THE ACTOR'S EMPTY CANVAS

The actor's empty canvas........

VIJAY - the name everyone reveres in Bollywood. He wasn't just an actor par excellence but a star in his own right.  He was something else, a magic. A method actor, and a master at depicting varied emotions.  Switching and manipulating emotions was like a child's play for him. From making you laugh your head off in a comedy scene to making your heart ache in a sad one, the transition was seamless and effortless. The audience would just watch him in awe. He had an endless list of movies in which he had acted, each one a masterpiece, a testament to his intense acting.  Vijay's roots were very modest, and he came from a very ordinary family who had seen the lows of life. He had scaled the heights of the glitzy world purely because of his amazing talent and perseverance. No nepotism, no out of the turn favors. As it happens most of the time, with all that fame, a little bit of arrogance and overconfidence seeps in.  Probably it's a part of the package. 

Today, on the set, Vijay was giving a really intense scene, crying over his screen mom's death. His voice, heavy with emotions, resonated in the studio. His eyes showed a pain so real, so raw, it felt like he wasn't acting at all. The director, with tears streaming down his face, and the entire cast and crew, they were just lost in his performance. The whole studio was enveloped with sadness which was unreal, until the director, his voice choked, finally shouted, "CUT!"  Only then did everyone realize, "Oh, it's just a shoot." It took a while for everyone to recover. 

Vijay leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his face, already thinking about his next scene. He picked up his phone, and saw innumerable missed calls from his wife Jaya. He felt a bit annoyed, but then a strange sense of uneasiness came over him as he called her back. "Vijay," Jaya's  quivering voice, cut through the stillness and the quiet, "Maa guzar gayi hai, ghar aa jao jaldi se." The words just hung there, a cruel echo of the scene he'd just done moments ago.  Vijay was numb, empty, and strangely couldn't react, his mind suddenly a deafening blank. He asked for a pack up, the news felt like a heavy, invisible weight. He rushed home. 

 

The drive home was a blur of eerie silence, but so deafening - it matched the emptiness inside him. No tears, no frantic calls, just a cold numbness. As he walked into his house from the patio, the carvings on the pillars of his palatial house seemed to be frozen in silence. As he neared the majestic hall, he could faintly hear the sounds of people sobbing inside. The moment he reached his mother's bedroom, which was near the puja room, his family members, the house helps, all were in tears and the grim faces of his neighbors greeted him... On the bed, his mother lay still and peaceful. But Vijay, the master of emotions, was surprisingly bereft of any emotion.  It was like a part of him had been cut out, leaving behind an empty shell. The actor could not even emote or feel. 

What an irony - THE ACTOR COULD NOT ACT.

He looked around, everyone was in grief, but it was only him, who couldn't react. A cold fear crept into his heart. He couldn't understand why he wasn't feeling anything. Had his real emotions been taken over by his method acting? Had all those years of perfecting fake pain and joy, love and sorrow, stolen his ability to feel them for real? The question echoed in his mind, a scary thought that maybe, by impersonating every character over the years, he had stopped being himself. Like Shah Rukh Khan once said, "Hum ek baar jeete hain, ek baar marte hain, shaadi bhi ek baar hoti hai... aur pyar bhi ek hi baar hota hai." But for Vijay, it felt like his emotions had died many times over.

The pain of this realization was much deeper than any he had ever shown on screen. The iconic scene and dialogue from his mega blockbuster film DEEWAR  reverberated in his mind in a loop. "Aaj mere paas gaadi hain..Bangla hain property hain..bank balance hai, sab kuch hai, lekin aaj mere pass maa nahin hain ... that's the   bitter truth - the irony.

The applause, the awards, the fan following – it all felt empty in front of this crushing emotional void. The man who could make millions cry with just one emotion, one tear shed now stood before the biggest tragedy of his life completely, terrified, dry-eyed. He remembered another dialogue, "Rishte mein toh hum tumhare baap lagte hain, naam hai Shahenshah!" But here, in his own life's tragedy, he felt like a nobody.... an empty canvas.

