Part 3: The Stranger Who Stayed Behind

By the time the rain slowed down and the storm began to pass, one of the friends said he wanted to sleep and the other agreed and they both got ready to rest. They asked me to join but I said no it is okay I can manage outside and that they should sleep inside the tent. I thought I would be left alone with the dark and the river for company, but instead she stayed back. The stranger who had helped me move my soaked world to safety was now refusing to go.

I assumed she would go too, but she looked at me and said, "If you are not sleeping then I am not sleeping either". There was no hesitation in her voice. It was not a question or an offer. It was a decision. She sat beside me, with a pack of cigarette and a warm smile, her voice carrying a calmness that felt warmer than any blanket could. I told her more than once that she could go inside, that it was getting colder, but she kept smiling and saying no. She wanted to stay.

And she did. Not for a few minutes. Not for a few hours. She stayed with me the entire night.

We did not need to break the ice. From the first moment it felt natural, as if we had known each other for a long time. The river flowed beside us, the earth held the scent of rain, but none of it felt like a background we needed. We just spoke. It felt like I was not meeting someone new, but remembering someone I already knew.

She pulled out a cigarette. The wind was playful, it kept putting out the lighter’s flame. She tried again and again and each time the wind blew it out. We laughed every single time and it became a kind of rhythm. She kept on striking the lighter and the wind blowed it out. She began cursing the wind, but always with a grin. It became our inside joke, one that did not need words to be funny.

We spoke about Instagram captions. I teased her for how seriously she had worded her long captions. She laughed and fired back by pulling up mine. We laughed over that too, and it struck me how even something as small as captions could feel like sharing a piece of ourselves. But behind all that jokes was the comfort of being seen without having to explain anything.

What struck me most was how she never made me feel younger. Not once did she speak down to me or remind me of the age difference. Instead she listened with full attention as if everything I said mattered. And I found myself listening too, not out of politeness but because I genuinely wanted to know who she was. Her stories and her thoughts and the little things that made her laugh all felt important.

We changed positions throughout the night. Sometimes we sat on the bench. Sometimes we leaned against the poles of the shed. Once or twice we stood by the river saying nothing just watching the water move. It felt like we were walking slowly through each other’s minds discovering little things.

Then sometime between one moment and the next the sky began to shift. A faint blue crept over the horizon. The outlines of the river and hills became visible. And we both realised that we had spoken through the entire night. The storm had passed. The world had changed again. We were still sitting there. Still talking. Still not done.

When she finally said she might nap for a while she leaned on the bench. But I knew she would not sleep. Her eyes kept opening her smile never faded and she kept looking at me. It felt like we were in some strange dream. As if time had stopped. As if neither of us wanted to blink and miss it.

That night was not about the events or unforgettable stories. It was about a stranger who stayed. A stranger who chose not to sleep not to leave not to make the easy choice. A stranger who turned into something more, someone who reminded me that sometimes the most beautiful moments happen when you least expect them.

I have always valued in person conversations. In a world filled with stories shared through screens and feelings put into captions, that night showed me why I love real conversations. You see someone. You hear them. You laugh without hesitations. You read their silence. You notice how their eyes light up before a story begins, how laughter sometimes comes before the joke is finished. No message typed online can replicate this feeling. That night was proof that some conversations are meant to be felt, not just read.

The sun rose like it always does but that morning it felt slower and softer as if even time itself did not want to interrupt what had begun beneath the stars.

To Be Continued...

Part 2: Facing the Storm

After a well spent day I returned to the tent. The same two people I had seen earlier were sitting beside it and greeted me with a smile as I came back from dinner. There was something pleasant about that night. Maybe it was the breeze across the river or the company. I did not feel ready to end the day. I sat down at the entrance of my tent with legs stretched outside and opened a pack of bourbon. Not the drink but the biscuit, and somehow that small irony felt like a private joke.

Soon we began talking. The three of us shared fragments of our stories like how we had landed up here, where we were headed next and what we left behind back home. The conversations were light. As the hours crept by the other boys nearby returned to their tents and zipped themselves in for the night. But I stayed where I was. 

At some point someone suggested a walk. So the three of us got up grabbed the mobile torch and stepped onto the suspension bridge. It was already past 10.30pm and the wind was brushing past our faces. The bridge swayed gently with every gust. The river thundered beneath the bridge, a force that could be heard clearly but never fully seen. We stopped midway and looked around. The view from the top was Mesmerizing. Could see the entire Shnongpdeng with lights.

Eventually we turned back towards the tent and stayed outside reluctant to let go of the night. And just like that the sky opened with a few rain drops that told us what was coming. We exchanged quick goodbyes and rushed into our tents. I zipped the flap closed and tried to convince myself it would pass. Someone had told me once that in Meghalaya the rain does not knock politely. It simply arrives and takes over everything.

