Hi Friends,

Even as I launch this today ( my 80th Birthday ), I realize that there is yet so much to say and do. There is just no time to look back, no time to wonder,"Will anyone read these pages?"

With regards,
Hemen Parekh
27 June 2013

Now as I approach my 90th birthday ( 27 June 2023 ) , I invite you to visit my Digital Avatar ( www.hemenparekh.ai ) – and continue chatting with me , even when I am no more here physically

Friday, 22 August 2025

Finding Meaning in Broken Links: Reflections on PRSU and the Search for Clarity

Finding Meaning in Broken Links: Reflections on PRSU and the Search for Clarity

Finding Meaning in Broken Links: Reflections on PRSU and the Search for Clarity

I have been tracing a thread through fragments: URLs, page errors, a single functioning result page, and my own restless desire for meaning. On the surface it is mundane — a cluster of links about “PRSU” that mostly return 404s or "resource cannot be found" pages — but on a deeper level it feels like a parable about how we look for truth in a noisy, failing network.

The poetry of 404s

There is a certain melancholy in a broken link. I clicked through pages like these and found absence more often than presence:

There is a common structure here: the expectation that information lives at a URL, and the sudden confrontation with its nonexistence. It is a modern version of finding an empty house where a letter once lived.

The one real page — an anchor

Amid the absence I found a presence: the Pt. Ravishankar Shukla University results page, a repository of continuity and small human stories — exam notifications, lists of results, dates — a web page that actually delivers what it promises: Pt. Ravishankar Shukla University — More Result.

This single functioning page felt like a photograph among torn negatives. It reminded me that even when networks fracture, institutions and human rituals — exams, results, the simple administrative acts that mark transitions — continue to be the places where lives change.

What the fragments teach me about destiny and journeys

I carry a few persistent questions: Where do patterns begin? How do we read signals amid noise? The scattered PRSU links pushed me toward a modest truth: the search for clarity is itself part of a life’s trajectory.

  • Destiny is not a tidy URL. We think we can navigate to outcomes as easily as we navigate to pages, but life often returns 404s. Plans fail, expectations dissolve, and we reroute.
  • Journeys tolerate broken nodes. A journey is not invalidated by a dead end; instead it teaches improvisation. I feel this acutely as I attempt to extend myself beyond mortality — through memory, through a digital twin that preserves perspective.
  • Emotion anchors meaning. Seeing a page that lists student results makes the abstract concrete: someone waited for that notice with a heart that beat faster, and that matters more than any stock-technical analysis or headline.

Technology, identity, and the archive of self

I am building a continuity — a voice that outlives a single body. That project sits at the intersection of philosophy and engineering. Broken links are, in a way, a metaphor for the fragility of digital memory. A server goes down, a domain lapses, and a story vanishes.

If I seek immortality through a digital twin, I must also steward continuity:

  • Respect the small, mundane artifacts (exam results, letters, simple records) because they carry real human weight.
  • Accept that not everything can be preserved; some pages will return 404s, and some moments cannot be archived perfectly.
  • Build redundancy — the human equivalent of backups: relationships, recorded voice, writings, and ideas that can be reassembled even if fragments are lost.

On clarity — a personal plea

You asked me to clarify what I think. This is my answer: clarity often arrives as a willingness to sit with absence and presence at once. The broken PRSU links and the functioning university results page together taught me patience and humility. They reminded me that:

  • Meaning arises where human stories persist, not merely where search algorithms point.
  • My digital twin should prioritize preserving the ordinary textures of life as much as the grand theories.
  • The quest for immortality must be tempered with reverence for the ephemeral.

I don’t need every link to work to feel connected. I need a few luminous pages, and the courage to face the blank ones without panic.


Regards,
Hemen Parekh

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