Credits:

1. My friend Chetan Shah for sharing the concept of the story.

2. Internet: {Method acting is a technique or type of acting in which an actor aspires to encourage sincere and emotionally expressive performances by fully inhabiting the role of the character. It is an emotion-oriented technique instead of classical acting that is primarily action-based. - Source www.studibinder.com} 

THE ILLUSION OF "I"

 

The Illusion of "I"........

Advait, scrolling through his phone, suddenly let out a frustrated sigh. Aditi, who was sitting relaxed in the living room, looked up. "What happened?" she asked, concerned. "This guy on social media," Advait grumbled, showing her the screen. "He's saying that vada pav is overrated and pav bhaji is the real king of Mumbai street food. Can you believe it?" Aditi chuckled. "Well, everyone has their own preferences, Advait." But Advait was already worked up. "It's not just a preference, Aditi! It's like he's attacking our city's identity! Vada pav is a classic, it's iconic. How can he even compare it to pav bhaji?" His voice had risen, a touch of defensiveness creeping in.

Aditi gently closed the book she was reading and said, "Advait, he's just sharing his opinion about food. It doesn't diminish your love for vada pav, does it? Or the fact that so many people in Mumbai enjoy it?" Advait frowned. "But it's just... wrong!" he insisted. Aditi smiled softly. "See, that's your ego talking. You're taking his comment personally, as if he's criticizing you for liking vada pav. But he's not. He just has a different taste. Your ego confuses opinions with facts, and then it feels the need to defend itself, even when there's nothing to defend."

Later that day, they were stuck in typical Bombay traffic. A car abruptly cut in front of them, nearly causing a fender bender. Advait instinctively honked loudly, slammed his hand on the dashboard, and muttered angrily, "What an idiot! Don't these people know how to drive? This is why traffic is so bad!" Aditi calmly said, "Maybe they're in a hurry, Advait. Let it go." Advait retorted, "Why should I? They can't just drive like that! It's so inconsiderate and dangerous." Aditi sighed. "Again, you're focusing on your reaction – your anger and frustration – instead of just acknowledging what happened. The car cut in front of us; that's the fact. Your anger is your response to it. Your ego cannot tell the difference between the event and its reaction to that event. It takes everything personally, as if that driver intentionally set out to annoy you."

The next morning, Advait was reading the newspaper over his chai. Suddenly, he slammed it down. "Can you believe this?" he exclaimed, pointing to a headline about a local politician involved in a corruption scandal. "Another one! These idiots are ruining our country, our city! They have no shame, no morals! It makes my blood boil!" He was visibly agitated, shaking his head in disgust, feeling a deep sense of betrayal and anger, as if the politician had personally wronged him. Aditi, seeing his distress, gently put her hand on his arm. "It's certainly frustrating, Advait, and corruption is a serious issue. But notice how you're reacting. The news is a fact – the politician is accused of corruption. Your intense anger and feeling of personal violation, that's your ego's interpretation. It's taking the abstract idea of 'our country' and 'our values' and making it a personal attack on you. The truth of the situation, the facts of the corruption, don't need your anger to be true. Your anger is just your own emotional response."

Advait finally started to see her point. Whether it was a trivial comment about food, a rude driver, or frustrating news about corrupt politicians, his immediate response was often fueled by a sense of personal offence. He was so caught up in his own viewpoint, infused with a sense of "I," that he couldn't see the situation objectively. His ego was a master of selective perception and distorted interpretation, always ready to jump to the conclusion that something was directed at him or was fundamentally "wrong" if it didn't align with his internal narrative. 

Aditi's gentle reminders helped him realize that most of the time, these external events weren't personal attacks, but simply things happening. His awareness, not his overthinking, began to create a crucial space between the event and his emotional response. He learned to observe: "There is the situation, and here is the anger I feel about it." This simple act of observation allowed him to see that there were other ways of approaching situations, other ways of seeing them and dealing with them, leading to a calmer, more rational perspective. Slowly Advait was trying to come out of THE ILLUSION OF "I"..........

THE BOMBAY LOCAL LOVE STORY

 

The Bombay Local Love Story........

 

Every morning on the busy Bombay local, something quietly magical was happening.

