Lately, I haven't been posting on the blog. So when I was asked to write something new, I spent hours trying to think of what to write about. And then it hit me- why not write about writing?
Confused? Let me explain-
It all started 11 years ago. I was in third grade and back then life basically consisted of minimal academics and more of play time. I was hyper active as a child (quite contrary to the lazy bum I've become now.) and mom would often find it hard to keep me occupied.
I was always an avid reader. The only way for me to fall asleep was by reading a story. Only my parents can tell you how hard it was to separate me from my beloved books. I read whatever I could, whenever I could.
It so happened that one evening, I was particularly bored and idle. Like every other kid, I asked my mother what to do. Might I add that at this point, she also had to take care of my three year old younger brother. So when I kept bugging her that evening, she abruptly said "Go to your room and write something!".
Write something? Hmmmm....
Accepting her challenge, I went to my room and sat on my favourite spot- the upper right corner of my bunk bed. (Yes, I had one of those.) As I began thinking what to write about, one thought predominantly occupied my head- my mother wouldn't play with me because she was busy with my brother. So I wrote a poem about my brother.
I went back to my mother to show her what I wrote and she was so surprised. I guess not every person would expect an 8 year old to be able to write poetry. (Granted, it was the most silly little thing I ever wrote.)
I was 8 years old then, I'm 20 years old now. And my love for writing has only grown. My mom got me a journal to write my poetry in. For 11 years I've guarded that notebook like it's my life. If you ever looked at it, you would clearly notice the change in my handwriting, my style of writing, my train of thought. When I flip through the pages now, I can't help but laugh at all the things I wrote as a child. I've had my kiddy phase where I wrote about butterflies, rainbows and cartoons. I've had a teenage phase where I wrote about school, friendship and crushes. And today, I write about whatever speaks to me, whatever inspires me.
Writing has saved my life, quite literally. Whether I was happy or sad, everything felt just a little bit better after I wrote something about it. It's my addiction, and my cure.
There are at least a 100 scraps of spare paper and tissue with my emotions penned down on them that got lost somewhere along the way. So many poems that I scribbled on the back of my school notebooks, never to be found again.
And then, 11th grade happened. Somewhere in between tuition, coaching classes and a never ending syllabus, I stopped writing. Not out of choice, but because there was simply too much going on in my head and I didn't know how to untangle that kind of a mess. And that reflected in my life too. I got angry more often, had mood swings and lost focus. In retrospect, bleeding ink instead of shedding tears was probably a better idea.
It was my father who pulled me back to my notebook and pen. He was always my first critic and the first person I shared everything with. And when I stopped writing, it was he who encouraged me to keep trying. Every once in a while he'd ask me if I wrote anything new. And no one was happier than him when I started writing again.
In fact, just a few weeks back, he called me out of the blue just to tell me that he loved what I had been writing and that he was proud of me. And that one call just made my day.
For an average child with limited talents, having someone tell you that is like accomplishing something great.
Today, it gives me so much happiness when people come up to me and say "Hey, I loved what you wrote". Especially when I don't even know the person. The fact that someone read something that came out of my head and somehow related to it, made me feel like I'm not alone. Like there are other who think and feel just like me.
I'm not a great writer. I don't have a fancy vocabulary and I sure as hell am not going to be the next J.K. Rowling or whatever. I may never get published and I'll probably never make a career out of this. But I love what I write. It's honest, it's raw and it's me.
So that's the story of how I started writing. I sincerely hope whoever reads this gives it a try too. It's not that hard, just pen down whatever you're thinking. Trust me, it feels liberating! Whether its a journal, micro-tales, poetry, essays or even articles, believe me, it'll feel like a weight being lifted off our shoulders.
Go on, pick up that pen.
And bleed.
Confused? Let me explain-
It all started 11 years ago. I was in third grade and back then life basically consisted of minimal academics and more of play time. I was hyper active as a child (quite contrary to the lazy bum I've become now.) and mom would often find it hard to keep me occupied.
I was always an avid reader. The only way for me to fall asleep was by reading a story. Only my parents can tell you how hard it was to separate me from my beloved books. I read whatever I could, whenever I could.
It so happened that one evening, I was particularly bored and idle. Like every other kid, I asked my mother what to do. Might I add that at this point, she also had to take care of my three year old younger brother. So when I kept bugging her that evening, she abruptly said "Go to your room and write something!".
Write something? Hmmmm....
Accepting her challenge, I went to my room and sat on my favourite spot- the upper right corner of my bunk bed. (Yes, I had one of those.) As I began thinking what to write about, one thought predominantly occupied my head- my mother wouldn't play with me because she was busy with my brother. So I wrote a poem about my brother.
I went back to my mother to show her what I wrote and she was so surprised. I guess not every person would expect an 8 year old to be able to write poetry. (Granted, it was the most silly little thing I ever wrote.)
I was 8 years old then, I'm 20 years old now. And my love for writing has only grown. My mom got me a journal to write my poetry in. For 11 years I've guarded that notebook like it's my life. If you ever looked at it, you would clearly notice the change in my handwriting, my style of writing, my train of thought. When I flip through the pages now, I can't help but laugh at all the things I wrote as a child. I've had my kiddy phase where I wrote about butterflies, rainbows and cartoons. I've had a teenage phase where I wrote about school, friendship and crushes. And today, I write about whatever speaks to me, whatever inspires me.
Writing has saved my life, quite literally. Whether I was happy or sad, everything felt just a little bit better after I wrote something about it. It's my addiction, and my cure.
There are at least a 100 scraps of spare paper and tissue with my emotions penned down on them that got lost somewhere along the way. So many poems that I scribbled on the back of my school notebooks, never to be found again.
And then, 11th grade happened. Somewhere in between tuition, coaching classes and a never ending syllabus, I stopped writing. Not out of choice, but because there was simply too much going on in my head and I didn't know how to untangle that kind of a mess. And that reflected in my life too. I got angry more often, had mood swings and lost focus. In retrospect, bleeding ink instead of shedding tears was probably a better idea.
It was my father who pulled me back to my notebook and pen. He was always my first critic and the first person I shared everything with. And when I stopped writing, it was he who encouraged me to keep trying. Every once in a while he'd ask me if I wrote anything new. And no one was happier than him when I started writing again.
In fact, just a few weeks back, he called me out of the blue just to tell me that he loved what I had been writing and that he was proud of me. And that one call just made my day.
For an average child with limited talents, having someone tell you that is like accomplishing something great.
Today, it gives me so much happiness when people come up to me and say "Hey, I loved what you wrote". Especially when I don't even know the person. The fact that someone read something that came out of my head and somehow related to it, made me feel like I'm not alone. Like there are other who think and feel just like me.
I'm not a great writer. I don't have a fancy vocabulary and I sure as hell am not going to be the next J.K. Rowling or whatever. I may never get published and I'll probably never make a career out of this. But I love what I write. It's honest, it's raw and it's me.
So that's the story of how I started writing. I sincerely hope whoever reads this gives it a try too. It's not that hard, just pen down whatever you're thinking. Trust me, it feels liberating! Whether its a journal, micro-tales, poetry, essays or even articles, believe me, it'll feel like a weight being lifted off our shoulders.
Go on, pick up that pen.
And bleed.
