The cursor blinks. A pale, indifferent rectangle on a sea of black.

Now what?

The real Bhool Bhulaiyaa is not on the screen. It is this endless corridor of links and magnets and seeds. It is the search for the uncapturable. It is us, haunting ourselves, forever clicking on a file that promises to take us home, but only ever leads us deeper into the labyrinth of more .

The internet promises us the world, file by file. But it delivers only information. And information is not experience. You can download the entire script of the play, but you will never hear the crack in the actor’s voice on opening night. You can pirate every frame of the dance, but you will never feel the ghungroos vibrate through the floorboards and into your ribs.

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