Manohar.

In all these cases, however, I do read the post a couple times more after it’s finished to fix grammar and clumsy sentence constructions.

What’s your favorite post on your blog?

No such thing.

Any future plans for your blog? Maybe a redesign, a move to another platform, or adding a new feature?

I’m not keen on major redesigns. There are too many WordPress themes available off the shelf and for free these days. I change my blog’s theme depending on my mood. I don’t think it makes a difference to whether or how people read my posts. I think those that have been reading will continue to read. The text is paramount.

I don’t see myself moving to another platform either. If anything, I might move from WordPress.com to a self-hosted setup in future but it’s not something I’m thinking of right now.

I am currently in the process of removing duplicated posts in the archives — at last count I spotted about 20. Many posts are also missing images I’d added at the time of publishing, mostly because they were associated with a domain that I no longer use. I need to fix that.

A few years ago I lost around 120 posts after someone managed to hack my account when the blog was hosted with a provider of cPanel hosting services. I maintain a long-term backup of all my posts on a Backblaze dump. I’m still in the process of identifying which posts I lost and retrieving them from the archive.

So yeah, focusing on this clean-up right now.

Who’s next?

This is embarrassing: I only know a few other bloggers. I stopped keeping track after many bloggers I’d been following in the early years just stopped at some point. Right now, of those blogs I still follow, Jatan and Pradx have already been nominated for this ‘challenge’. So let me nominate Suvrat Kher and Dhiya Gerber next, both of whom I think will have interesting answers.

Featured image credit: Chris Briggs/Unsplash.

Make sure you’ve read part I and part II.

The project of demolishing the building opposite my house has taken a new turn. As part of the deal between me and my neighbours and the contractor, Monday, November 18, was his deadline to finish the part of the job that required the use of the offensively loud pneumatic jackhammers. The contractor was also to pause work on Sunday (November 17), which he didn’t: the workers didn’t use the jackhammers but continued working with sledgehammers and the much simpler electric drills.

My neighbours and I also noticed the two tractors that powered the jackhammers were driven away on Sunday morning. We simply assumed the contractor had leased the equipment and was returning them for the day to avoid paying rent. However, the workers continued to demolish the building on Monday with sledgehammers and electric drills. (One of us went over but the contractor wasn’t on site.) The tractors didn’t return either.

The situation continued into Tuesday. At this point we began to wonder if the article in The Hindu might have had anything to do with it. Late last week, after we’d lodged out complaint with the Tamil Nadu Pollution Control Board (TNPCB), I reached out to one of my colleagues at The Hindu asking if they could help expedite the board’s response. Apparently they did, and they also arranged for the noise complaints to be covered as a small item in the paper the next day (November 16).

It wasn’t implausible that the people who made the work noisy in the first place decided to take a step back at this point and revert to more peaceable methods. A user named “Joseph” also posted an encouraging comment on the article: “If the TNPCB cannot take action on a complaint already received, then what is the drafted jurisprudence and responsibility of the TNPCB? Hope the lawmakers amend the defective law and permit the TNPCB to take suitable action against willful noise pollutors.”

But my neighbours and I also began to feel guilty: if that bigwig at the other end of the road didn’t allow the contractor to use an excavator and we didn’t want him to use pneumatic jackhammers, were we condemning the workers the contractor had hired to slowly, painstakingly demolish the building with sledgehammers and electric drills over several weeks?

Fortunately, Wednesday (November 20) dawned with good news for us as well as the workers: the contractor brought the excavator back. Unlikely though it may be, I’m tempted to think the article in The Hindu also spooked the bigwig. The excavator is currently parked on the front side of the building and we’re all excited for it to bring what remains of the structure down in a day or two.

As of 4.25 pm on June 4, the NDA alliance stood to win 294 seats in the Lok Sabha while the INDIA bloc was set for 225 seats. This is more than a pleasant surprise.

The Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) consumed everything in its path in its aggressive bid to stay in power. If it is being pushed back, it is not a feat that can be the product of nothing.

After a decade of resistance without outright victories, in a manner of speaking, the pushback is a resounding abnegation of the BJP’s politics, and by doing that it embodies what the resistance has stood for: good-faith governance informed by reason and respect for the spirit and letters of the Constitution.

Embodiment is a treasure because it gives form to some specific meaning in our common and shared reality, which is important: it needs to breach BJP supporters’ pinched-off reality as well. There needs to be no escaping it.

Embodied meaning is also a treasure because the meaning is no longer restricted to “just” shouts of protest carried off by the wind, words left unread or protests the national government saw fit to ignore.

This is 294-227 — or whatever the figures are once the ECI has declared final results in all constituencies.

It’s a win for democracy, but a lot of my elation is coming from the notion that the outcome of the polls also demonstrate not only that journalists’ work matters — we already knew that — but that we’re not pissing into the wind with it. It’s being read, heard, and watched. People are paying attention.

