My Story

I'm in the train from Kasargod to Kochi now. I've decided to create a nothing box in my head, like the one guys seem to possess (or so says Mark Gungor), and let that roll. Its just been minutes after the decision and I just realized how fucked up my life is.

My seat faces the opposite coach and I can see coaches through coaches. They lay stretched like a vista, unsure of where the end is, throwing my life back at me. I've never felt this strong an urge to pen my story like I do now. Write about things I've always been afraid to share, of the many unwilling allegiances to tradition that have always maimed me and about doubts that constantly accompany me in sobriety and in sleep. So here I am, staring at the metal bars and chains and chords, wondering if my life would make sense to you, wondering if what I'm about to write will spark trouble, wondering if I can write on being honest to my crude feelings, wondering if I can satisfy the readiness of my pen to vomit ugly truths and beautiful imperfections. I'm here now, ready to tell you everything.

Will you listen to my story?