An analogy to explain meditation...

So I was talking to a friend, Aadya Shah a while ago and thought of this analogy to digging into ones mind...

After further thought it made sense to apply the analogy to meditating. Thought it needs more work, I think this second draft is good enough to put up:

Think of the world as having two parts. A hall (like a banquet hall) and the rest of the world.

The Hall is the only building on the block. On all four sides of the hall are roads.

Say you're sitting on a bench outside the hall. On the opposite side of it.

The hall here, is your mind. And everything outside is the world you perceive with your external physical senses.

So you're outside the hall, sitting on that bench and one day you decide to enter it. Say, one day, you decide to meditate.

Now, the first thing you must do, is cross the road and enter. You must first shut down all exterior sensory inputs. Close your eyes, close your ears, etc. You must not allow the goings on of the world outside the hall to draw you out of it.

So you enter this hall and the first thing you notice is a sea of people. So many of them! Each distinct! Some happy, some sad, some incredibly attractive and yet others that are downright repulsive. And they all want to talk to you. They want your time. They want your attention! These are your thoughts. The thoughts that keep running through your mind all day. Remove them. Ask all the people to leave. You'll realise how much more pleasant albeit slightly lonely it can be without them. You're here to check out the hall. Not it's contents.

Ok! Now all the people are out. It's just you and the hall. But is that really so? What about all the furniture? It isn't a part of the basic structure of the hall, is it? It must all go! The chairs and the tables, the counters and the cupboards and even the carpets. It must all go out. These are your fleeting goals and ideas and beliefs. They change with time and so are easier to remove. They only get into the way while you're trying to understand the true nature of this hall. But you must study them first. Understand their nature and why they've been kept there. What purpose does that sofa serve? You'll realize that most of them were quite a waste in the first place. Now be warned! You might find a cockroach or a snake or even a line of ants when you move this furniture. They are fleeting fears. Be not afraid, you are greater than them. This hall is greater than them. You must remove them too, before you can move forward. Lest they come bite you when you're working on studying the true nature of this hall! If you're too afraid, leave that sofa in place. Wait a while. Rest. And then try again.

The furniture's out? Great! So you're left with a bare room. Devoid of furnishings and light fixtures. Just four walls and a ceiling. Next step! Tear it all down!

Tear down those POP walls and enter the next layer of this hall. You are now beginning to understand the Hall's true nature. The plumbing, the electricals etc. These are your base beliefs. The kinds that tell you you exist. That you are human and so on. They must go. You might (hell, you probably will) find termites or asbestos in behind that false wall. These are your innermost demons. And they are, more often than not, as strong as your base beliefs. Tread carefully. Getting hurt is fine. But you do not want to destroy yourself. But anyway, there's a brick wall behind these and you must see it and examine it as well. After all, that is the true nature of the hall, isn't it?
The hall now looks starkly different since when you began. It can be a scary place. But do not worry. The fact that you have been given the ability to come this far and even venture deeper means that you are greater than them!

So dig on! And before you know it, all that shall be left will be them columns and beams. Concrete or brick, it matters not. You are now at the edge of the shell that is the hall. What now? You have understood every component that made up the hall. You have only one thing left. Go through the shell, just to check if there's anything beyond. And when you do, I promise you, you'll be back outside. Just where you started. Except now, things seem different. Your experiences inside the hall have shaped your perception of the world outside. You smile to yourself whenever you think of it and when someone asks you what happened you say nothing... Nothing at all...

Meditation does not equal detachment. The sense of detachment is a natural and necessary step towards reaching and understanding one's inner self. Meditation does not mean giving everything up as well. Dig enough and you'll realise, you're back outside. The world you perceive through your senses and the one that lies inside your mind are more connected than you can ever imagine. At least that's what happened when I entered my hall. When will you enter yours?

A Different School of Thought

It's been a long time since I've posted anything here. It's not that I haven't been writing, It's just that most of what I've written has been written elsewhere.

I've written log entry after log entry full of thoughts and ideas and philosophy.
I've written answer sheets full of badly scribbled handwriting.
I've written songs that, in all probability, will never get recorded or heard by anyone else...
I've written little notes full of love and texts full of motivational thoughts.

Yeah... I've been writing. Just not here. So I guess it's time to type out a little something for this platform. This other platform that no one really reads either...

