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Nikhil Londhe
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206 followers
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Most Bollywood movies have been palatable as they serve a wafer thin story wrapped in a giant ball of candy floss. You believe the impromptu synchronized dance sequences that buttress reconciliation of two friends (Kuch Kuch Hota Hai), you buy in into an…

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Commercial cinema in India is almost self fulfilling. It derives its business by selling escapism and yet, as the go-to reference book on life itself, it generously  feeds the very discontent that drives the need to escape. Much like others, my…

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My being bears scars / Where your adjectives disagreed. A brisk, hurried parse / As your slow prejudices decreed. An opaque, generic color / Your deft brushstrokes agreed. Only commendable valor / Your consistent timidity indeed

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Their faces contorted, their boisterous, loud voices harmonizing in cacophony, raised fists, placards…the urban protestor is fairly ubiquitous. As I dig deeper and deeper into my quickly trying well of passion, their unending supply is naturally enviable.…

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Dark, moody clouds had rolled in. A rueful grey canvas punctured at the sides by belligerent sunlight. A playful wind ushered the last few leaves away to some unknown pastime. And I, wished for fritters. My hands curled over a warm cup of chai. Swirls of…

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The art of storytelling is a complex, majestic beast. Poets and bards, mothers and grandmothers, actors and directors, plays and movies have told and retold, embellished and abridged, created and refurbished millions of stories over thousands of years. So…

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This is hard for me. Ive never known it to just say things as they are, but Ive always wrapped them in hyperboles and abstruse expressions. Perhaps, I was always afraid to admit how I felt openly. I was in short isolated by my own fear. I’m hoping to end…

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The date was etched in the calendar weeks in advance. A distant innocuous date committed to an exciting future that would free me from the indenture of “predictable” days. I’ve never shied away from confessing that I’m an escapist – conjuring entire…

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I close my eyes and let the music overrun my senses. On some days our intimacy presents itself with visual feedback. On most others I’m drumming a metal handrail or rhythmically thumping my feet. I’m both oblivious and aware, detached and invested. I’m…

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