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 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.

 

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.