Posted in m@dness

The gift

The other day when I told Ro that I write, he seemed really shocked and that stunned me. Yeah I know that not too many friends of mine know that I write and I dont want them to know. However Ro’s reaction got me thinking. Why do I write? Why do I write and not make a fuss about it? I write because I don’t know any other way.I write because my fingers hurt if I don’t and my mind doesn’t rest till it’s penned down(virutally). I don’t care whether it will please my people, or whether it’s going to win a Booker or whether it will truly be the best piece of writing I’ve ever done. I write because it makes me human. It’s my heart’s way of expressing itself.

I remember Das telling me that when I was really young, I used to take Readers Digest and read and laugh at the jokes. Mind you, I was hardly 5-6 years then and there is no way I’d understand what was written! I still laughed. I wrote essays and cut out pictures of important news and wrote about them in my own style. Like my own personal newspaper. I think Das has all that kept away safely. I used to draw too. Artist A. Ramachandran, a friend of an uncle used to term it as modern art then. It used to be window, lines, circles and god knows what shapes. But I remember Ramachandran uncle slowly deciphering it and asking me if I thought while i painted. He, dad and my mother were pretty sure that I’d be a creative person rather than a geeky person. I could not have cared less abt what I’m going to become. I wrote because I needed to. I wrote poems that didn’t make sense to anyone but me. I wrote books on spiral pads about people/incidents who meant something to me. My brother used to make fun of it saying i’d copied it from somewhere. But you must know that i am talking about an era where the internet was still unheard of.

I was someone and I felt something because I wrote. I would get up in the middle of the night and write thoughts that came into my head, dreams that were disjointed, rhymes that came from a consciousness I didn’t know existed. I wrote a diary for years. Everyday. Things that made me smile, things that troubled me, things that could be better.I wrote fiction. I wrote about things I thought about would/could happen and the emotions that I’d have if it did come true. I made a diary after diary of my life. I kept it locked away. Like all my other writing work. I didn’t want to show it to the world…not even the people closest to me. It was mine. It was private. It was not meant for public scrutiny. I didn’t want the criticism on it. I didn’t need the feedback. Until my brother stumbled upon it one day and made a hue and cry about it! Thats the day I stopped writing diaries and to this day, I havent written an entry.

I went on to study human minds. I thought it was the most fascinating thing. I still think it is. I wasnt too keen on learning psychology but as I read, learnt and wrote more, I realised how amazing the human mind was. I would come home numb from exhaustion, bruised from the reprimands and broken from the penury and that’s when I could do only one thing. I wrote.I sat down and filled the virtual world with stories of people and places and my feelings to all of it. Till I went to sleep. Till I knew my heart was happy for a few hours.


And then it happened. I decided…very hesitatingly…that maybe I should show something to the world…And I wrote an idea out. An idea that came from a conversation. An idea that had bearings to my own life. Something that a few people might be able to identify with. And I wrote my first post.It didn’t have a title then. It was just this idea. And it developed, like my life into something larger. I kept it closely guarded. Afraid that if I show it to someone they will bring it down. Afraid that people might think this is my life or that my life would turn out to be the way i wrote here. But I wrote, concentrating on just the feelings of the fictional incidents and events I created. The actions would come later. The mind doesn’t really know Love. Only the heart does. And that was my beginning. I deleted more than I wrote. I began to think that unless it was the best piece I’ve written, it should be trashed. I researched and the feelings turned into style.People who were regular readers commented that I was changing and that my style was improving. I became confused. That was not me.I always wrote because no one was looking. It was my secret place. And now it had to be all those things that I could not fathom I would be.

And it finished.I sent it to the recycle bin.I say recycle bin because I started again. Yet again. Being true to myself. I wrote with a passion that came from knowing that I had a gift. I could imagine really well and I knew it had to be given due credit. So I wrote. My soul was out there. For all to see. To criticise and hate. This was it.  And now as I wait for the reactions to come back, I know that my heart will not be able to take the dissension yet I will be strong enough to live another day.To write more.

No looking back. After all I have the gift.

Today, when I see the recognition I get, be it likes, shares or comments or just clicks/visits, I know and I am assured that my gift is real and not imagined. Not fiction.



There is a deep and cosmological connection between my birth, my parent's decision to name me what they did, my profession and my education. This brings me to the conclusion that fate is predetermined and like in Hindu mythology, is written by Brahma when someone is born. Example: My name is unique. I did my grads in Psychology. I then did my masters in HR (offshoot of following all the psychos). I then did the ultimate decision of joining an MNC in ............. beat it, BUSINESS DEVELOPMENT. So, I have the concept 'MAD' in my name, my education, my choice of career and all the milestone decisions of my life. Now, is it predetermined or what ? :-D

4 thoughts on “The gift

  1. You write really well, and i love reading all your posts, short or lengthy doesn’t matter, i like everything you write because i kind of identify with you. Keep writing. You really are gifted. 🙂

  2. u crazy woman, u write so beautifully.. i keep thinking u shud have a column in a magazine.. wat on earth r u doing at that job… ur so meant to be a writer… im so glad u decided to go public with ur work… every post has truely been a treat 🙂

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