Pagal Admi Hoon

Let’s get this out of the way:
I don’t bother calling myself “eccentric” anymore.

Too many syllables. Too much effort.
People hear it and think you’re performing, or worse—asking for applause.
I just say, “Pagal admi hoon.”
Madman.
Much easier. Much closer to the truth.

Because try explaining what it really means to live like this—to make art, to build your whole damn life around something no one else can see except you.
You’ll lose them in the first sentence.
They’ll nod, smile, maybe call it a ‘creative phase.’
Most people want art without the mess. They want the songs, the films, the beauty, but not the silent rooms, not the hunger, not the strange looks from the people you grew up with.

They want the story, not the scars.

I used to try. I’d find big words, go philosophical.
“Eccentric.”
“Non-conformist.”
Sometimes I’d explain how it feels to need music more than sleep, to choose stories over stability, to sit alone for days building something that no one asked for.

But after a point, you realize—nobody gets it except the ones wired the same.
So I stopped explaining.

I started wearing the madness on my sleeve.
Pagal admi hoon.
Deal with it.

And weirdly, that’s freedom.
Because once you drop the act—stop needing anyone to understand—you don’t just scare off the boring people. You attract the real ones. The ones who see past “madness” and catch the method, the care, the goddamn craft.
The ones who know that building a life out of art is a form of violence—against mediocrity, against easy comfort, against the numbness of fitting in.

Pagal admi hoon.
Not a disclaimer.
A badge.
A warning.
An invitation.

If you get it, you’re probably a little pagal too :P