It's been a rough couple of months. I've questioned why I'm doing what I'm doing and whether it will eer yield results. I guess it's easier to have faith when you believe in something. When, on questioning, an activity that you devote so much of your time to yields answers that are not just unsatisfactory, but leave you with a really bad feeling in your gut, it's hard to have faith.

But that's the thing with faith, I'm told. It's believing when there is absolutely no reason to believe.

I disagree. And I do so strongly.

The fact is, I believe in another school of thought. One that believes in questioning. I believe in asking questions. I believe in asking question after question after question till there are no more questions left. Anything that is presented to me, is questioned to death. If it holds up to questioning, I agree with it and believe in it. If it does not, I reject it for another time. For questioning is also time-specific. There are things I've believed in for years. It doesn't mean I've stopped questioning them. It means that they've held up to my questioning every single time.

Sometimes thigns don't hold up to questioning. So they're rethought. Re-explored and reexamined, they often lead me to greater truths. And I guess that's the thing. I love the truth. More importantly, I love Knowing the Truth.

Knowing gives me a strong strong sense of relief. Whether what I know is pleasant or downright horrifying. The fact that I know it gives me a strong sense of... Fulfillment.

So that's what I do. I question. I follow my own personal school of thought. And every now and then, I question whether questioning itself is of any use. And as always, the idea holds up to questioning.

I guess writing these hopelessly abstract and random ideas are better than having nothing here at all....

Why is it better? I think I'll get to that soon.

It's Important

I think it's Important...
To wake up really early once in a while just to see the sun rise. And to appreciate how it manages to do so every day. Guaranteed. You can go back to sleep right after.


To help a blind man cross the road every now and then. Not to restore his faith in humanity. But to restore your own.

To lose yourself in whimsy every now and then. So that you don't lose all them lovely colours to the monotony of day to day life.

To accept your mistakes. For that is the first step to never repeating them.

To accept yourself as well. Because you're born alone and you die alone. You better get used to the person you're with most of the time.

To put away your cell phones when you're at dinner or chilling on the beach. The world can wait. Your best friend getting bitten in the ass by a crab won't.

To slow down your car and let an old lady cross the road. 'Cause don't you just hate it when those douchebags run around speeding?

To put yourself out there and to let yourself get hurt. You might have a scar, but if you look at it right, you'll have a great story to tell.

To not forget and to not recall. Because the present plays a much bigger role in deciding the future than the past does.

And lastly I guess it's important to smile. 'Nough said.

How I Look At The World...

This is how I look at the world…

We fight of dragons with little wooden sticks. We climb mountains every now and then. Some are covered with snow. Some are covered with grass. Sometimes we ride around on little rams. Slow and sluggish but surefooted all the same. When we're in a hurry, we hop into the pouch of a kangaroo. Making our way through urban jungle, and over the lake and through the tall tall elephant grass. I see cars pass me by sometimes in slow motion. They disassemble, reassemble and then go along their way. Driven by little fish breathing out bubbles made of sulphur. 

Sometimes we go to the beach or to the circus. We pick sea shells off the sand and try not to get our shoes wet. But we give in to temptation. Our only saving grace, a pair of pants rolled up at the bottom, clinging to us thanks to belts made out of stones. Sometimes flowers. I like belts made out of flowers. 

I stare at myself in the mirror and see a person I haven't met in a while. We shake hands and talk over a cup of tea. Trees hang out in the distance. Breathing and swaying at the same time. Everything I sit on is made out of soft gooey soil. An elephant footprint marks where I rest my bones next. 

My fingers type away and race across paper. My eyes dart from side to side making sure there are no clowns around. I don't like clowns. I think they're horrible people with all that make-up and those oversized shoes. 

The sun sets and the sun rises and no matter how many times I talk about it I am amazed all the same. Whether I'm climbing a coconut tree or talking to sea weed in a yellow submarine, I feel the presence of a force that feels warn to touch, yet is cool when I breathe it in. 

Colours in the sky look like elves went painting again. The Ogre makes a new friend. A bunny rabbit trims his beard. A buddhist monk smiles at his new discovery as we all sway to the cosmic music playing in our heads.

Pretty girls walk by me and smile. Cigarette smoke rises into the purple sky and stings my eyes as I chalk out my next big plan at world domination.

Except the world isn't mine. It belongs to Timothy. Timothy's nice that way. He likes to share his old Beatles records. 

