In the last 30 years, I have lived many lives. I have been juggling roles. Each of these roles has remained clipped to my skin. At times, I think, I look like a suitcase which has so many stickers from various cities and countries pasted on it that its own colour is lost. So many stories I carry within. I keep traveling from one place to another. My thirst to see newer places is insatiable and so is my hunger to see new faces, each face filled with innumerable stories… each face a history book. My home is the cloister I crouch into waiting or anticipating a new journey. Or perhaps, my home is in a train, a bus, a car that takes me from one place to another. My home keeps changing. Perhaps I don’t have a home. I am a fakir.
I hope to share some of my stories here. Most of the time, I would be rambling about things that may be there or may not be. What is and what is not, who are we to decide? After a long time, I have decided to start speaking to myself again. You may join the conversation.