Udaan

I am nothing without my dreams, I look back and think--how did I manage to survive that long being so untrue to myself? It isn't just a wish, a need, or a necessity; I yearn for them. There hasn't been a passing fragment in which I haven't wanted to scrub my skin off to get rid of the remains of all the filthy hands that have tried to hold me back from what I want to be—the centuries-long battle of who a person truly is versus what the society thinks of him. My parents have made me sign a ridiculous contract that ends our bond; solely because I want to live in a way that doesn't make me think of life as a wait for demise. "Cause I have felt that. I am a coward; someone who has no guts to cut himself. But, when I eventually came to terms with the fact that I had to leave my parents, it hurt the same. This film makes me wonder whether the lump stuck in my throat would have been a little less if my folks were somewhere along the father portrayed here. My parents are simple people, they have given me the best of what they could possibly attain. No physical abuse. Just that my dreams were too lowly for their great vision. The love of a parent is never wrong but the way they give that love is not always right. I know that the hurt will always be the same. I wish they too feel my dreams might be worth something if I am willing to serve such a painful sentence for them. * there were dead bodies on the highway, probably they were too desperate to reach home i sat beside one of them, and waited for the sun to set but when it actually did, i realised how afraid i am of the darkness every now and then, the bodies pleaded to be burnt but the flowers that grew on them were too pretty to be torched they smelt of dreams, i could almost feel them wilt there was one that had no fragrance whatsoever it should have been on my dad-- he tortured himself even in sleep, no room for nightmares let alone a dream i paced away as fast as i could, my footsteps sounded like a lullaby there was no one left to fall asleep the only tormented insomniac was I but, one day there would be flowers on me too with enough number of thornes to remember me by but, one day i would reach home too even if on that highway, i were to helplessly die*