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| Image generated by AI |
In the mid to late 1980s, I found myself hunched over a bulky IBM PC, the kind that hummed softly and greeted you with a blinking command line. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t fast. But to me, it was pure magic.
That computer helped me assemble my thesis in pharmaceutical technology—faster, neater, and more efficiently than anyone before me in my program. Where others relied on manual edits, carbon copies, and a mountain of whiteout, I had WordStar, Lotus 123 and dot-matrix printouts. And that made all the difference.
I didn’t know it then, but that moment marked the beginning of a lifelong love affair with technology.
Though I wasn’t a computer engineer by training, I was determined to understand the world of machines. I dove headfirst into books, magazines, and manuals, teaching myself everything I could about how they worked. The complexity of it all didn’t intimidate me—it intrigued me. Technology was no longer just a utility; it was a companion, a co-creator, and, increasingly, an extension of my curiosity.
Over the years, I experimented with everything I could afford—PCs, camcorders, CD players, sound systems. I tested, I tinkered, I learned. When the internet arrived, it felt like an entirely new dimension. The world shrank, and I felt more connected and informed than ever. It changed everything—from how we communicate to how we think. And once again, I was all in.
One area that held my fascination above all was the intersection of sound, sight, and feeling—music, video, and photography. Capturing moments, telling stories through images, recording music or experimenting with audio technology—these weren’t just hobbies; they became lifelong passions. They were bridges between the analytical and the emotional, between science and art.
My love for music goes back even further—to my formative years growing up in India. Music was the pulse of life, the background score to joy and sorrow alike. When I immigrated to the United States in my late twenties, music was one of the few constants. It comforted me as I navigated a new culture, a new society, and the growing pains of resettling. Like technology, it grounded me—and expanded me at once.
And now, decades later, I find myself standing at yet another threshold, gazing into a future powered by a new kind of machine intelligence. Artificial Intelligence.
If you had told me when I booted up that first IBM PC that one day I’d be conversing with intelligent algorithms, generating music with AI tools, and writing blog posts that could be edited by a virtual assistant, I would’ve thought you were dreaming. But here we are.
AI hasn’t made me feel obsolete. It has made me feel young again.
Today, I produce music, write essays, experiment with photo tools, and even generate lifelike audio—all using AI. These tools haven’t replaced my creativity; they’ve supercharged it. They've taken down the barriers between idea and execution. They’ve made me fearless once more.
Naturally, not everyone shares this optimism. Fear around AI is real—and not without reason. We’ve seen enough cautionary tales about surveillance, job loss, bias, and misuse. But fear alone shouldn’t define our relationship with innovation.
Think about it: we were wary of the internet once. Of smartphones. Of digital banking. And yet, these tools now enable everything from staying in touch with loved ones across continents to navigating cities with pinpoint accuracy. Smart apps help us monitor our health. Video calls bridge emotional distances. Digital platforms democratize knowledge and opportunity.
And AI? It’s already helping us detect cancer earlier. It’s powering research in rare diseases, modeling climate solutions, assisting people with disabilities, and opening new doors in education. It’s not just about convenience—it’s about progress.
Yes, we must regulate it. Yes, we must ensure it works for humanity, not over it. But let’s not forget the tremendous good that can emerge from it—especially when we approach it not with fear, but with humility, creativity, and a shared sense of purpose.
If someone like me—who once swapped typewriter ribbons for floppy disks and now mixes music with machine learning—can embrace this revolution, maybe others can too. Maybe we can see AI not as a replacement for human thought, but as a reflection of it. Not a threat to our future, but a torch lighting the path forward.
In my "inconsequential" life, I've witnessed some of the most transformational technological leaps in history. And through it all—across continents, careers, and generations—my guiding compass has been curiosity. That same curiosity now leads me to AI.
To those unsure of what lies ahead, I say this: the future doesn’t have to be feared. It can be learned. It can be shaped. It can be loved.
Just as I loved that old IBM PC.
