Start with the person who has the least slack.

I grew up queer in India and came to the United States carrying both things at once — the ambition, and the watchfulness you learn when the default world was not built with you in mind. Early on, I saw firsthand how silence, shame, and stigma keep people from getting care.

Even after Section 377 was struck down, queer folks there — especially gay men and trans women — still face HIV rates many times higher than everyone else. That early education in who a system quietly leaves out is, honestly, the same instinct I bring to product.

Every year I ride in AIDS/LifeCycle — 545 miles, seven days, one bike, San Francisco to Los Angeles — for the health, dignity, and futures of queer folks, especially those most affected by HIV/AIDS.

As a queer South Indian immigrant, I've witnessed how stigma and lack of access to care devastate lives — and how love and solidarity can restore them.

It is not just a physical challenge; it is a personal one. The ride is one small way of refusing the silence I grew up inside.

I train for it the way I try to work — consistently, and because the hard thing is worth doing. Cycling, running, a marathon in the spring, and the unglamorous core, weight, and swim work in between.

Endurance teaches the same lesson the best engineering does. You do not get the result on the day. You get it from the months no one sees.

I want to spend my work on things that are transformative and personal at once — healthcare that is universal and human, the hard problems at the edge of ethics and what is newly possible — and to do them with energy, courage, and creativity.

It is the same pull as the ride: care, dignity, and the people a system is meant to serve, not the ones it is easy to serve.