How I became a Writer

I was always creative, even as a child. At the age of ten, I wrote a few short stories. But I was too shy to show it to my parents or teachers. All I did was narrate them to my sis and cousins; and since they were all younger to me, I did not get much input from them. So, in absence of any motivation to continue writing, I quit after a few attempts. Though whenever there was a contest at school, I tried my hand at writing; but I never took it too seriously.

In my teenage years, there was a poetry writing competition held at my school. I got some ‘consolation prize’ and my poetry was much appreciated by my teacher of English. She went to the extent of calling me a ‘born poetess’ and was I flattered! Needless to say, this admiration inspired me to compose more poems and I became a poetess. In the beginning, I started off with simple and superficial poems. Later, my poetry became complex and deep. I wrote on life, inspiration, nature, emotions and patriotism. I also composed some romantic poems but did not show them to anyone, for the fear that they might wrongly assume me being in the influence of love (being from a traditional family, I was not allowed to fall in love before marriage). So whatever romantic poems I wrote, I hid them. Sometimes, I even used to tear them off and throw them away. I now wish I had a computer at that time so that I could have preserved my work. Though I did compose quite a few poems and still have them with me, there are a number I have lost. After I got married, there was no restriction to compose love poems, so I composed a number of such poems and used to give them to husband to read. Many a times, he appreciated and I composed more. But after some time, my interest in poetry faded away, and I stopped writing about a couple of years ago. Perhaps, something to do with my state of mind, or may be I simply lost the creativity to express myself in prose. Also, if you feel like writing poetry, you HAVE to write whenever it comes to your mind, otherwise words are lost. And this kind of urgency is sometimes not possible with young kids. So that was the end of the poetess in me. Since then, all poetry I have composed is a few lullabies and may be one or two poems for my kids.

Meanwhile, after the birth of my daughter, I started keeping a diary for her. I wanted to keep a year book, but the writer in me wanted to experiment with words, not pictures. So, I started writing to my daughter. It was not a typical diary, but more like personal letters addressed to her telling her about what was going on with her and me, and how she was growing. I continued this for about 2.5 years and had planned to do something similar for my son, who was six months then. But then I realized, if I wrote two such diaries, it would be just repetition (and double the work, for which, unfortunately, I could not find time) and if I wrote only one, I would be unfair to my son. So I decided to stop it altogether!

Then, through a friend I got introduced to blogging. I read many people’s blogs and noticed they wrote about anything and everything. There was no restriction on the writing style, topics, content etc. It was just like an online diary, or even a scrapbook of your thoughts. Since the writer in me was getting itchy again, I started blogging. In the beginning, I was apprehensive about opening myself up on an online forum where the information would be visible to anyone who wished to have it; but then, these doubts melted away. And as I wrote more, I realized how easy it was to express myself through writing.

When I quit my job to move to Qatar and started staying at home full time, the blogs became more frequent as it was my respite from the routine household chores. The day I got my first follower, I was very happy…someone was interested in reading what I wrote! Since then, I have sent the link to my blog to many people and they come back to read it, which means progress, however small. Alongside blogging, I am trying to write a novel. I mention trying as it is coming out slow and I keep changing certain details. Perhaps, this form of writing will help me improve my skills.
My daughter has now started demanding to listen to new stories every night before going to sleep, and I do not narrate to her the traditional ones as I want to eliminate any details which she is too small to understand. So, I have started composing short stories now…talk about coming a full circle in life!

My first work got published in the magazine ‘The Woman’ just a couple of months back. And now, I am officially a writer. Do you know how it feels when you dream, lose it on the way and then find it back again; and if the dream has now become a reality? It feels awesome! Many people who have made me realize my dream are not even here to share my joy. Yet, I feel grateful to them and wish I could tell them I do.

Everyday Heroes

“A good teacher is like a candle - it consumes itself to light the way for others”. How often have we heard this saying; and how often have we stopped and thought about it? It is a teacher who first introduces us to ourselves. We start learning what we are and what we like because of our teachers. We start asking questions because they encourage us to; we start observing our surroundings more closely because they make it more interesting.
My dad used to narrate a story of one of his teacher who was an example of the true self-sacrificing image of a guru. The board examinations in India fall in the month of March when it used to be pretty chilly in the villages in the morning. This teacher used to wake up early in the morning on each examination day and prepare tea for all his students living in the village. Then he used to walk several kilometers from his own house to the students’ dwellings to wake each student up and deliver tea to him, so that they had ample time to revise their syllabus. How many people have that much of dedication towards their work! Though this teacher is no more now, yet all his students remember him with immense respect and fondness. When he died, there were queues of cars from his house to the outside of the village, which was about 10 km away. This shows how much he had meant to his pupils!
I am reminded of my professor in English in college. He was the ultimate gentleman and the perfect teacher. As soon as he entered a classroom full of students, he could tell the exact number of pupils present. So strong was his observation! When he was in interrupted in the middle of a sentence by a student, after answering the student’s question, he could pick up the sentence exactly from where he left it. This is something that awed me and I inculcated this habit into myself.
When the examinations results were announced, he was shocked to see that almost everyone in the class got same marks, and even his favorite student, I, scored as others. All of us were also astonished, as this meant that there had been no proper checking of our answer sheets. But unlike other teachers, who used to say that they cannot interfere with the university’s processes, professor did not accept things like this. He immediately called the university and reprimanded the concerned people. He told them if they did not know how to differentiate between a student with good language skills and that with average skills, they should not be holding such important offices. They had no right to toy with the students’ futures. This might have been a first in our university; and people paid attention. Next time examination results saw clear distinction between students’ marks in English paper.
I learnt later that once some thieves had entered in his house and pointed a gun at him. And our professor did not get scared even for a moment (most people especially at his age would). Rather, he challenged the thief and said to him, “If you had guts to shoot, you would not be pointing this gun at an old man. I dare you, you can’t shoot at me. So just get out my house.” And the thieves really left his house and him alone! When I got to know of this, I thought what if the robber had shot him. But then, I imagined him standing there; staring at the already scared burglar, and talking in his imposing voice, I had little doubt what choice anyone would have. I always respected him for being a wonderful teacher, after that I started appreciating him as a courageous person. When I fear something, I think about this incidence and get strength to face it.
There were other teachers who come to my mind when I reminisce about my school days. There was my English subject teacher in high school, who used to find time to go through my poetry and edit it. She always had encouraging words for me. It was because of her that I continued composing poetry for a long time. Then, there was our Biology teacher. It is because of him I started loving the subject. My Physics teacher in class 7; my Hindi and History teachers in class 10 have a special place in my heart.
It is not Teacher’s Day today, but do we really need a specific day to thank the people, who, along with our parents, have a big hand in shaping our characters and future. I thank all my teachers who made a difference.