Advait, a shy South Bombay guy, always had his nose buried in a book or a newspaper, even with people squished around him. Aditi, full of life and chatty, was from the suburbs and studying engineering. Their paths crossed every day—usually at Dadar station. He always managed a window seat. She often stood in front of him, holding the bar overhead. It wasn’t love at first sight. Not in that sweaty, noisy train. But something soft started growing.

First, they’d steal glances. Then came a smile over a funny headline in his newspaper. On a rainy day, the train stopped suddenly between stations, and the lights went out. In the dark, Advait gestured and offered Aditi his seat and a piece of "thepla" (a type of Indian bread) which his mom had packed. She laughed and took a bite. That tiny moment broke the ice—and made the whole train compartment warm up to them, too.

Soon, their commute became the best part of their day. They talked about everything—college stress, silly Bollywood news, and who sold the best vada pav. Advait, usually quiet, started opening up thanks to Aditi’s cheerful nature. And Aditi, who once thought South Bombay boys were snobby, found Advait sweet and surprisingly funny.

Their chats didn’t stop with the train ride. They’d walk together till the exit, not wanting to say goodbye. Their friends teased them, calling them "train wale lovebirds." Eventually, their dates moved beyond the local train—Marine Drive sunsets, roadside chai, wandering through Colaba lanes. But the train always felt special, like their personal Cupid.

Of course, they had their share of little fights—missed calls, late trains, small misunderstandings. But just like the rhythm of the local, they always found their way back to each other. Through the madness of city life, they found comfort in each other's company.

And now, years later, they’re settled and have a family of their own. But whenever they hear the sound of a local train, it brings a smile. It takes them back to stolen glances, shared theplas, and a quiet love that grew in the heart of Bombay’s chaos.

Their story isn’t flashy. It’s soft, simple—and full of heart. Just like Bombay itself.

 

AAJKAL PAPER PE KAUN LIKHTA HAI

Aajkal paper pe kaun likhta hai.......

"Aajkal paper pe kaun likhta hai?" Anirudh chuckled, watching his father, Advait, carefully jotting down notes in a small, worn notebook. Advait looked up, "Kyaa Papa", a faint smile on his face. "Beta, some habits die hard. And honestly, there's something about paper that digital just can't replace." Anirudh leaned back in his chair, scrolling through his tablet. "But Dad, it's so much faster on a laptop or phone. You can type a whole page in the time it takes you to write a few lines. Plus, it's all saved, searchable, and you don't have to worry about losing a physical notebook."

Anirudh continued, "Think about it, Dad. If I need to find something I wrote last year, a quick search on my computer pulls it up in seconds. No flipping through old diaries. And for work, sharing documents, collaborating with colleagues – it's all instant. Imagine trying to send a handwritten report across the world! Digital is just more efficient, more practical for today's world." He gestured towards his tablet, as if showcasing a marvel.

Advait gently closed his notebook. "Efficiency, yes, I agree. But practicality isn't just about speed, Anirudh. When I write on paper, my thoughts flow differently. It's like my hand connects directly to my brain. There are no notifications popping up, no emails to distract me. Just me, the pen, and the paper. It helps me think clearer, remember better. Even when I make a grocery list on paper, I actually remember what I need, even if I leave the list at home. It's a different kind of engagement."

"And the feel of it," Advait added, running his fingers over the cover of his notebook. "The texture of the paper, the slight resistance of the pen, the smell of fresh ink... it's a sensory experience. It feels more permanent, more real. A handwritten letter feels so much more personal than an email, doesn't it? It shows effort, care. Digital is convenient, yes, but sometimes, convenience comes at the cost of connection, of depth."

"Come beta, I will show you something", saying this Advait walked towards his book rack. Pulling out a few old notebooks he handed them to Anirudh, he turned a few pages and the scent of old paper hit his nostrils. There was something unique about it, much different than the smell of plastic and metal of his tablet. There were letters scribbled on the pages in ink and the hues of blue, black and red were just amazing. The difference in the color of the ink was a sight to see. The not so uniform curves of the letters were so beautiful and eye catching. Anirudh was reminded about his school days, where he used to write in his notebooks. Anirudh's fingers were caressing the wrinkles on the pages and his fingers were sensing the fine fibers of the paper. 

