Ajay Zaveri

This paper answers why can’t you remember being a baby? For over a century, science said you can't remember being a baby because your infant brain was just too "immature" to record anything. researchers assumed your hard drive was basically turned off for the first two years of life. But this wild paper from Yale completely rewrites how we understand human memory.. Researchers literally put awake babies (between 4 and 25 months old) into an fMRI scanner to watch their brains process new visual experiences in real-time. and what they found is mindblowing.. the infant hippocampus isn't turned off at all. it is actively firing, capturing, and encoding episodic memories. they proved that babies with higher hippocampal activity during a new experience formed a highly stable memory trace. the babies are recording the data. the memory of your first birthday, your first steps, the exact layout of the room you slept in.. it was all successfully saved to your brain. so why can't you remember it? the paper concludes that infantile amnesia isn't an "encoding" problem.. it is a "retrieval" problem. your brain recorded everything perfectly. but as you grew, your brain underwent massive developmental shifts, like explosive neurogenesis (the rapid birth of new neurons), which completely restructured your neural networks. the pathways to access those early files got buried or locked away. you didn't fail to make the memories.. you just lost the encryption key to open them. somewhere deep in your hippocampus, the exact first-person memory of being a 1-year-old might still be sitting there. you just can't access the file anymore.. @imacuriosguy

Chile is 4,270 km long, farther than a flight from New York to Los Angeles, and on average just 177 km wide, a bit more than London to Birmingham. The map holds up. The country runs from 17 degrees south all the way to Cape Horn at 56, so laid over Europe it really does reach from the top of Norway to Tunisia. Moving north along the country's long spine, the first thing you'll see is the Atacama Desert, the driest desert in the world, outside the polar regions. NASA says some areas get as little as 1 to 3 mm of rain annually, and there are some weather stations that have never recorded a drop. With such an environment, it's not hard to see why Chile has become a hub for astrophysics, using its dry air and dark skies. Its observatories say the country now accounts for almost 40% of all human observing power and with the new telescopes coming online, this will soon pass 60% by 2030. A report from the USGS published in 2026 states that Chile mined around 5.3 million tonnes of copper in 2025, around 23% of the world's supply, with second in line, Congo, at 3.2 million tonnes. When it comes to lithium, Chile has the largest reserves, around 9.2 million tonnes, of the world's total 37 million tonnes. I thought Chile was the second largest producer, but it turns out it fell to third in 2025, at 56,000 tonnes, behind Australia and China. In the south of the country lies the Southern Patagonian Ice Field, an ice sheet of around 13,000 square km, mostly within Chile and yet nearly the size of Northern Ireland, the largest in the southern hemisphere other than Antarctica. And the map still misses a piece. Rapa Nui, Easter Island, with nearly 1,000 moai, the giant stone heads, has been Chilean since 1888 and sits about 3,500 km out in the Pacific, which on that overlay would park it about twice as far out as Iceland.

“We have begun to contemplate our origins: starstuff pondering the stars; organized assemblages of ten billion billion billion atoms considering the evolution of atoms; tracing the long journey by which, here at least, consciousness arose.” ― Carl Sagan, Cosmos

We need a trauma scan as it is very complex. It can appear as unclear pains, gastric issues, anxiety, or irritability. Most importantly it feels like a constant feeling of lack of safety. [Psychology, Trauma, Relationships, Mental Health, Healing Journey, Self Awareness]

The next pandemic is Brainrot. People will become illiterate with zero attention span in next five years.

"I dream of a quiet man who explains nothing and defends nothing, but only knows where the rarest wildflowers are blooming, and who goes, and finds that he is smiling not by his own will." - Wendell Berry

From blue to red This is a graph It shows the temperature of Nepal, one bar for every year since 1875. Cooler-than-average years are blue. Warmer ones are red. For most of that century, the two take turns. Blue, blue, red, blue. An ordinary conversation between years. Then, somewhere after 1990, the blue begins to run out. And by the last two decades the graph has stopped being a conversation. It is only red, and the red keeps getting darker. Nothing in that picture is dramatic. No single bar is a catastrophe. It is just a slow, patient loss of one colour. We tend to think a degree is nothing. In a city it is the difference between two shirts. In a mountain it is the difference between ice and water. At zero, water is held. It waits. It is a bank the whole valley draws on all summer. At one, it moves. And once it moves, it takes slope, soil, road and village with it. That is the honest background to the flooding in Nepal this month — a slope that let go, a wall of debris and meltwater, bridges and homes gone in minutes. The trigger was local. The loading was global. We dug up oil, gas and coal and burned them. The gases stayed. The air warmed. The blue faded. And the mountains, which store the water for everyone downstream, are being asked to do their job in a climate they were not built for. I sit with this because our own hills are on the same page of the same book. In the Northern Western Ghats there is no ice to lose, so the loss is less photogenic. It looks like a spring that used to run till May and now stops in March. A monsoon that delivers the same rainfall in a third of the time, which the soil cannot possibly absorb. A woman walking further, later in the year, every year. We cannot change the colour of the bars. That is being decided elsewhere, by people who will not attend our village meetings. What we can change is what the water meets when it lands. A trench along a contour that gives it a few seconds to think. Tree roots that hold a slope together. A commons that is grass and soil again instead of bare rock. An acre of food forest that feeds a family in a year the rain fails. We are trained to measure restoration in trees. But on a stripped hillside the first repair is almost always grass. Its roots are fine and dense and they hold the top few centimetres of soil — the layer that took a century to make and can leave in a single afternoon. Its cover breaks the fall of the rain, so the drop enters the ground instead of skidding off a crusted surface. And it keeps the ground cool. Put your hand on bare rock at noon in May, then on the soil under a patch of grass. That difference is not a detail. It is how much moisture the land gets to keep. We have spent decades marking such slopes as wasteland and planting trees on them. They were never waste. They were the sponge. At Raah this is the whole of our work — holding water where it falls, bringing the commons back to grass and soil, and standing behind women turning one acre each into a food forest. Hillside by hillside. If you want a number in here, this is the place for it: villages, hectares of commons under restoration, or number of one-acre food forests to date. None of this stops the warming. All of it decides who survives it, and with how much dignity. Blue was the climate we inherited. Red is the climate we are handing over. The land in between is still ours to work on.