Black Coffee and Grey Stories

I used to spend hours shamelessly sitting in my cousin’s room while she went about her chores. Listening to music, trying her jewelry and clothes. Exactly, all the fun things an 8 years old quiet girl would love. Her vibrant and honest personality always amazed me. And of course she loved me too, a lot. So when she presented me with a vintage looking big brown colored diary, I was obviously very excited. She suggested I write whatever I was feeling and date it. And so I started journaling. Without realizing that my mom used to read it regularly. Because there was no way possible to hide that huge diary. I now think she was in on this with my mom. Smart!

Anyway, after that one diary, many more came. And so journaling became a habit. A world where I created stories from my very dull and simple life. There was nothing fancy about it. I wrote mundane things from what I ate, to who scolded me, to what color was the sky today. What I only realized later in life when I was 20 was that I loved writing. That I could be creative and deep with my words. I had the ability to communicate in written words more than spoken ones. And so the serious journey started with my first job. I would give creative inputs to official presentations and work on copywriting for events. My team leaders were amazing. They were born leaders. Leaders who grow and help others achieve as well. That is when writing got serious for me.

But journaling continued. I remember sharing my journal once with my best friend. So far he has been the only one lucky enough to read them. I’m sure he had a nice laugh reading those entries, but even so he never judged me. His politeness only encouraged me to keep writing.

Then came the age (for me) of mobile phones and texting. And so I started to write quotes and random thoughts to share with my dad every morning. With each text my confidence grew and so did his appreciation. Wish I had saved our texts from back then, had I known he was going to leave our conversations unfinished. He left but his encouragement and love for my written words stayed. It was he who first suggested me to write short stories.

Then life happened. I moved very far away from home and writing took a backseat. It was the time of loss, pain, resentment and failure. Then one day I decided to write a letter to my unborn baby daughter. The daughter who was growing inside me. And till date I believe that is my the most honest piece of writing. But after she left me, writing became a source of escape. I could escape my reality into the stories I was imagining. The world where I was with all my daughters. From then on, stories started pouring out.

But now it was the turn of my little brother to encourage me to write. He himself is a copywriter with a big company so I take his word quite seriously. With his love and enthusiasm I started to believe in myself that I could do this. And so I started the blog. The blog with stories I want to share. For I want to be remembered through my stories.

The journey has only started and I have a long way to go. A lot of learning and accomplishing.

And to answer the question, why I write, in short?

I write because I have been encouraged and appreciated for my talent by the most special people in my life. My close friends and family members who read my blog everyday and share suggestions wrapped in kind words. I have been blessed with their honest love and respect. And so I proudly call myself a ‘writer and a storyteller’. And I want to learn and keep growing from here on, for writing is both, my escape and my freedom.