I am drawn to the mountains,
To the riverside, to watch it flow,
To the meandering forest paths,
I am drawn to the open grasslands, and the shade of its solitary tree.
I am drawn to crowded city beaches, to watch the sun set, To its unknown lanes, lit warm by street light,
To the changing landscapes beyond a train window,
I am drawn to your story.
This is the story of a man. The pantone shade of 58-5 C is the closest to his skin colour.
The world for him is a cinema and he its observer, an audience of one. He spends his time watching this cinema – its empty frames, it’s crowded streets, the street violinist, its actors, its sunsets, its everyday triumphs and losses. It teaches him empathy. It gives him happiness, love, anguish, sadness.
An air of solitude hangs loosely over him. Through his life watching this cinema, he has come to believe that besides humans, places and other inanimate objects too, have a personality. He is most drawn to those, which like him have this intangible feeling of oneness. And hence in this cinema, he sometime partakes – in these places and situations, with these objects and people, and in doing so they collectively share a feeling of completeness.
In this completeness lies his being. Not elsewhere. He said let us not use names.