Ukuleles run across the starry night sky. Migrating to warmer climates. Double basses sit at home, worried sick about pretty much everything.

We feel itchy every time we hear about bugs and crawling pests but we forget they've all gone on vacation to Billimora, It's an off-beat place. You probably haven't heard of it.

I sleep when I'm tired and I wake up when I'm still sleepy. I smile at sheep crossing the road, talking about last night's episode of My Super Sweet Sixteen. 

I rub my chin and wonder and ponder about things that are to come. Will they every make those nuclear paperclips? Will I be a good dad? Where do pixies come from? Where can I get some pie?

I see false hope fairies walk around. They drag their feet and sing to the marble steps leading up to the clouds where little yellow men sings old Bollywood duets. 

Sometimes I blink into existence. And slow down time with my little finger. I eat as much as I can and then run away and hide when someone complements me about the kind of person I am. I'm Magenta Green sometimes. But I can't be sure. I don't have my glasses on today. 

Yet sometimes I sit and type on and on and on, staring at the keyboard only to look up and realize that all the letters have changed places. And that I'm typing in Mandarin Chinese.

But I like how I see things. It feels warm and gooey. Like love.

One of 'Those' Guys...

He's one of 'those' guys. The Token Odd Guy He's the novelty item in your class, in your batch, in your college, in your office. He's that slightly eccentric cousin that you would see twice or thrice a year. Always in his own grove. However you interacted with him, you either hated him for being that way or just felt like he didn't belong. Uncomfortable when he was around. He would be there. Smiling, laughing, doing his thing. He would be good at the things he did. A little arrogant at times. A little silly. You don't remember him being a great person. He made that good first impression. Everything after went down hill. He isn't likable. No. Not at all. But he has great entertainment value. And that counts for something. He is praised and he is allowed room to move about. He talks in riddles and says he swims through the space time continuum. Or something like that. It doesn't matter. You have your laugh with or at him. Sometimes he's helpful when you need him. But he's not a nice guy, you tell your friends. He's an asshole.

He has good friends though. More likable friends, if nothing else. You wonder how they put up with him. They joke about it as well. You wonder whether they're just jesting though. You're friends with his friends. Maybe you're in a relationship with one of them. You could never imagine being with him though. Never. You don't know why. Even if you're one of his friends. He's just not... Well you've never thought of him in that light. He's the Token Odd Guy. He must remain in his place.

And plus, he seems happy with himself. Too happy with himself. Content. How dare he? He is so full of himself! Loud and proud. Though you've never really talked to him, person to person. If he made a bad impression the first time, there's no question of really wondering how he actually is though, Is there? Because let's be honest. He isn't even there more often than not. Both physically and mentally. Why is he ever here anyway? He seems to have this glorious life around him anyway. Such a freak, you say to yourself when you've been thinking of him for too long.

But why are you thinking about him? He's nobody. He's one of those guys. The Token Odd Guy. He's not one of us. No matter what he says. No matter what people will have you believe. He can't be!

But what if he is? Maybe he's made of the same stuff has the rest of us. Maybe he's caught up in a shit storm for most of the day just like the rest of us. Maybe he isn't the Token Odd Guy. Maybe he's not one of 'those' guys. Maybe he could be your friend some day. Maybe he'd wrap his arms around you and tell you that everything's going to be alright. Maybe he'll high-five you when you succeed in whatever you set out to achieve. Walking by your side throughout the journey.

But then you hear a loud voice. A louder laugh. You turn around and there he is. Token Odd Guy. Such an Asshole.

In response to an article:

Here's the article:

http://blogs.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/extraordinaryissue/entry/why-i-love-mumbai

Here's the response:

And yet we manage to smile. We laugh and goof around within the (rather unjust) limits set around us. We bend the rules. We break the rules. We have fun. We march on grooving to the music that plays in our heads, maybe right towards our doom, but we march nevertheless.
What do you expect us to do anyway? The few of us that struggle to breathe are outcasts in this "Modern" India where "Chalta Hai" is our new national motto. We could vote. If we could get our Voter ID cards. I didn't. After applying twice I didn't. Say we had our voter ID cards. Say we went up to the poll booth on election day. Who would we vote for? picking between the two 'National' parties is just a matter of picking the lesser evil. Independent candidates rarely win (remember Meera Sanyal?) and getting into politics is something I'd never do. And no matter what my reasons are I'm sure I'll be pointed at and told that I'm a coward. A disloyal Indian, complaining but not acting.
But wait. I'm not. I'm not complaining. I do my bit, Where I can. When I can. I'm happy. For all I can do is keep myself happy in these dark times and hope for the best. Hope that someday, someone will lead us to the light.

