When I started this blog about 7 weeks ago I never really thought anyone in this world is ever going to read it. On my second day here, I wrote my first poem and the very next day when I logged in, I saw a mark like a star on the top. I had no idea what it was till I clicked on it and then what I saw was a very sweet surprise. Someone had actually liked my post. I can’t express the joy I felt that time, I was truly very happy.
And that’s how the journey started, and today I’ve more than 90 followers all around the world.
So, when did all this writing start? I think it started the day I was born. I inherited the genes from my mother who herself is a great writer, a hell lot better than me. You know, there is a ritual followed in India when a baby is 6 months old and is fed on something grainy like rice, dal for the first time which is called ‘annprashan’ here. In our ‘pahadi’ culture, there is one more thing that is done that day. Many things like gold, money, food, pen etc are spread out in front of the baby and then he/she is asked to touch one of those things. It is said, whatever the baby picks up, decides what he/she will be grow up to be. For instance, if a baby picks up money, then it is said he’ll be very rich.
No prizes for guessing I picked up a pen.
I started writing when I was about 12 years old but the real feelings started pouring in when I was about to leave for Bangalore. And as I left my friends, family, those mountains behind, all my feelings came out in the form of words. When I started my life in Bangalore, the most difficult part was my inability to speak English. Though I knew the language, I just couldn’t communicate. No one who hasn’t himself faced this problem cant understand my pain. I was the only one talking and replying in Hindi when my entire class knew only two languages- English or kannada. But, then there was a day when my essay was read aloud in front of the the whole class by my English teacher. And I regained my lost confidence, my writing brought me into the main league. I scored a 90 in my English board exam which was way better than most of my classmates.
With time, this love for writing grew as I discovered a whole new world of English novels in my brother’s cupboard. It was new for me; I had never read a novel before. And then I found a new hobby, I started reading. I read Shantaram, Maximum city , Five point someone, Memoirs of a Geisha, hiding them below my chemistry and physics books. I was caught many times by my mother but I didn’t give up. I read different stories, different authors, and I loved them all. I also read a hell lot of newspapers. And this habit of reading helped me to write more. I do have a limited vocabulary but it doesn’t limit me to write more.
And so I wrote diaries, finished one, wrote another, and it continued till I fell in love. Yes, I stopped writing after that, except that one diary I wrote for him to gift him on his birthday. A diary filled with love, with our story, with our memories, which was never appreciated by him (how can someone be so cruel?). Well after almost 3 years I fell out of love (how funny that sounds now), and started this blog. Surprisingly, I started writing poems and people appreciated me. I mean, I was shocked to read when some kind fellows called me a poetess. What an honour it was, and that too these were the very first poems I wrote in my life.
And now, every day when I wake up, I’ve a reason to be happy, the likes, the comments, the follows, make my day beautiful.
I won’t lie, there were times I thought of giving up my life. I had nothing to feel good about it but not anymore.
I’ve found a whole new passion to live my life. And this passion is called writing.
I don’t know if I write well or not but I write.
I don’t know what I am going to write until I pick up a pen and start.
When I think of writing a story, I end up writing a poem.
I don’t know, whether people actually like what I write here or they just click that like button out of a sense of duty or something.
I now know, why I stopped writing when I fell in love, that’s because I lost my soul to someone I thought to be my soul mate, till he proved me wrong.
And now when I am writing again, I’ve found my soul, I’ve found myself.
If anyone ever asks me what writing is for me, I’ll have only one answer to that.
Writing for me is, ME.
And, I AM WRITING.