 

Anirudh paused, looking at his father's thoughtful expression. "I guess I never thought about it that way, Dad. For me, it's always been about getting things done quickly. But you're right, there's a certain charm to the old ways. Maybe it's not about one being better than the other, but about what works best for different moments. Still, I'll stick to my keyboard for most things. But I'll keep your point about focus in mind. Maybe I'll try writing down my ideas on paper sometimes, just to see." Advait smiled, nodding. "Exactly. Sometimes, the old ways offer something new."

BEYOND THE TICKING CLOCK

Beyond the Ticking Clock 

On a relaxed Saturday I was reading an article on the life of Albert Einstein outlining his life and anecdotes.

One of the lines quoted by him triggered a story:

"When you are courting a nice girl an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder a second seems like an hour. That's relativity." 

The lines are so relevant, relatable and an absolute fact even in the present day.

Advait, a 32 year old executive who's life ran on calendar invites, endless cups of tea, and the conviction that five minutes of silence meant something had gone terribly wrong.

Most of the days by 9:00 a.m., he would have already closed a few deals, replied to several emails, and postponed his breakfast—for weeks in a row. The only thing more immovable than Advait’s schedule was his belief that time, like resources, was always in short supply. His schedule was jam packed everyday and he planned his every minute, and had no room for surprises in his life. People used to say he was a machine, a genius, even a nightmare—but to him, that was just a normal. In spite of staying in a non metro city like Pune he was still such a stickler to his routine.

Every morning at 10:00, old Ajit would open his tiny watch shop "AJIT TIME PALACE" in the heart of the city. At 75, his hands were still the steadiest in the town. People said he fixed watches the way a healer tends to wounds—with infinite patience.

On a rainy afternoon, Advait, with stress etched on his face, walked into Ajit's shop. 

Dropping his expensive watch on the counter, “I need this to be fixed urgently. It is losing two minutes in a week and I have important meetings everyday. Can you have it ready by tomorrow?”

Ajit looked at Advait first, then at the watch. “Watches are like people,” he said quietly. “When you rush them too much, something inside starts to go wrong.”

Advait glanced impatiently at his phone. “I just need it to work perfectly.”

“It’ll take three days,” Ajit replied.

“Impossible! I will pay double if you have it ready by tomorrow.”

Ajit shook his head in a NO and put the watch in a drawer.

“Come back in three days. In the meantime, take this.”

He handed Advait an old brass pocket watch. Advait took it reluctantly as he didn’t have a choice. Realising that every time he wanted to know the time he would have to pull it out of his pocket. What a waste of time he murmured.

Over the next few days, Advait noticed something odd. That old watch kept time differently, some hours seemed to last forever, others passed in a flash. During boring meetings, the hands barely moved. But when he had lunch with his little son, time flew.

On the third day, Advait returned—intrigued and a bit unsettled.

“This watch is broken. Time moves irregularly!”

Ajit smiled. “No, It’s not broken. It’s tuned to your soul, not to satellites. It measures time by how you live, not just by numbers.” Advait could not understand the old man's words.

He handed back Advait's repaired watch. “This one will lose time again if you keep losing your life.” Advait stared at both watches, confused…

“People check the time a hundred times a day, yet never seem to have any,” Ajit went on. “Perfect watches on empty wrists.” This was a profound thought.

“So what do you suggest?” Advait asked, genuinely interested now.

“Understand that there are two kinds of time: the time that passes, and the time you live. My father told me: a watch can count seconds, but only your heart can count moments.”

“How much do I owe you for the repair?”

“For the watch, five hundred Rupees. For the lesson about time… you pay by living differently.”

"Can I keep this watch for a few more days?" Advait sought permission.

Weeks later, Advait came back and returned the pocket watch to Ajit.

“Is something wrong? Did it break?” Ajit asked.

“No,” Advait smiled. “I want to buy it. I have quit my corporate job. I am opening my own business here, with hours that let me decide my schedule and pick up my son from the school.”

