Chandran, thin and tall and dark and bearded, who took me to his rehearsals, who I met when I auditioned for a play, who was adapting The Last Temptation of Christ for the stage, whose life revolved around theatre, but for whom drama was insufficient, for whom being in love meant being alive, and that meant not holding to an emotion long enough for it to gather moss, but instead changing, changing, changing it all the time, through fate and force and fuck-ups just so that every moment of his life his heart was bleeding on a jagged edge, and he could feel and feel and feel.