Regards, Mehta.

Sunday Evening Sigur Ros

I've had an insanely awesome day and I'm tired and sleepy and mellow.
The city is shuffling along outside as the twilight gives way to the cool night.
My Mac is playing the new Sigur Ros album.
Life's good. Nai? :)

Highlights of being 18/ Summer Highlights 2012.

So the Summer (In Mumbai) is coming to an end! And every year, near the end of Summer, I finish yet another trip around the sun. The following are, in no specific order, the highlights of this summer and the last trip in general. (Things I'm So Very Thankful For)

~Love
~The Sun
~The Skies
~The New Sigur Ros Album
~Meeting and getting to know a Wordsmith, a Poet and a Thinker.
~Realising that I am, but a Story Teller.
~Angels.
~Extra Chewy Chips Ahoy!
~Finally being able to drive.
~Driving in general.
~My Awesome Bhabhi!
~My awesome brothers and sisters.
~Discovering Stand Up Comedy.
~Random Sunday Afternoon meetings with the new friends I've made.
~The New Friends that I've made.
~Complaining at Candies about the horrible service. Declaring I'll never come back.
~Going back to Candies for that awesome vibe.
~Every moment spent with The Guys.
~Finally playing some pool after forever!
~Random Radio Club evenings.
~Random Airport pick ups.
~Women.
~Stories
~Going to my Bestest Friend in The World's place when he's not even there.
~Law College.
~Audio College.
~Music
~Comedy
~The Lack Of Sleep they cause.
~Giving tours of the City, Showing it off.
~Telling people I\|'m from Grant Road..... West.
~Making People Laugh and Sing Along.
~People.
~Super Seniors! (Specially the Catholic ones! :-P)
~Driving out of the Sunrise. The sun behind me, lighting the way.
~Seeing people meet their loved ones after so damn long at the airport.
~Meeting my loved ones at the airport after not so long.
~Making it through 12th boards.
~Not being able to study at NYU.
~The New (now most recent) Foo Fighters Album.
~That Feeling of being absolutely drained right before you sleep.
~Mom and Dad.
~The Ukulele
~That brain that wakes you up in the middle of the night to write something.
~Those epic days in college and 'with' Prakash! :-P
~Breathing
~Trees
~Did I mention Love?

PS: I've probably missed a million more things but I honestly cant remember more.

All About The People

Comedy on The Big Mic. Photo Courtesy: Aditi Mehta

It's all about People.

No. Not just the ones in the audience. It's about the ones you chill with before and after. The ones that will call you on a random Sunday morning to hang out. The one's you nod and smile at while you walk down the street. It's about the ones who call you up when they're down and out. The ones you can make laugh or even smile through a joke or a song or a hug. It's about the people you look to as an inspiration. The ones you look to for support. The ones that'll give you a pat on the back and the ones that will scream at you if you even dare to think of stopping.

You can see me in the picture there. The little blurred person on the cellphone screen. And it seems so very fitting. My actions are rather insignificant. But their results astound me every time.

The connection we form with people is what keeps us going, I think. It's the fact that we can be ourselves and really connect to an absolute stranger in the most honest way possible. It doesn't matter where you're from or where you're going. What matters is that one moment. That one space. The room becomes smaller. The distances shorten. We are in our natural state of being. Connected to one another on the most intimate level without even realising it. I guess that's what gets us hooked to performing.

