A story of passion, pain, purpose — and everything in between.
Introduction
“Who Am I?”
This isn’t just a question people have asked me.
It’s a question I’ve asked myself — over and over.
Sometimes I feel like I know.
And sometimes, I feel like I’m still figuring it out.
But when I look back, there’s a pattern. A trail of little signs — from childhood drawings to broken hard drives, from night shoots to lonely edits, from abandoned dreams to rediscovered callings.
This post isn’t a resume. It’s a confession. A map of the emotional journey that brought me here.
Welcome to my story.
A Crayon and a Clue — The UKG Drawing Competition
It started way before I even knew what “passion” meant.
Back in UKG, I randomly took part in a drawing competition — and unexpectedly won District Level 1st Prize.
At that age, I didn’t know what that win meant. But the applause, the certificate, the pride in my teachers’ eyes… it stayed with me.
That was the first whisper from the universe.
I just didn’t know how to listen yet.
A Spark in 9th Standard — From Curiosity to Calling
By 9th standard, I had a casual interest in acting. Nothing serious — just something that made my heart beat a little faster.
But as I grew, that little spark evolved.
From acting… to understanding what happens behind the camera.
Direction began to fascinate me.
I didn’t know why.
But I felt it deeply.
Vaaliban — My First Attempt and My First Mistake
In 12th standard, I made my first big move.
I created a poster for my short film “Vaaliban” — before writing a single line of script. I cast my close friends, borrowed a camera, edited it myself, and downloaded royalty-free music.
But the project collapsed. Not because people didn’t try — but because I didn’t plan.
I couldn’t say “no” to my friends. I didn’t lead.
And I learned a hard truth:
Having a dream is not enough. You need structure.
Kanavugal Aayiram — The Unexpected Breakthrough
After 12th, college gave me a fresh space. My friends formed the perfect crew: a cameraman, an actor, a fellow filmmaker. One day in Feb 2018, we decided to shoot — with no script, no gear, no plan. Shot in the afternoon. Edited before midnight.Uploaded to a YouTube, shortfilm named as Kanavugal Aayiram. Within 2 days: 2,500 views. For a first film with zero expectations, that felt like a miracle. A moment of validation. I started to believe again.
The Warden Who Wasn’t Just a Warden
Life kept playing strange cards. My hostel warden turned out to be the Visual Communication HOD. We connected. Deeply. He noticed my passion. Encouraged me. Asked me to narrate a story. I did — and he promised to support me. He introduced me to new people, creative ones. And yet… I made my second mistake. I didn’t use that opportunity. I didn’t collaborate. And I still regret it.
Meendum Vaa & Karuda — A Bigger Dream, Bigger Fall
After the little success of my first few short films, something inside me grew louder.
I wanted to do it right this time.
No more random shoots. No more just-for-fun attempts.
This time, I wanted to feel like a real filmmaker.
That’s when Meendum Vaa was born.
I began with more intention — planning a bigger short film with a better setup. I didn’t want to depend fully on friends or borrowed gear anymore. So I outsourced a cinematographer from Sathya Digital Studio, Palathurai, who charged ₹10,000 for two days. For me at that time, that was a serious investment — both financially and emotionally.
We formed a team of around 10 to 15 people. Some were close friends, some were just passionate newcomers who wanted to be part of something. I told my family that I was heading out to a college friend’s event — but the truth was, I was still in my native, staying at a friend’s house, trying to bring Meendum Vaa to life.
And not just that — in the same window, we also began shooting a second short film: Karuda.
We were burning with excitement. Shooting two films simultaneously. Organizing costumes. Arranging scenes. Gathering people. It felt like the beginning of something big.
But behind that excitement… we were still repeating old mistakes:
- No properly written script.
- No scene-wise planning.
- No clarity in direction.
- And most damaging of all: constant compromise.
I let too many voices influence the creative decisions. I adjusted when I should’ve stood firm. I didn’t ask the tough questions — and the story started to lose its shape.