I lay back scrolling through messages, posting stories as the weather turned fierce outside. The walls of the tent started to tremble. I sat up unsure whether this was just a passing thing or something worse. The downpour turned fierce within minutes. Water started to seep through the corners and collect in shallow pools inside the tent. The sides of the tent flapped so hard I thought they might rip. I tried to weigh them down with my bag, boots and my own body but nothing held. Every gust lifted the thin walls off the ground. For the first time in the trip I felt genuine fear.

Outside I could hear chaos, Shouts, Footsteps of People running. l imagined people evacuating, grabbing their belongings, abandoning the riverbank. I held on to the corners of the tent and tried to stay calm, but the water was creeping in fast. My clothes were soaked. My things were wet. There was no space left untouched by water. I sent a few messages to friends letting them know where I was and added simply that I was not sure if I would make it through the night.

After what felt like an hour the wind began to ease. The rain softened and I unzipped the flap and looked outside. The place looked like a battlefield. Some tents had collapsed and the others were blown several feet away. I stepped out and called to the people in the next tents. Are you alright, are you alive, in a funny note. They called back with a laugh and said yes, they were fine. I told them I was too. Even if everything I owned was drenched, it somehow felt like an achievement to be able to be there and say it.

I went back inside and sat for a moment, thinking maybe I could still stay. But the floor was soaked and it was freezing cold. What followed after that is a different part of the night.

To be continued...

Part 1: Finding Peace in Shnongpdeng

 

April 5 2025

It was the first day of my trip to Meghalaya and everything felt like it was going just right. The day began on a peaceful note with visits to a few waterfalls. My initial plan was to stay in Dawki for the night but a few conversations with locals gently nudged me towards a quieter alternative. A place called Shnongpdeng. They said it had stays right on the river and water activities like kayaking and cliff jumping and most importantly it was less crowded and largely underrated which only made me more curious and excited.

I reached Shnongpdeng around five or five thirty in the evening and at the checkpost I managed to get a few contact numbers of people who helped with stays. One quick call and I had a tent waiting for me near the river. The person on the call sounded genuinely excited to host me and once he heard I had come all the way from Kanyakumari he seemed even more thrilled. He said the stay would cost a thousand rupees for the night and I agreed without a second thought.

From the parking spot on top of the river I had to walk down a narrow path to reach the tents. I hesitated for a moment thinking about the safety of my bike but the people there assured me they would be around and that my vehicle would be safe. I trusted their confidence and walked down with them as they showed me the tents. We were halfway across other tents when a group of boys called out to us asking if we remembered them. I paused and realised they were the same group I had met earlier that day at one of the waterfalls. They insisted that the tent guy place me next to theirs so they could keep me company. That gesture felt oddly comforting in a new land.

I settled down and after a while they shared some bread they had brought along and we sat chatting for a while. They were students on a break exploring the region during their vacation. It is always fascinating when strangers choose to be kind. Took a walk and sat next to a dog for a while lost in the sound and the beauty of the place, and then returned to my tent where the boys invited me to join them for dinner. I said yes.

Before heading out I needed to charge my phone and send a message back home just to let them know I was safe. I found a power outlet next to the tent on my right and I saw a man and a woman sitting there. I assumed they were a couple and politely asked the woman if I could plug in my phone. She smiled and said yes. I placed my phone to charge and soon enough a conversation started between us and found out they were friends from Mumbai. I told them where I was from what I did and they shared a few things in return. Then I stepped out for a short walk by the river, to admire the alluring beauty or the river with setting sun. When I came back the phone had charged enough and it was now time to join the boys for dinner.

Before I left I asked the friends if they wanted to join us. They laughed and said they were going to open a beer and relax and asked if I would like to join. I smiled and said No, I had to ride the next day and politely declined. Then I walked off with the boys towards a small shack where food was being served. The meal was simple but fulfilling. A plate of rice some good chicken and a few more dishes that made the evening warm and homely. We ate and spoke and laughed for a while, and then I said goodbye as they planned to go up to the local market to explore a bit more. I decided to head back to my tent instead.

The river was glowing and the lights across the banks flickered as if the night itself was in no hurry to sleep, and I sat there for a while thinking the day had ended in the best way it could with new faces soft conversations and the comfort of water beside me. But just when I thought the day was over, the night turned and so did everything else.

To be continued...

From Salon to Sadness

There are heartbreaks and there are breakdowns, and then there is that moment when the barber confidently spins the chair around and reveals the mirror and suddenly the room feels colder and the soul feels older. No accidents no betrayals just a pair of scissors and a man’s ambition to freestyle on someone’s head like Picasso on a bad day.

It starts with confidence. Sit on the chair ask for something simple maybe just a cleanup or a slight change and suddenly the scissors move like they have a mind of their own. The mirror shows something midway but there is hope. Maybe it will shape up maybe it will settle. But no it only gets worse.

