Abik Maharjan · Software Builder · Kathmandu Valley
The Maharjans farmed the Kathmandu Valley and built it: the brick courtyards, the carved windows, the temples that outlive their builders. I write software by the same rule my ancestors built by. If an element carries no load, it does not go in the building. This page keeps that rule. Every color is a material, every border is a joint, and every tool below earned its place in the structure.
A Newar house keeps one carved window, the sanjhya, for the person watching the street. This one is mine.
I am Abik Maharjan. I build products end to end: the screen you touch, the server that answers it, the database that remembers, and the edge that delivers it fast from anywhere. I care about software the way a carpenter cares about a joint that will never be seen. It still has to be right, precisely because nobody will check.
I work from the Kathmandu Valley, on the internet, which means I work everywhere.
A tiered temple roof rests on carved struts, and each strut is a different figure doing the same job: holding the roof up. These are my five. Not a list of logos, a structure. Remove any one and something above it sags.
The Facade
The face of the house is the only part a passerby ever touches, so the Newars carved it hardest. Flutter is where I do the carving: one codebase, and the screen in someone's hand feels made for that hand, on either platform.
What people see is not decoration. It is the argument.
The Frame
Behind every carved window is unglamorous timber doing all the work. Django is my post and beam: boring on purpose, batteries included, holding up auth, admin, and APIs so the facade never has to think about gravity.
Nobody photographs the beam. Everything rests on it.
The Foundation
Valley temples fall in earthquakes and are rebuilt on the same stone plinths, some nine centuries old. Postgres is that plinth: the data survives every rewrite above it. Frameworks are fashion. The foundation is a promise.
Built once, correctly, so everything else can be temporary.
The City Gate
Old Kathmandu had walls with gates: one way in, watched day and night, and markets pressed close so nobody walked far. Cloudflare is my gate and my market square, filtering what enters and serving from the edge nearest you.
Security and proximity are the same job: a good gate.
The Ready Courtyard
Some houses must go up in a season, so builders start from a courtyard that already exists: paved, plumbed, proven. Supabase is that head start, Postgres underneath, auth and realtime already standing, walls raised in days.
Speed is not haste when the ground is already true.
No master carver works alone. Apprentices rough out the beam, fetch the timber, hold the other end. The carving hand is still mine. I use AI the way a workshop uses apprentices: for leverage, never for judgment.
The Thinking Bench
Where I argue with the design before the wood is cut. Claude reads the whole plan, pushes back on the weak joint, and drafts the tedious middle so I can spend my attention where the structure is actually decided.
The Sharp Chisel
Where the cutting happens. Cursor lives inside the codebase and keeps the blade against the grain: rename this everywhere, refactor that safely, stay in the flow of the cut instead of the ceremony around it.