Then came the final blow — the lead actor of Meendum Vaa Sanjay Rao and me had some personal issues. The film couldn’t continue without him, and the entire structure collapsed overnight.
They handled the footage. They planned the upload. They discussed the credits. And I, who had led it from the beginning — was quietly being left behind.
I didn’t fight.
I just stepped away — with a heavy heart.
I didn’t want to ruin friendships over credits. I didn’t want to argue over what we made with love. So I walked away… with disappointment in one hand, and silence in the other.
But they never released the film either.
The Third Mistake — Lost Forever in a Laptop
And eventually, I made a decision to collect the raw footage from Sathya Digital Studio. I borrowed my friend’s laptop and began editing the film on my own, again.
This time… it felt personal.
I wanted to finish what I started.
But life hit again — harder than before.
My friend formatted the laptop OS.
All the files — gone.
No backups.
Nothing.
That moment…
I don’t know how to explain it.
It was like watching your dream die in front of you, and you can’t even hold a funeral for it.
All I could do… was sit quietly.
And accept it.
Not every pain makes noise.
Some sit with you for years — and whisper, “You should’ve been more careful.”
That’s what Meendum Vaa and Karuda became for me.
Not just films that didn’t get released — but lessons I paid for with time, emotion, and innocence.
The Mirror — Our Second Baby After the Storm
After the heartbreak of Meendu Vaa and Karuda, there was a long silence inside me. I stopped chasing films, not because I didn’t care anymore, but because I cared too much and feared another failure. But sometimes, the universe has other plans.
In 2019, a special opportunity came — our college's Visual Communication Department announced a short film competition as part of director Mysskin’s film Psycho promotions. My warden Arun Subhash sir, who always supported me, personally asked me to participate. I wasn’t ready with a script, camera, or crew. But something inside whispered, “Just do it.”
That’s how The Mirror was born — in one night.
With no professional setup, we pulled together the old team. Sandy was back behind the mobile camera. Rishi played the lead. Ramo came on board as my assistant director. In a matter of hours, we had the concept, location, and execution plan. It wasn’t a grand film technically. But emotionally, it meant the world. After years of dreaming and failing, we created something again — together. It felt like our second child. Not perfect, but ours.
It reminded me that even broken pieces can still shine if you dare to put them back together.
Another Drawing. Another Whisper.
Sometimes, life leaves clues.
Not loud ones.
Not in the form of big victories or grand applause.
But in quiet, almost invisible moments — the kind you only understand when you look back.
It was just a regular day.
There was an intercollegiate drawing competition at the Agricultural College, Theni. I didn’t register with hope. I wasn’t thinking of competing. Honestly, I just wanted an OD — a free pass to skip college for the day.
So I went.
Picked up a brush.
Drew something.
Walked away.
In fact, I left the venue mid-way and spent the rest of the day out with friends. I didn’t even stay to see the results. It was that casual.
Later that day, while I was roaming outside, some of my college friends called.
“Your name has been announced. You've won second prize!”
For a second, I froze.
It wasn’t the prize that shocked me — it was the fact that I never expected it. I didn’t even try.
That moment made me realize something deeper.
It reminded me of another moment — way back in UKG, when I had unknowingly won district-level first prize in a drawing competition.
That day, like this one, I didn’t know how much it mattered.
I was just... drawing.
Like it was breathing.
Like it was something natural I never questioned.
That’s when I asked myself:
Why does drawing keep finding its way back to me?
Why do I keep winning — not when I try, but when I flow?
It felt like the universe was whispering to me again.
Like it was saying,
"Hey... you still have it."
"You didn’t lose your touch."
"You were born to create."
These two drawing competitions — separated by more than a decade — felt like bookends of the same message.
That art is not something I do for success.
It’s something that finds me, every time I forget who I am.
That competition in Theni wasn’t just a drawing contest.
It was a reminder.
