I was thinking again about Sheldon’s friendship circle theory from The Big Bang Theory. The way he explains his layered circles — who belongs where, the rules, the boundaries — it sounds funny, but it’s actually true. Even the SoG letter mentioned a similar idea about circles. And when I look back, my own circles used to be a mess. At first, it was just me, which is funny now because I didn’t even fully like myself back then. Then suddenly my circle exploded into this chaos: me + girlfriend + Robin + Viki + Jaggi + Vikas + 250 who came. Later, I intentionally added CM, AK, SG to the inner space because they felt right. Then came family, VM, Jorawar, Pam, Kartik, Anshita, Churri, Anish, Yogi… the circle kept expanding like it had no walls.
And that’s when I realised something: I had too many doors open. Too many entry points. Too many people with access to the exact same version of me. I wasn’t filtering. I wasn’t shaping. I wasn’t selecting. I was just letting life choose for me. And that kind of openness becomes dangerous because you lose sense of where “you” end and where “everyone else” begins.
So now I’ve started trimming — not cutting off people, but cutting off my urge to give everyone everything. I’m connected to all of them, but I’ve shifted more into my own orbit. The “meeeee” part is growing louder. And this time, it’s not selfish — it’s survival. The new circle has fragments: the person I want to eat with, the person I want to walk with, the person I want to have one drink with, the person I share my thoughts with, the one who gets the first news. Only 7–8 people fit in here now. And they help me grow instead of stretch myself thin.
That’s why the Clapboard Adventure connects to this. Whenever you shift inside, something tests you on the outside. Something old returns. Something messy leaks. Something breaks a little. Meeting this old friend was exactly that. Two years ago, she was my closest. Back then, she knew everything about me — my habits, my thinking, my plans, my fears. But two years is a long time. Two years changes people. Two years grows people apart while pretending nothing has changed. And when we met again, there was this attempt from both sides to fit into an old shape that no longer exists. We took a 30 km ride, revisited old conversations, spoke about new wins, and somewhere in that ride we realised the truth — we’ve both changed, and we’re not those versions anymore. It’s comforting and scary: comforting because the bond still exists, scary because the version they remember isn’t you anymore.
I once read something: “To see how far you’ve come, don’t look back. Look forward and count how many steps are left.” Looking back gives your heart sweetness, but tricks your brain into comfort. Comfort is dangerous. Comfort makes you pause. And I’m not 70 — I don’t want to pause every time a memory knocks. Yes, some moments deserve pauses — Ladakh sunsets, Meghalaya rains, poolside laughter at random BnBs, family gatherings, first international trips… those moments deserve to be held, hugged, remembered. But not everything deserves a pause. Not every reconnection is a reason to freeze time.
In this case, the clapboard wasn’t a “pause moment.” Not because I didn’t care, but because I wasn’t looking for that cinematic thunder. My first instinct was to skip it. But being a recovering people-pleaser, I said, “Okay, let’s do it. What’s the worst?” Time is currency — sometimes it gives returns, sometimes it doesn’t. This one was neither profit nor loss — it was just… closure. One of those loops in your mind that stays open and drains energy until you finish it. So we sat in an auto, reached Film City, found a weird shop that only rents clapboards, saw an adorable cat, got distracted, accepted fate, walked away, then turned back because she had faith. And we finally found one near home. The clapboard wasn’t worth the hours, but the ride back was. Conversations about karma, belief, growth — all in an auto ride. And I prayed my karma doesn’t come back in full force. Please God, part payment only.
The clapboard was for him:
https://www.instagram.com/ahsan_vazir__/
He deserves my ₹1 lakh-per-hour time, and this was a 3-hour adventure — ₹3 lakhs mentally deducted.
Clapboard Adventure ends here you guys can leave!
After all the chaos, we ended up at the beach. Phones off, fireworks in the sky, feet in the water — and out of nowhere she asked, “Do you feel lonely here?” I froze for seven minutes because I didn’t want to give a fake answer. I kept thinking about all the versions of me, all the phases, all the places where loneliness actually did exist.
But the truth is, I don’t feel lonely anymore — and one of the biggest reasons is gratitude.
I’m grateful for the people who stayed, the ones who left, the ones who returned, the ones who taught me something without trying. I’m grateful that I have work that keeps me moving, friends I can talk to, family that grounds me, and a version of myself I finally enjoy being around.
Loneliness hits when your journey stops.
Mine hasn’t.
Gratitude fills all the spaces where loneliness could have lived, and that’s why I don’t feel alone — I feel in motion.
Love you everyone
See you next time.
Here’s the song I was listening to while writing this:
https://open.spotify.com/track/3cKmTfq77nl6grFeLxrRTe?si=b83245544fe84810
-26 Nov, Mumbai
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