Step One

This is intended to be a blog of writing. I find myself embarrassed to begin blogging again after such a stretch offline, particularly my own writing, but here I am anyway. I'm doing this because Rahul Rai - poet, philosopher and lighting designer extraordinaire - thinks it's a good idea, and I guess I do too. I'm terrified this entire thing will become sickeningly pretentious, but since I spend most of my time playing with pretense, why deny my own impulses? And anyway, I prefer 'aspirational' (not 'pretentious').

So, sufficiently bolstered, here I go.

As I type this out, Mallika Taneja and Tarun Sharma are rehearsing "Milte Hain" from Taramandal, Kriti Pant is flat on the floor on her stomach next to me and dead to the world, Neel Chaudhuri is sitting behind me with the fan off (to help with his hearing) and making notes, and Rahul Rai is caressing his mustache bristles and chuckling to himself. We've had a working morning, and as August approaches, Taramandal is breathing again. Tadpole is at work, and I sense the slow but powerful beginnings of a good feeling stealing over us.

Now, Neel Chaudhuri is playing 'Aaj Ki Raat' and Rahul Rai is dancing. This is home.