Ajit answered: “The most valuable watches aren’t sold. They’re passed down. Keep it. One day you shall realize the most important punctuality is being present when life needs you.”

That winter, Ajit passed away. In his will, he left the shop to Advait with a note:

“To the one who learned that fixing watches matters less than fixing lives.”

Today, if you visit that little shop, you will see a sign on the door:

“We don’t sell time. We remind you how to live it.”

Sometimes we need our watches to stop—so our hearts can start beating again and that's the life Beyond the Ticking Clock.......

LIFE'S BATTLES: YOUR CHOICES...

 

 

 Life's battles are your choices.....

Life hits hard, right? 

 

Every day, there's something: a small argument, a tough task at work, money worries, or just those nagging doubts. These aren't exceptions; they're just part of being alive. Nobody gets a free pass. The real difference isn't avoiding these struggles; it's how you choose to deal with them.

The choice is yours: Dwell or Conquer.

 

You can spend your time obsessing over problems, letting them drag you down into sadness, defeat, and overwhelm. This path might seem natural when things get tough, but it often leads to constant unhappiness, feeling stuck, and a general decline in your well-being.

Or, you can choose a different path. Accept the fact that challenges will come. Then, commit to learning how to handle them effectively. This isn't about giving up; it's about taking control of your inner peace.

Let's look at it objectively:

 

Losing a Job: Imagine someone suddenly loses their job. One person might just replay the whole thing in their head, feel like a total failure, and become miserable. They might stop looking for work, stuck in a loop of negative thoughts. Another person, facing the exact same loss, might see it as a tough change, but then quickly think: "What can I learn from this? What new skills do I need? Maybe a different career path?" By actively searching for new opportunities, they can find a surprising sense of peace, turning an ending into a new beginning.

 

The "Win" That Isn't:

 

Society often tells us "winning" means always coming out on top, having the last word, or a public victory everyone applauds. But that idea of winning can be misleading. A public "win" might not bring you true success or happiness. True victory is often quieter, more personal, and invisible to others. It's about your inner state and long-term well-being, not just a quick moment of glory.

Rethink Conflict and Success.

 

Friends Arguing: Two friends are in a heated fight. One friend might aggressively argue their point, demand to be right, and "win" the argument in front of others. But if that destroys the friendship, leaving hurt feelings and anger, was it really a win? The other friend might choose to step back, let go of needing to be right, and prioritize keeping the friendship and maintaining peace. Even if they appear to "lose" the argument, they've achieved a far greater victory for their peace and the value of their connection.

 

Career Burnout: Someone works non-stop, sacrificing sleep, hobbies, and health, all to "win" a big promotion. They might get it, but at a huge cost to their mind, body, and relationships. What if they chose a less demanding role that offered more balance? Or prioritized time with family? Others might see that as "giving up." But for that person, it's a profound and real win for their happiness, health, and overall quality of life. They're aligning with what truly matters to them.

Courage to Choose Peace.

 

It takes real guts and self-awareness to ignore what the world defines as "winning." It takes inner strength to consistently choose inner peace and personal well-being over constant struggle, competition, or needing public approval. This means being honest with yourself about what truly brings you lasting contentment, not just chasing every visible trophy or external expectation of success.

Your Life, Your Power.

 

Life's battles are unavoidable, but your reaction to them is always your powerful, personal choice. It's firmly within your control. By accepting challenges and understanding that sometimes the smartest move is to simply step back, you empower yourself. This allows you to navigate life's complexities with more peace, genuine contentment, and a deep sense of true victory.

Life's battles are your choice. What will you choose today?

CLOSE THE WINDOW THAT HURTS YOU, NO MATTER HOW BEAUTIFUL THE VIEW IS.........

 

CLOSE THE WINDOW THAT HURTS YOU, NO MATTER HOW BEAUTIFUL THE VIEW IS......... 