Look at that picture once again. You can see it now, can't you? It's all about The People. :)

Angels

It's funny, how the night feels sometimes. The cold and Fear fills the air. A sense of lonliness and impending doom, nay, ever-present doom surrounds me and embraces me till I give in. Till I fall hopelessly through the night to the darkest depths of my being. No reason appeals to me. The only emotions present in me are fear and sadness. A sense of anger screams in and I begin shooting blindly at anything that moves.
Even if it is something I hold most dear to me. All hope is lost. Everything is futile. I have lost. Both everything I am and everything I had. It is the end.
But then a voice calls out. One that has been around forever. And it calms me.down. Reminds me that Im still right here. In my bed. At home and in touch with someone I truly love. Someone that truly loves me back. Slowly but surely, the voice listens to me as I shoot ever so foolishly even at it. Even I it struggles to set me free, aiding me to fight the great foe I can ever fight. Myself. The darkness begins to recede. A stream of light comes into view.
And before I know it, it expands to encompass all that was, is, and will be. I can fly again. And I shoot up. Out of the cold dark night. On to solid ground again. I still walk on the edge. But just knowing that that one voice will be there for me is enough. Enough hope to keep marching on. To keep fighting. To keep dreaming. To have hope. The wind blows at me. A gentle breeze to cool my mind. The night smells different. The city turns warm again.
There is love in the air. And I am bathed in it. In her love and in her glow. She asks me not to put her on a pedestal. But it's funny why she'd think that I was doing such a thing. Last time I saw her, last time I checked, Angels float above the ground.

A. Mehta

I used to...

I used to be able  to close my eyes and drift off to another world. I would float around and sing melodies that had never been written before. I would sing them in rhythms long forgotten. I would move to them in ways no one had ever moved. I could fly in this world. Meet people and see places I had never met or seen before. I never dreamed in that world; for dreaming doesn't make sense when you're at the very edge of existence itself. Where simply willing something brings it to life. Where little plastic men march around and sing hebrew songs. The sun sets behind another sun and it's setting turns the world a shade of blue. Or green. Or yellow. All in the blink of an eye.

I would feel everything that everything that ever was, is and will be felt. I was everything and I was nothing and though I look back at that time today and recall very little, I know this: I do not go there now because in reality, I never did. Because there was nowhere to go. I was always there. And I am here today, just as you are. The world spins around itself and around the sun and around the merry-go-round that is the universe. Cars pass me by slow motion; Disassemble. Reassemble. And go back to standard time. My viens still pulse to the music as I float through the air and out my window and I am still the tree outside my window and I still do feel the wind blowing through my leaves. I am Nothing and still very much am, Everything.

And so are you! We are the same, you and I. No! We are all there is. And all there is, is us. These physical divisions are just links in the chain that is all and is yet insignificant for it is nothing without itself and it's very existence is questionable.

Look up! Can you see it? Through whatever blocks your view, can you see it? Can you see the Sun? As it sets into another sun and it's setting turns the world a shade of blue. Or green. Or yellow. All in the blink of an eye.

Stories

I've always loved stories. Hearing and telling them. Asking my dad for just one more story till he fell asleep narrating extended my bedtime by an hour on so many nights when I was young. As I grew older, I had my own stories. Most were based very very losely on reality, some were complete imagination. Time passed and I heard so many more stories. I had my own completely true stories too, to accompany the ones with a dash of imagination or maybe reality. I realised that I wanted to tell my stories. That I wanted to share them with the world. I wanted to swap stories because I had realised that stories are important. They enrich our lives and give them depth. They are the greatest way in which we may live on because when we hear a story from a good Story Teller, we feel exactly as he/she feels. We laugh and weep and wonder just as they do. Because they are the imbodiment of the soul of the story. The story is theirs. Not because they lived it, but because they felt it truly.

A friend of mine once called me a wordsmith. I found it fitting and carried it around till today.

See I met this girl a few months ago. Isha*. And today, as I spoke to her I realised that the title fit her better. For she is a true wordsmith. As for me? Well I realised I'm something else. (Well I aspire for it anyway)

I am a Story Teller.

I have no great skills. I have no polished craft. But I have stories. And when it comes to stories, I have seen more than I can remember, and I remember more than I have seen. (G.B.Shaw ladies and gentlemen) I dont even know which stories are mine anymore. But I love telling them. Whether it's through songs or comedy or films or plays or just over lunch, I love telling them. I realise that the great joy for me was not creation and performance. It was the framing and telling of stories that would connect to people. All these stories in my head are a part of me. And if you've heard and felt any of them, they're a part of you too.

Yes. I am a Story Teller. Sounds right, nai?

*Isha Maniar is a talented writer currently studying law. Her blog Chai Paani Etc. fills me with joy and wonder every time I read it.
http://ishamaniar.blogspot.in

Damn tablet wont let me hyperlink. :-/

Music for her little ears

I have a faraway cousin. She's about 6 months old now, but when she was born, her mother lived at her sister's house, that's my aunt's home and that home is quite close to mine. So I spent a fair amount of time with my faraway cousin for the fist few days after her birth. I've always been thouroughly amazed at how wonderful children are. But that's for another day. What makes me write about this little baby girl is this...

