I woke up with a burning urge to write a story about a man pursuing a girl who bakes cakes - he is working at his desk when he catches the scent of cakes in the air, and he follows it to the next office where he finds this girl delivering birthday cake to a client, and without even knowing her names, or anything about her, he asks her to marry him.
Apparently, this guy had spent a long time in a culture where -- oh crap! I'm not writing all that BS here :-) Anyway, I had to fight the urge to write the story, though the two were yelling so loud that I could hear them outside my door, on a 2am of a very cold night in Dhangadi. I instead went to listen to the love story of Parbati and Manoj, whose affair ended up in a bloody battle between the higher-castes and the lower castes (untouchables) in her village.
I think making a documentary about love and marriage screws up your head, in many ways, just as writing horrors will screw up your nights and drive you to substance abuse and a reclusive life.
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Labels: film, relationships, writing