A journey written in verses and visions
I come from a city where light flickers through narrow streets,
Where dreams are folded into quiet routines,
Where hands build futures on rooftops of hope—
Surat, my soil, my silent start.
I was born with a strange gift—
One eye for detail, the other for beauty.
One hand marked calendars, the other doodled dreams.
One foot in structure, the other in stories.
I studied, like they told me,
Became a Project Manager in a world of plans.
Timelines. Milestones. Budgets.
But my heart beat faster when colors clashed on canvas,
when light curved through a window,
when I paused a film—just to feel a frame.
And so, I leapt.
Across oceans. Into snow.