Congratulations. Keep going.

I’ve been a journalist for 12 years. For the first few years these anniversaries helped to remember that I was able to survive in the industry but now, after 12, I’m well and truly part of the industry itself — the thing that others survive — and the observances don’t mean anything as such. This said, my professional clock runs from June 1 from May 31 and the day is when I break up the last 365 days into a neat little block of memories and put it away, with some notes about whether anything was worth remembering.

Last year of course, I joined The Hindu as deputy science editor and began a new chapter in many ways (see here and here). One that I’d like to take note of here is The Hindu’s paywall. As you may know, thehindu.com has soft and hard paywalls. You hit the former when you read 10 free articles; the eleventh will have to be paid for. The latter is the paywall in front of articles that are otherwise not freely available to read. Most articles behind a soft paywall are straight news reports and, of course, The Hindu’s prized editorials. Analyses, commentaries, features, and most explainers are behind the hard paywall.

We all know why these barriers exist: journalism needs to be paid for, and better journalism all the more so. But one straightforward downside is that the contents of articles behind paywalls are rarely, if ever, represented in the public conversations and debates of the day — and I haven’t been able to make my peace with this fact. Yet.

Eight years at The Wire spoilt me for it but the upside was clear: everything from analysis to commentary would be part of the marketplace of ideas. Siddharth Varadarajan was clear The Wire would always be free to read. Of course, The Wire and The Hindu are different beasts and pursuing very different survival strategies, and on the path The Hindu is treading, quite simply forcing people to pay to read has become necessary.

This shift has also forced me to contend with my own writing — mostly explainers, op-eds, and reports of physics research — being confined to a smaller, but paying, subset of The Hindu’s readers rather than all of them as well as to the public at large, which in turn often makes me feel… distance, not readily visible, if at all.

Just one more thing to figure out.

As of 4.25 pm on June 4, the NDA alliance stood to win 294 seats in the Lok Sabha while the INDIA bloc was set for 225 seats. This is more than a pleasant surprise.

The Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) consumed everything in its path in its aggressive bid to stay in power. If it is being pushed back, it is not a feat that can be the product of nothing.

After a decade of resistance without outright victories, in a manner of speaking, the pushback is a resounding abnegation of the BJP’s politics, and by doing that it embodies what the resistance has stood for: good-faith governance informed by reason and respect for the spirit and letters of the Constitution.

Embodiment is a treasure because it gives form to some specific meaning in our common and shared reality, which is important: it needs to breach BJP supporters’ pinched-off reality as well. There needs to be no escaping it.

Embodied meaning is also a treasure because the meaning is no longer restricted to “just” shouts of protest carried off by the wind, words left unread or protests the national government saw fit to ignore.

This is 294-227 — or whatever the figures are once the ECI has declared final results in all constituencies.

It’s a win for democracy, but a lot of my elation is coming from the notion that the outcome of the polls also demonstrate not only that journalists’ work matters — we already knew that — but that we’re not pissing into the wind with it. It’s being read, heard, and watched. People are paying attention.

Congratulations. Keep going.

I’ve been a journalist for 12 years. For the first few years these anniversaries helped to remember that I was able to survive in the industry but now, after 12, I’m well and truly part of the industry itself — the thing that others survive — and the observances don’t mean anything as such. This said, my professional clock runs from June 1 from May 31 and the day is when I break up the last 365 days into a neat little block of memories and put it away, with some notes about whether anything was worth remembering.

Last year of course, I joined The Hindu as deputy science editor and began a new chapter in many ways (see here and here). One that I’d like to take note of here is The Hindu’s paywall. As you may know, thehindu.com has soft and hard paywalls. You hit the former when you read 10 free articles; the eleventh will have to be paid for. The latter is the paywall in front of articles that are otherwise not freely available to read. Most articles behind a soft paywall are straight news reports and, of course, The Hindu’s prized editorials. Analyses, commentaries, features, and most explainers are behind the hard paywall.

We all know why these barriers exist: journalism needs to be paid for, and better journalism all the more so. But one straightforward downside is that the contents of articles behind paywalls are rarely, if ever, represented in the public conversations and debates of the day — and I haven’t been able to make my peace with this fact. Yet.

Eight years at The Wire spoilt me for it but the upside was clear: everything from analysis to commentary would be part of the marketplace of ideas. Siddharth Varadarajan was clear The Wire would always be free to read. Of course, The Wire and The Hindu are different beasts and pursuing very different survival strategies, and on the path The Hindu is treading, quite simply forcing people to pay to read has become necessary.

This shift has also forced me to contend with my own writing — mostly explainers, op-eds, and reports of physics research — being confined to a smaller, but paying, subset of The Hindu’s readers rather than all of them as well as to the public at large, which in turn often makes me feel… distance, not readily visible, if at all.

Just one more thing to figure out.