Sharing some quotes on writing, before I proceed to my story:
â€œThere is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.â€Â
â€•Â Maya Angelou
â€œIf there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.â€Â
â€•Â Toni Morrison
â€œWe write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.â€Â
â€•Â AnaÃ¯s Nin
â€œAfter nourishment, shelter and companionship, stories are the thing we need most in the world.â€Â
â€•Â Philip Pullman
â€œWe live and breathe words. …. It was books that made me feel that perhaps I was not completely alone. They could be honest with me, and I with them. Reading your words, what you wrote, how you were lonely sometimes and afraid, but always brave; the way you saw the world, its colors and textures and sounds, I felt–I felt the way you thought, hoped, felt, dreamt. I felt I was dreaming and thinking and feelingÂ withÂ you. I dreamed what you dreamed, wanted what you wanted–and then I realized that truly I just wanted you.â€
â€•Â Cassandra Clare
School was bad those days since it was a new one and I was yet to make any friends. I was still sulking because I did not want a change from my old school where I was quite comfortable, but parentsâ€™ transfer required that we move to a new city, hence a new school for me. Rebellious as I was, I stopped taking notes in class, never wrote my homework nor submitted my assignments. I was gaining notoriety day by day as the new student who would just not listen.
Sitting by my table one night, trying to read Enid Blyton because I had to write a review for the library hour the following Saturday, I was caught up in the world the words were creating around me. Soon, I developed a fondness for the mystical world of fiction and was lost in it. Mother would have trouble dragging me out of my room, Father threatened to throw out the books I read if I wouldnâ€™t listen or respond to him.
In the books I read, I found friends- the kind I might never have in my life – from princes to rogues to feminists to animals! I loved and longed for their company in real life too. The characters from the books were sadly confined to the pages of the books alone. It was then that I discovered I could cook up stories, all thanks to my kid brother who would want me to come up with different stories every night â€“ he just wouldnâ€™t sleep until he heard a story. He was very particular in that way, he never wanted stories to be read to him and he would throw a fit if someone repeated any story.
I would get exhausted at the end of story sessions with him, but still loved it. The days were moving ahead and I was finding it increasingly difficult to come up with stories. It was he who finally came up with a solution â€“ he would pick the characters for the stories. He, being an ardent lover of nature and animals, would come up with weird combinations of which I would have to make stories and narrate, oh and he was very particular about the endings, he always told me in advance that the endings should be happyâ€¦ no sad stories for him. Ha! Easier said than done. Once, I still remember, he picked a cat and a tuft of grass!! What story would I weave for that little child from a grass that talks to a cat! But I did, and thatâ€™s when I felt proud of myself, that I could cook up stories too.
Thatâ€™s the way it all started.
I have come to realize that writing touches people in a way nothing else does.
I still write, and my brother is the reason why I write.