Indira Varma

Born to an Indian father and a Swiss mother, the protagonist exists in this weird in-between space—never quite fitting in anywhere, always juggling two wildly different cultures. It’s not just about eating dal one day and fondue the next, either. There’s this push and pull: family expectations, language mishaps, moments of feeling like an outsider in both worlds. At home, it’s all about tradition, big family gatherings, and those unspoken rules you just kinda know. Step outside, and suddenly it’s a whole different vibe—casual, open, sometimes a little cold. The story digs into how this mix messes with your sense of self, and yeah, sometimes it gets funny or awkward (try explaining Diwali to your Swiss classmates, or why you’re late because of a cow in the road back in India). But there’s also a lot of heart, showing how you can pull pieces from both sides and build something uniquely your own.

Drama training basically forced me to grow up—yeah, in my head and my heart. They’re always making you dig way down into your own mess, you know? Method acting is wild like that. Improv would get nuts; I'd be sitting there thinking, “Cool, so my character’s just been through hell—raped, beaten, tied up in some creepy room.” And then I'd actually ask someone, “Hey, mind tossing me down the stairs before we start? Tie me up a bit?” It wasn’t just playing pretend; you had to live it, breathe it, become it. Totally ridiculous, honestly, but also kind of a rush. Like, sure, it sounds unhinged—because it is—but that’s the whole thrill. You step out of your skin and just go for it. And weirdly, it’s a blast. There’s this line between real and fake that gets so blurry, you almost forget you’re acting at all. It’s intense, but man, it’s addictive.