Part of the problem is her ability to go away, disappear. Even when she here she's not here. How can one possibly form any kind of relationship with her. Sometimes I have asked myself, why did we meet and come together.

What do two people who come very close have in common that binds them for that one moment or a lifetime. And why is it a lifetime's wait in one case while it's a lifetime's sharing in the other. Would I trade one for the other?

Its evening and everywhere the corners are taken. Groups, couples lounging against them and a familiar chatter paints my background. I risk looking up and see the barman waving at me for more ice. Its best to sneak into the kitchen. The heat is killing me. The ice tray is full, I empty the contents in the box and shield myself from the burst of laughter that rings as I approach the makeshift bar. 'Hey.' .....'Oh My God, My goodness, .....You? All this while ....', a familiar voice asks me the question I have been avoiding for the past so many years. There was silence for that split second.And suddenly voices engulfed me, everywhere I turned they threw the questions. 'Its you, isn't it?' 'Where were you all these years?' 'We thought we'd lost you' 'Are you sure you are not mistaken, she looks different, what do you think?'...

Women walk slowly, dancing through a maze of endless direction. Dark eyes gaze across the skyline, watching birds going back home. It's time and not yet time for some to go. I ask for additional light to screen the frame for a soft mellowed effect and we begin shooting again.

Some people have asked me if this will work, if this story will make any difference to the way these women live. If this story will bring them change, relief. Perhaps not. The documenatry will be screened at some places, they will discuss the subtle aspects of craft and direction and pass witty remarks over clinking glasses of vodka or rum while some others will plot schemes to negotiate grants and aids into their well meaning NGOs so dedicated to the task of upliftment in this community.

Dusk has settled like a fine wrap on the edges of the hills, dark and soft and beautiful. In the distance one can hear the soft sounds of the cattle beign led back home. Its time. I want to go back. But where is home?

There's the heat that courses in my veins and settles down under the arm pits, a musty smell that grows and weighs on me with a tanglible force so heavy and darkly humid that I can slit its gut with the razor sharp knife made from cold ice.

My face rests against the cold wisps of air that float in the refrigirator. I look into the caverns hoping to find something that will take away this ancient endless thirst.

And yet it may all soon become a distant part of this summer's fading memory. I'm waiting for the full burst of monsoon. But for now the room seems heavy and dark and uncompromisingly hot.