The Stage Found Me Before I Found Myself

Attention, Even Before I Knew What to Call It

As far back as I can remember, I loved attention. As a kid, I'd perform on any stage anyone offered me: sing, dance, whatever was asked. Nobody ever had to ask twice. But it wasn't until years later, after I'd finished my Master's degree in Computer Science and found myself in a professional theater play almost by accident, that I understood what that feeling on stage actually was. I loved it. Life had other plans for a while, though, and it took eighteen more years before I found my way back.

A Desert That Wasn't What I Imagined

In March 2018, my husband and I moved from India to the United States. I'd spent my career in corporate quality engineering: manual QA, automation, mobile and API testing, cloud content evangelism, a little of everything that career can hold. I left that job before the move.

I'd always pictured Arizona as a desert, but nothing about it matched the picture in my head. It was far from my imagination, and I loved the version I actually found. I used to wonder, of all the places in the world, why destiny had brought me here. What did Arizona have in store for me?

I got my answer the day I stood on stage for my first monologue at Arizona Actors Academy.

Center Stage

Every eye in the class was on me, and instead of the nerves I expected, I felt relief. This was the place. This was my calling. I wish now that I had kept a diary of every hour I spent in that classroom; it was some of the most transformative time of my life. I learned about the craft, and I learned about myself, surrounded by classmates whose talent I felt genuinely honored to learn alongside.

Learning From the Source

My teacher, Brandy Hotchner, carries a direct lineage from Stanislavski's method, and she put us through the drill. Working with her meant confronting technique at its root, not shortcuts.

Rachel Grimes taught me acting technique with a rigor that built real confidence, not the performative kind, but the kind that comes from understanding why a choice works, not just that it does.

Improv with Jacque Arend, from the very first class, might be the single thing I carried furthest. "Yes, and" is a two-word philosophy, and it reshaped how I listen: to scene partners then, to actors and collaborators now.

Randy Messersmith taught acting on camera and stage combat, and between the two I learned something I didn't expect: how much restraint a great fight scene actually requires. I made close friends doing that work, and I came away with enormous respect for fight choreographers; what looks explosive on screen is built on discipline and control. Randy also walked us through the fundamentals of camera work, framing and blocking among them, with a level of detail I still draw on.

Two Months With Shakespeare

Lauren Rohs was my Shakespeare teacher, and her voice notes were some of the most valuable feedback I received in the entire program. It helped me develop my strength and voice for the stage. Looking back, I wish I'd signed up for private voice sessions with her too; that's the one regret I carry from those years.

Those two months paid off in a way I couldn't have predicted: I had the fortune of being cast in Romeo & Juliet as Lady Montague and Balthasar. Let me tell you, Shakespeare is not easy to perform. It takes acting skill of an entirely different level to be any good at it; the language doesn't forgive sloppiness, and neither does the verse.

Finding My Own Answers

Some of the deepest work happened in scene study and Strasberg sensory work with Brandy. Her method was never to spoon-feed an answer, even when she clearly knew what I was doing wrong. She'd hold onto it and let me find it myself.

That's stayed with me more than almost anything else from those years. I'm naturally the opposite kind of teacher: when I watch someone struggle toward an answer, my instinct is to jump in and hand it to them. Brandy never did that. She pushed us toward the discomfort of not getting it right yet, without ever bailing us out, and in doing so she made us solution-finders instead of instruction-followers. I think about that constantly now, on set, working with actors.

Sedona and the Green Light

The capstone of my time at the Academy was a week-long dreamwork residency with Sandra Seacat, held at a beautiful resort in Sedona. We worked on dream material to build character, and in the process I learned as much about myself as I did about craft, with my fellow artists and teachers helping me see things I couldn't see alone.

Sandra introduced a concept I still return to: the green light. Even now, I'll lie down, call on her in my mind, and ask her to shower green light on me from wherever she is. It works, every time, not literally, but in the way it settles me.

The Real Work Starts After Class

I met extraordinary, talented people at Arizona Actors Academy, several of whom had been training together for years, and I understood, watching them, that this was exactly what had made them the artists they were. But I also learned something less comfortable: the real struggle as an artist doesn't happen in the classroom. It starts the moment you leave it, finding opportunities, making the most of the ones you get, and showing up consistently enough to keep shining through them. The learning never actually stops.

I never made it back to Arizona Actors Academy as a full-time student after that chapter closed, but everything I learned there stayed with me. I still think of my teachers often, and I hope I've made them proud.

Acting Never Stopped Being My First Love

Storytelling is what I ultimately chase, in every form it takes. Acting is my first love, and it has never become something I “used to do.” It remains central to who I am as an artist.

When I joined film school, I wanted to be part of as many student films as I could—on camera, behind the camera, in rehearsal, on set, in pre-production, or in post-production. I did not see those experiences as separate worlds. Each one brought me closer to the same thing: the work of bringing stories and human experiences to life.

Today, I continue to audition and actively seek meaningful acting opportunities—roles that challenge me, move me, and allow me to keep growing as a performer. I am especially drawn to character-driven work and stories that make room for emotional truth, complexity, vulnerability, and transformation.

At the same time, I continue to direct, produce, collaborate, develop projects, and help shape stories from their earliest ideas through the final frame. These are not competing identities. They are different ways of serving the story.

A Moment I Will Always Carry

In 2026, I received the Best Actress Award at the Orlando International Film Awards. Receiving that recognition was deeply meaningful—not simply as an award, but as a reminder of the long path that brought me there.

It reminded me of the little girl who would take any stage she was offered. It reminded me of the years I spent away from performance. It reminded me of the first monologue at Arizona Actors Academy, when I felt an unexpected sense of relief and recognition: this is where I belong.

Most importantly, it reminded me that the work continues.

Awards are wonderful, and I am profoundly grateful for this one. But they are not an ending. They are encouragement to keep training, keep auditioning, keep taking creative risks, keep making films, and keep saying yes to the next opportunity.

In Front of the Camera and Behind It

My experience as an actor shapes the way I approach filmmaking, and my experience making films shapes the way I approach acting. Each side of the work gives me a deeper appreciation for the other.

When I collaborate with actors, whether as a director, producer, acting coach, or fellow performer, I understand what it means to be asked to make a vulnerable choice in front of a camera. I know what it feels like to search for an answer rather than be handed one. I understand the importance of listening, preparation, safety, restraint, and trust.

When I step in front of the camera, I bring with me an understanding of the larger world around the performance: the story’s structure, the emotional purpose of the scene, the visual language, the rhythm of the edit, the practical realities of a set, and the many people working together to make a moment feel truthful.

Every artist brings something different to a project. What I bring is a deep love for storytelling, a performer’s instinct for emotional truth, and a filmmaker’s respect for the collective work required to bring a story to life.

I am grateful to Brandy, Rachel, Jacque, Randy, Lauren, and Sandra. I miss you all, and I carry your lessons with me into every project—on screen, on set, in rehearsal, and wherever the next story leads.