my entire existence feels weird. 

things to do

. read people

. be considerate

the universe is made up of all things and experiences around you

i have been conversing about the sensibilities of talking.

.

.

how you talk to a little boy or an old man.. makes all the difference!

i find peace in the vastness of the sea..

no past, no future.

i will miss our conversations...

perfect.. they are all perfect

A friend asked me for a memory of us...

and suddenly all the memories of my eight years in school came flooding back like an adrenaline rush... and when they passed

i was left smiling :)

In retrospect 

the faces smile brighter and frown lesser

the tears seem baseless and the laughs remain timeless

people seem tinier, their hearts bigger

we came

we met 

we sat together for hours staring at the star studded sky

we fought with each other 

and by nightfall 

Went star gazing together again.

we climb mountains 

and raged through rapids,

Half smiling and half fighting

screaming at the top of our lungs 

running around in massive circles

getting Ready for our first outing 

and gossiping till dawn about our first socials

eating through the mid-night feasts 

and getting excited by the simple pleasures of school life

first we made the apple-pie beds

and then the little ones made them for us

we had watched them sing 'Auld Land Syne'

and suddenly we were going around in circles singing the same song

and one day

the joy ride ended

and we all split our own ways

the eight years together

became a bittersweet memory

(to all my batchmates at welham, specially the FLIES)

The Invitation - Oriah mountain dreamer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. 

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled or closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain... mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy... mine and your own

If you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore, trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty everyday. And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure... yours and mine and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "yes"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised tot he bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

.

.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in those empty moments.

some stills from my fiction project... despite all the madness and last minute cancellations.. i think we managed to pull it off.. thank you to everyone in it.. i shall let the credits roll once the film is done.. as of now it's still under construction

babychild??

~in transit~

recently we were on the subject on this place called home and well... i really don't know where home is for me... i don't feel the flood of home when i'm in college or when i go home to eat my meals... nor do i feel it in retrospect. In the last three years i have shifted into three different houses while i thought i would never be able to adjust after the first move (i'd lived in my first house for more than fifteen years) i was quite comfortable with my new house but by the time i finally figured that one out we shifted again.

even in my first house i was never really home. i was at the boarding school and went directly to mumbai for my holidays and would visit "home" for a week at the max. so then where is my home? 

no space where i belong or do i belong to all of these?.. where did i leave my impression the most or which one is the closest to me?.. these questions boggle me now as i never thought of these things before. i was happy in my caravan traveling with or against the tide but now as i stop to look around i see empty spaces.

wherefore will i move on to and which new space will i leave behind. i know not. i guess i will always remain in transit until the day i decide to settle down.

Had I the Heavens' embroidered cloths,

en wrought with golden and silver light,

the blue and the dim and the dark cloths

of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet;

but I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet,

thread softly because you tread on my dreams.

-W.B.Yeats

kiss the rain

whenever you need me

kiss the rain

whenever i'm gone, too long.

if your lips

feel lonely and thirsty

kiss the rain

and wait for the dawn

keep in mind

we're under the same sky

and the nights

as empty for me, as for you

if ya feel

you can't wait till mornin'

kiss the rain

- tracy chapman

i suddenly know somethings wrong... i cant look at the mirror. i don't have the courage to face the consequences of my actions.. but its inevitable.. forgive me

self doubt will kill me... soon

they lay there deep in thought

the only sounds 

their breath and the morning breeze

thinking of everything

the fights the joys the new toys and the childhood plays

he extended his fingers

she felt the slight touch on hers

they were connected 

across parallel universes

suspended in time 

separated in space

they walk away

without a backward glance

somehow they don't feel the need to turn

the distance is sheer nothingness

its been almost two months since my fall at the arts reverie... the movie's shot, the edit is midway, i am a year older, another short film is on its way.. and i feel myself falling again.