Yes, hypocrisy is the matter to agitate but, the problem lies in ‘I’. This ‘I’ is obligatory the hub of your life, all your possessions revolves around ‘I’.

One corner of your white painted heart always keep on suggesting some amendments for the mistake you made in past, always prevent you to deprive others of their right but, men being self centered thinks let it be, nothing succeeds like success, and all your aesthetic values got overshadowed by your money makes  the mare go philosophy. One might not be thinking to delude someone but it happens as your black painted heart completely believes in ‘I’.

And as life will change its pose, you will be at the other end of prosperity and from top to bottom you will be surrounded by grievances.

The folk whom you tricked earlier will come and pay you a hearty felicitation for all your vengeance so, stop being Lucifer of your life and avoid sticky wickets. Don’t let your all hopes end in a smoke.

One who live for others need not to bother for themselves.

An open-ended journey

It is 2.25 am. I was supposed to leave for home five hours back. But these three hooligans imprisoned me in the hostel. Unless we put up a 45-minute play, we can not go to the festival in Pakistan. So, here we are – struggling to create a standard production with five nights, four days, three cigarettes, two writers and one good actor.
After quadrupling on a bike, we reach VKRV. Over paraanthas, we discuss the chains that restrict us. We have only one more person in our team, the only girl who had a passport ready. Hence, we have fewer options. We can not dream of big sets. No script in our knowledge can be performed by such a small team. A kind of frustration builds up. We start asking questions.

Who am I?

How free am I?

What am I looking for?

The search for a good script actually transforms into a more personal search. I close my eyes. Three friends in a room explore issues of identity, freedom and purpose. We are able to visualise the product in the process. I take the pen out of my pocket and get hold of a tissue paper. Our “baby” is born – ‘Kamra Khula Hai’.­