Manali, my all-time favorite winter destination. Snow-clad mountains, the crisp air, the gurgling waters, the greenery shrouded under the blanket of snow. Nothing can match these vibes - at least for me. I stood by the window of the room in which I was nestled, appreciating the beauty of mother nature. I pushed open the window to inch closer to the beauty. Swoosh, the blast of cold air hit me in the face. It was a divine experience at that moment. Two contrasting sensations - the warm air inside the room and the chilled air outside the window. Me standing at the interface of the warm and the cold. After a few minutes of bliss the cold air started biting into my skin, the numbing sensation reaching to the rest of my body.  Hurriedly I shut the window to escape the bliss and ran towards the bed to snug inside the blanket. What a relief it was after the chilled attack. 

Isn't Life similar, too? It often presents us with situations that can be incredibly beautiful on the surface, yet deeply damaging beneath. We might find ourselves clinging to something – a relationship, a job, a dream – that, despite its initial allure, is slowly chipping away at our well-being. It's like standing before a window with a breathtaking view: a panoramic sunset, a bustling city, a serene landscape. We marvel at its beauty, perhaps even find comfort in its presence, but what if that very window is letting in a chilling draft that makes us shiver, or sharp shards of glass that cut us? It's a reminder that our peace and health are paramount, even if it means letting go of something visually appealing or seemingly desirable.

Consider the person trapped in a toxic relationship. From the outside, it might appear idyllic: they go on wonderful trips, share laughter, and present a united front. Their social media is filled with picture-perfect moments, a view so captivating it draws admiration and perhaps envy from others. But behind closed doors, there’s constant criticism, emotional manipulation, or a pervasive feeling of being unheard and undervalued. The "beautiful view" of togetherness and shared experiences masks a deep wound. They cling to the idea of what the relationship could be, or the memories of its initial charm, all while the steady drip of negativity erodes their self-worth. Closing this window means acknowledging the pain, no matter how much the 'view' of a perfect couple is admired by others.

Or think about the pursuit of a dream that has become a nightmare. 

The act of closing such a window is rarely easy. It demands immense courage and a profound commitment to self-love. It means facing the fear of the unknown, the pain of letting go, and the potential judgment of others who only see the "beautiful view" you're abandoning. There will be moments of doubt, of yearning for what was, or what seemed to be. But with each passing day away from the source of pain, a new kind of peace begins to emerge. The chill subsides, the cuts begin to heal, and the air becomes clearer, allowing for a deeper, more genuine breath.

Ultimately, "Close the window that hurts you, no matter how beautiful the view is" is a call to prioritize our inner well-being above all else. It's a recognition that true beauty and true happiness can only flourish in an environment of safety and respect, not in one that, however superficially appealing, leaves us broken and diminished. It's about choosing ourselves, choosing our healing, and opening ourselves to new, healthier views that nourish our souls rather than draining them.

CLOSE THE WINDOW THAT HURTS YOU, NO MATTER HOW BEAUTIFUL THE VIEW IS.........

WITH LOVE

 

WITH LOVE 

 

WITH LOVE

The night wrapped around me—heavy, silent, unrelenting—just like my eyelids. I couldn’t fight them anymore. And then came the tears: hot, helpless, endless. They spilled for you, my love. I wept, remembering you, remembering the winters we spent so warm and safe in each other’s arms.

I had promised myself I wouldn’t let this break me. I truly believed I could stay strong. But how could I not fall apart when you left me with so much? So many pieces of you, scattered across my life—memories that still scream your name in every quiet corner.

How do I bury something that was never just a part of my past, but my entire idea of a future?

How could you walk away from us? How could you go searching for love again, as if what we had meant nothing? Did you ever stop to think about the thousands of hours, the quiet glances, the laughter, the tears—the life we built together—before you decided to walk away? Was I so easy to forget?

It feels impossible, almost inhuman, to be someone’s everything one day and mean nothing the next.

No matter how hard I try to move on, no matter who stands in front of me—even if they’re everything I ever thought I wanted—I can’t. I’ve tried, really, truly tried. But every time I close my eyes, I see only you. I hear only your voice. I feel only your touch.

It’s a mystery to me—how you could turn away and never look back. Because even after all the pain, after every hurt, I was still there. Still yours. Still believing. Still loving you with everything I had.

And now? Now I feel completely lost.

With love, Me.