See I have a hobby. I sing. I sing whenever my voice is functional and even when I can barely make a sound. When I first met my little cousin, I was in the middle of a song. A song by a band called Pink Floyd. She was crying when I entered the room but when she heard me sing, she immeadiately stopped and listened. Now contrary to what some people believe, I am a horrible vocalist. My voice manages to annoy me even when I'm on stage singing. So theres only one logical reason for why she stopped cryimg. It was the song. And the theory proved itself right every time I walked into her hearing range singing a Floyd song. It wasnt any other band. Just Pink Floyd. Now understand, this girl's parents are not into Floyd. In fact, they both swear by old bollywood. But this girl. Oh this girl! How she loved Floyd! She would flail her arms and legs, dancing as best as a 15 Day old can, every time she heard Pink Floyd. She smiled and she laughed every time she heard Wish You Were Here, almost as if she understood what the song said. And maybe she did. Yeah... I think she did.

Comedy I Say!

I’ve been performing stand up comedy for a while now. And man does that shit feel goooood!  But over the last few months I’ve discovered how bloody hard it is to be a comic. I find myself carrying a book around, writing down jokes whenever they happen. I find myself practicing in front of the mirror. Making sure every facial expression is just right. Every pause is just long enough and every word is said clearly so as to minimize the risk of the audience missing the joke. I find myself watching documentary after documentary on comedy. Watching a lot of Stand Up Comedy. Talking to a lot of comics and performing every chance I get. Hell! I even started organising my own shows! I got tired of the fact that there weren’t enough ‘comedic opportunities’ around.

It’s challenging on a number of levels because it’s so different from what I’m used to performing. Music. You can’t cover someone else’s jokes. You can’t hide behind an instrument. You can’t have the same 6 songs and perform them show after show. Hell! Both the audiences and I got tired of the damn old set in 3 months and I had to scrap the whole thing.

But it’s alright. It’s worth it. Every single moment of it is worth it. The innate joy of bringing such happiness to someone’s life is far beyond anything I’ve felt. It brings into further perspective that Creating and Performing are two things that resonate with me on levels far deeper than anything else.

I debut at the Comedy Store Open Mic on the 11^th of April. I’m already nervous as hell trying to prepare. I hope that bird lands safely!

Jai Hind!

Mehta.

A New Trend

It’s really weird, over the last week, I’ve been doing something I haven’t ever done.

Last Sunday, as I was hovering around my dad so that he would turn off the television and let me play some Xbox, I entered the room for the nth time just find him flipping through channels and landing some old movie with a fight scene. For a moment we stared at the screen and then, with one look at one another, we burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the entire scene. One that scene was over, we ended up watching silly Govinda movies for an hour.

It happened again a few days later and I’m pretty sure it’ll happen again. It’s weird; I haven’t really spent a lot of time ‘chilling’ with my dad. Well, not in a long time anyway. Hearing all those old stories about what went on in the world when those films were released is truly a treat. A look in to the past I quite like, I must say. In a way, in a really really long time... 

All is Peaceful. All is Bright.

Mehta.

Lethargy meets a lack of time

I've been busy. Nothing new there. Between college projects and people pursuits and a little other work I've been so caught up it's almost annoying. My body isn't taking too well to the whole situation but then I guess it'll just have to cope till I have more spare time to relax.

What's weird however, is that though I'm busy all day, I still feel a strong sense of lethargy no matter what I do. Quite annoying, I must say. It takes a lot more to get things done. Even writing the blog. My God! How long has it been since I posted? Hardly matters though. No one reads this shit anyway...

New Film Folks! :D

We (My friends Dhaval, Isha and I) were tasked with making a film for the launch of our college literary club's annual issue. 


L'avocat, as it's called is more than just a literary club. It gave us a good opportunity to make a film on change.


Made in 48 hours (Yes. I counted!) the film is a series of interviews of students about their thoughts on change.


You may hold me responsible for the concept, editing and background score. :)

We've crossed over 200 views in like 2 and a half days. Now that feels gooooood! 


Check it out! And if you like it, share that scene! :D