A gentle tug from the universe, saying,
"Kali, don’t let this part of you fade away."
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t viral.
But it was enough.
And that whisper still lives inside me.
Lockdown & Kilustrate — My Artistic Revival
During COVID, I randomly started digital illustrations.
I created a page — k_ilustrate.
Posted every day. Grew slowly.
My first paid work: ₹500 from Mumbai.
I was stunned.
From crayon to college, drawing had followed me.
And now, it had become an income source too.
Three signs:
- UKG Drawing Award
- College Drawing Award
- Lockdown Illustration Success
Coincidence?
No.
Looking back now, I realize those moments were more than just a creative detour during the pandemic. They were a revival. Drawing came to me before filmmaking, before writing, before anything else. It’s like the universe was gently pushing me back toward something I’ve always been connected to. First in childhood, again in college, and now during lockdown — three unplanned turning points that all whispered the same truth: creating is not what I do, it’s who I am. And Kilustrate? That wasn’t just an art page. It was a reminder that no matter where life drags me, creativity will always find its way back in — quietly, patiently, but powerfully.
The Corporate Turn — A New Chapter Begins
By the age of 22, responsibilities knocked louder than passion. Life nudged me away from the canvas and camera toward something more stable — a job. I joined Techspire Wireless Pvt. Ltd., not with big expectations, but with a simple need to support myself and my family. What I didn’t realize then was that this shift would not be an escape from creativity — but a new lens to view it.
I began as a Director’s Secretary, learning how to observe, plan, and execute tasks with precision. A few months later, I moved into web development, where I taught myself how digital experiences are built and maintained. That small door opened into a much larger one: I was promoted to Marketing Manager, leading a team that included a videographer, editor, designer, and 3D artist. Ironically, I now had everything I once craved during my filmmaking days — high-end equipment, creative minds, resources, and reach.
And yet, something felt strange. I hadn't made a film in nearly 4.5 years. Back then, I shot with borrowed cameras and edited in a friend’s old laptop. Now, I had a Canon M50, a DJI Mini Drone, gimbals, lenses, and a full creative team — but I hadn’t even planned a single short film. When my friends brought it up, I brushed it off, saying I was waiting for the “right time” or for something “quality.” But inside, I often questioned myself: Was I waiting… or was I afraid?
This corporate phase also brought something I never had before — clarity in collaboration. I began to understand what it really means to manage people, respect timelines, delegate tasks, and most importantly, bring a vision to life through teamwork. Leading a team taught me patience, communication, and the value of structured creativity. If filmmaking was once my dream, this job was quietly preparing me to live it better.
Patterns, People, and Purpose
So many things in my life happened randomly:
- A warden turns out to be a VisCom HOD
- Close friends turn into cast and crew
- Outsourced people become lifelong collaborators
- Art keeps returning to me — again and again
Maybe it’s not random at all.
Drawing, writing, directing — they’re all connected.
And maybe… this is who I am.
Who Am I?
I am not a title.
Not a job role.
Not a success or a failure.
I’m the boy who drew something at age 5 and won.
I’m the teen who made posters before scripts.
I’m the young man who lost films but never lost faith.
I’m the creator who is still becoming.
I am Kali. A filmmaker. A storyteller. A survivor. A seeker.
One day in the future, I will return to write the second part of this article — not about my struggles, but about my high moments and the paths that led to my success. Like the Chinese bamboo that lies dormant for years, silently growing its roots underground, I too have been building my foundation. That bamboo doesn’t break through the soil for the first five years — but in the sixth year, it grows over 80 feet in just a few months. I believe my time is coming. And when it does, the world will see not just a filmmaker, artist, or marketer — but someone who was silently preparing all along.
And this is just the beginning.
Welcome to Kalireads.
✍️ Author Note:
If you’ve ever started something and failed… if you’ve ever seen signs from life that you weren’t ready to hear… then you’re not alone. Keep going.
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