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A few days ago I realized that my life is on a trajectory that I can’t change. I don’t control the trajectory; rather, it controls me. It’s like being hurled off a canon early in life and following a predetermined path since. What’s all the melancholia for? Well, to establish the philosophical underpinnings of what I am going to do here.

I have realized that I can’t be a professional writer. In fact, I can’t be a professional anything except what I am today. So, what do I do with all the stories that I have with me? Those written over the years, some published, others transferred from one laptop to the other every few years. Do they just die away? The answer is no. Instead of spoofing other filmmakers and their storylines (like I did here), I have decided to put out 3 story ideas here on PFC. …

I was standing at the bar of a famous night spot in Mumbai sipping at Mango Vodkatini watching the young and old, bold and the beautiful, the rich and the famous.

So are you back in India? said a suave looking man with greying hair.

I recognised him like I recognise most of the rich and famous in Mumbai. I knew all these guys when they weren’t so rich and famous back in the late eighties and the early nineties, when they all drank Old Monk in ‘quarter’ bars like Casbah and Janta. They all swore by the Che and the revolution and had smoked at my Alvares house loft.

‘No!’ I said. ‘I am here for some time. I come and go.’

‘Working on a film?’ He queried.

‘Yup!’ I said. ‘Working on a film.’

‘What’s it about?’

I said ‘Well, It’s about… ‘

He quipped in ‘Which film …