Where curiosity
comes from.

I grew up in Delhi. A city simultaneously ancient and relentlessly modern. Chaotic and deeply ordered.

My mother is from Kanpur, but she grew up in Arunachal Pradesh, where my grandfather was posted as a teacher. Teachers from across India lived and worked there together, their families alongside the local community. Languages, traditions, ways of seeing the world. She grew up in the middle of all of it, and she carried that forward.

My father spent his career at Hewlett-Packard, beginning in operations and retiring as National Sales Manager. He was not an engineer. He was something rarer: a man who spent his life inside a technology company and never stopped marvelling at what it could do. Those Intel stickers on laptops meant something different growing up in that house. They were a glimpse into an invisible architecture: billions of transistors, doing work you could never see. I wanted to understand what was inside.

I have a younger sister. She is creative in a way that does not ask permission. She decides what she wants and does it, with a confidence that looks effortless from the outside. The boldest version of this: she rides a motorcycle. That one moved me. Growing up alongside her left me with two things I did not expect to learn from a sibling: a genuine sense of responsibility, and the habit of keeping an open mind wide enough to hold someone else's version of the world.

I was a JEE candidate. That examination is the lens India holds to every engineer who wants to be taken seriously. I sat it and cleared it. And then chose to come to Melbourne to study electrical engineering at Monash. Not a retreat from ambition. A different expression of it.

That curiosity about what is happening at the level you cannot observe became my career. From silicon wafers to wearable biosignals. Same instinct, different scale.