Writer. Editor
Quite a few of my (initial) serious attempts at writing were essays that were a page-long. I would write these in old school notebooks and would, more often than not, keep them to myself. As I grew older, at one point, the pieces turned out to be more journalistic (and understandably so) when I did my journalism course. However, somewhere in between, there was a radical shift to writing stories when I discovered the magic that the world of fiction holds. Over the years, despite my affinity towards storytelling, I continue to have great respect for quality, creative non-fiction and have striven to return to it periodically to express musings, share opinions and record observations. I would like to refer to essays as ‘delicate darlings’ for I handle and approach them very carefully. I spend a lot of time thinking, organising my thoughts, sorting out facts and giving the work a clear structure. In the end, I am really relieved when it turns out good. After all, all is well that ends well!
In December 2004, as a student of journalism, I embarked on a week-long visit to a village I had never ever heard about in my life till then. Only later did I realise that it was a trip that would set me thinking. It was soon followed by another revealing experience – the Tsunami. Reporting on the Tsunami threw the doors open to a different kind of experience – one that gave way to a very crucial question – what was it like to face a disaster? Presented here, the diary entries of an awe-struck journalism student.
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This piece on my personal life was written when life took an important turn. When I wrote this, I was expecting my first child (and now he is seven years old!). How time flies! But well, this post isn’t just about that. It captures my amazement over how, no matter how far you have gone from them or how long you have been away, certain things in life never change when it comes to your parents .
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Places. Memories. If there’s one place that I have experienced freedom in the truest sense, it is Bombay. I lived there for a few months and it turned out to be one of my life-altering phases. When I returned home for good, leaving the city behind, I couldn’t help feeling empty. And as always, I resorted to words to relieve the burden.
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