The worst part is the barber looks proud. He wipes the neck, hands the mirror like he just made a masterpiece. Meanwhile the only thing visible is regret. Not a word just a long stare and the realisation that going bald might have been a better option.

The walk back home becomes a hide and seek mission. Every glass door every parked car every side mirror feels like a personal bully. People look twice not because it looks good. The haircut belongs to no category. Not stylish not funny just lost.

Suddenly there is an urge to cancel every outing for the next twenty one days. Shampoo bottles get judged, caps become emotionally supportive and even pillows are approached carefully to not damage the remaining dignity.

This was not just a haircut this was a plot twist, the kind that turns a regular weekend into a three week hiding mission. Confidence left the chat entirely and the moral of the story never trust a man who says "bro same cut but better in my style" because that is how people ask for a cleanup and walk out looking like a social experiment.

One Year Of Spilling

 

It was not a challenge.
It was not a plan.
It started like most things do, with questions and a blank page.

August 1 2024. I had thoughts in my head that did not stay shut anymore. Some turned into sentences. Some became questions. And some just needed a corner to rest in. So I opened a space called it mine and began.

A year later I have written 181 times, about politics, rides, insights, cinema and poetry. Some blogs were sharp, some personal. Some days I wrote because I needed to, some because I could not resist. There were words that scratched, ideas that refused to be nice and memories that showed up. But I let them all stay.

Writing has not made me a better person.
But it has made me more honest.
More observant of people who speak with their eyes and those who hide behind words.
More open to contradictions, to uncomfortable truths, to the beauty of honest emotions.

I don’t know who reads these pieces.
Sometimes I don't even reread them myself.
But I know they hold parts of me I would not have met otherwise.

This is not a celebration post.
This is just a silent acknowledgment, to the page, to the process and to the person I have become because I kept showing up.

Madras Matinee Review

Some films do not arrive with grand promotions or heavy expectations but still manages to leave a strong and comforting aftertaste, and Madras Matinee directed by debutant Karthikeyan Mani is one such gem. Released in 2025 with a cast led by Kaali Venkat, Roshini, Sathyaraj, Shelly Kishore and others, the film has a natural charm from the very beginning and progresses like a page from the everyday lives of people around us. With music composed by Bala Sarangan, this film focuses on the subtle emotions and cultural textures that make Tamil middle class life so recognisable.

Speaking of performance, this film is beautifully acted with every character bringing something genuine to the table and no one ever feels out of place or added for the sake of filling space. The beauty lies in how real these people feel, like a family from next door or even fragments of our own. Kaali Venkat proves yet again why he is one of the most underrated actors in the industry, and in this film he takes his craft a notch higher by playing a role that demands restraint, variation, and depth. His ability to switch between humour and emotion without losing grip is something very few actors can achieve and his presence alone becomes the emotional backbone of the film. Roshini and Shelly Kishore also deliver heartfelt performances and together with the rest of the cast, they create a believable world where every character has purpose and meaning. Sathyaraj is the narrator and that decision works wonderfully as his tone adds maturity and credibility to the storytelling, guiding the audience with warmth.

The plot is simple yet strongly relatable, revolving around the everyday ups and downs of middle class life which includes dreams, debts, disappointments and little victories. There is no attempt to create drama and that makes the film feel all the more real and grounded. Though the film does touch upon serious themes, it never becomes tiring because it is handled through subtle humour and natural dialogue. The emotional highs and lows do not feel scripted, instead they resemble moments we have all witnessed at some point in our lives either within our homes or around us. The director does not try to manipulate the audience’s emotions but simply presents life as it is, and that honesty makes the plot close to the heart.

Music plays an impactful role in this film. Bala Sarangan’s background score is effective in both emotional and light-hearted scenes and helps elevate key moments. The songs and the instrumental score blend smoothly with the visuals and emotions without distracting the viewer from the story. Alongside the music, the cinematography and screenplay work hand in hand to keep the film moving at a steady pace. Most of the locations are real and that choice adds to the authenticity of the film. From costumes to set design, everything is done with care and a sense of realism. The camera work is soft and pleasant, making the film feel light even when it touches on difficult themes. 

Madras Matinee stands apart from many so called middle class dramas that often exaggerate pain or melodrama. This film chooses to stay subtle. It presents a series of social observations including caste, colourism, debt cycles and cultural divisions but never in the form of lectures. Instead these issues are embedded within the narrative and emerge naturally through the character's lives and interactions. The director’s choice to use narration and keep the tone consistent was a smart one and adds to the strength of the storytelling. The film also makes space for nostalgia in its purest form with references that evoke memories of growing up, from "thenga barfi to maanja kaathadi".

Madras Matinee is one of the most heartfelt films in recent times and manages to leave a deep impact. It never tries to convince or impress but simply leans on the honesty of its story, the depth of its characters, and the warmth in its tone. Watching this film feels like sitting by the window on a rainy afternoon with a cup of tea in hand.

Rating: 9/10⭐️