It is strange to get back to words. It seems as though I have trouble weaving them together. I have realized how much I miss words. The real world has seemed to ensnare me. It is ridiculous to say that it is the real world. Because it is not. Realer than this, I had thought. Now, however, it seems that this is a better world. I am still not sure if it is real or not. Whether or not it is real, it is somewhere I truly belong. It is as though I am coming home after a long time. The question is the problem- how long am I going to stay here? What is going to be my identity?

It is night time here. In this real world. Trouble is- it is a theatre. An outdoor theatre. I could see the stars above me if I truly wanted. If I truly wanted to raise my head and look up. If only I had the guts to leave home now. Just to step out and come back. But I am afraid, perhaps, I won’t return. This world has been difficult, I must say. It has been long since I have sat in the darkness, a pillow on my lap, and putting words to life.

The Crystal lies on the top shelf of my cupboard, undisturbed. Unperturbed. The last two years of my life have disappeared the way sweat is absorbed by a handkerchief. The two years have been long. Painful. Busy. Enlightening. It worries me, though, just as it worries many others that in an attempt to reach this enlightenment, I forgot coming home. To touch base. At this point, a faint smile takes shape on my face, and I think I know why. Theories, philosophies and beliefs sound fabulous; acting has always been my weakness. The irony is unavoidable as I wait for the lights to shine on my face and begin.

A lot has changed and some things are overwhelmingly the same. Lonely among millions, for example. I think it is something I choose, actually, as opposed to the world being evil and doing this to me. Perhaps the reason why things, events and people have seemed strange is because the choice was taken away from me. Or to be fair, I never chose what was best for me. This has been troublesome.

Amidst the syncopated disharmony of Bharatnatyam dancers, actors, directors, 70s music and the silence of the starry night, I lay on this sleeping bag now, a pillow resting below my head and my eyes fixed on the screen that lights up my face. There is no one comfortable position among the millions. The skin to skin interaction does not affect me as I lie away from the costume-ated artists.

Old memories strike back as the stars gaze at me. Songs remind me of nostalgia, something I had not forgotten, but chosen to ignore for a long time. On this hill, with the occasional power cuts, the ‘unable to connect to wireless network’ internet, I feel a part of my own world. I remember, at an interview, I had boldly declared that my favourite word was solitude. Some things don’t change after all.