On writing

Bang in the middle of a crazy day a few days ago, I remembered a day from the early 90s. A cousin, who is now a renowned journalist, was visiting us. Amidst his Indrajeet Singh bhujiya (mess food – of course) and easy banter that comes from being family, he read an essay (or a poem) I’d written for a school assignment recently. I don’t remember what I had written about but I do remember making an impression.

A few years later, I aced some writing test that was not TOEFL.

One of the few prizes I have won in the 30+ years of my life, was for creative writing. Probably the first one if you discount fancy dress because that was my mother’s creativity, really.

I started blogging in 2001. An early adopter, if you will.

Then I was eligible for a literature course in DU that I did not take up because hello engineering below the Vindhyas, far far away from “social conditioning”.

I did freelance writing in my very own middle-of-no-wheres. And I had several of those.

I took the GRE because I thought a travel writing course was my calling. I had discovered travel by then. I had also discovered I was too desi to live abroad (and with that, I think I tempted fate a fair bit).

I gave up a few jobs because I couldn’t do excel and PPT and workplace politics at the same time.

I discovered technology. And that was the beginning of another love affair.

And somehow, I landed in tech PR. Back in 2010, it was still a great deal about writing and being pretty good at it. Now in a somewhat mid-level role in what they call an “integrated comms agency”? Not so much.

Writing is a love I come back to. An illicit love affair, if you will. Feeling down? Try the damn blog again.

I have forgotten most rules. I used to swear by that Wren and Martin but at some point, I discovered that there was more to it than the commas and apostrophes. 

I wonder, often, if I am not giving it the attention it deserves. The putting-my-head-down-and-learning sort of subservience, discipline. On the wrong side of 30, I often wonder if it is too late. But we won’t know till we try, will we?

Questions. Confusion. That old rebellious, stubborn streak I have missed for a while? It’s making a comeback, in the usual 30+ unsure manner.

Maybe it is time. Who knows..

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