About Me

Some of my very first memories are not of play or comfort, but of fear.
Of my mother’s silence. Of raised voices. Of watching her endure domestic abuse before I even understood what violence was. Those images stayed with me long before I had the language to name them.
After that, it was just the two of us. She raised me alone, carrying her pain quietly, in a time when it wasn’t common for women to work or survive independently here in Chennai . She went out every day to earn enough to keep us alive, and I learned early what it meant to wait, to be alone, to grow up faster than you should. The house often felt empty—but it was heavy with things left unsaid.
I spent most of my childhood by myself. A television, a DVD player, and a few pirated movie CDs became my companions. In the dark, cinema felt like presence. Like someone sitting beside me, saying, I see you. I’m here. Those films didn’t just distract me—they held me. They gave shape to feelings I couldn’t yet speak.
Somewhere in those quiet hours, a desire took root. Not just to watch stories, but to tell them. To make something that could reach children like me and say, Hey man, I got you. To give back the comfort I once received.
I don’t come from background or money. What I have is an undying, unyielding love for cinema—and a need to tell my stories honestly and loudly. If my films can make even one person feel less alone, then this journey means something.