Why I write.

A little child knows no Emotional pain. A scraped Knee, a broken tooth, a bruise on the arm or some punishment for being naughty; that is Pain. All this is Physical. The wounds heal, the scars fade away, a new permanent tooth is grown in place of the old one. Everything heals. Time heals all wounds. What time can never heal is the memory of it. And it shouldn’t. It shouldn’t because then we wouldn’t have anything to hold on to. We wouldn’t have anything to talk about nor we wouldn’t have anything to remember and smile . 

As a Child I too have my Memories. Good Ones, Bad Ones, Worth remembering ones and those that I do not wish to remember.One that is worth is my love for Writing. I write. Not to please anyone. Not to garner praises. My writing may never make you think.  I write because it eventually came to me one day. One summer day in May 1996 I penned down my first poem. For a Friend. A friend who towered my little frame. One whose face had seen many a beautiful sunshine’s and whose hands many children took their first step. I do not remember how we first met. But what I do remember are those Noisy evenings in the 1990’s when he would come by for our evening walk.

I learnt when someone promises to meet at 4 pm; it means 4 pm. There is nothing called as being late. He would never be late. His face would never be without a smile. From the far end I would see him approach , his frame getting bigger as he got closer. Sliding my tiny palm in his old wrinkly hands I would walk. Walk down the road to learn, to listen and to feel special. I stammered as a child; and he would teach me Tongue Twisters. His words were Magic. They made me believe that an Ice Cream is bad for health (it actually is :)), Good Girls do not chocolates , A Daughter is born only in special Homes, It is not good to be in one place for a long time, Parents are Almighty’s  gift to us and no matter what happens one should always smile. Twenty odd years down the line I still believe all this is true. I believe because he made me believe. 4 pm never meant the same again when he didn’t arrive one evening. It meant he would never come again. A little girl waiting endlessly with her broken tooth in hand. But he never arrived. What did arrive was Hope and what did stay forever were Lessons. 

He wasn’t related to me;but he meant much more than that. He was older than my grandfather yet he understood my young mind. Six years later when I did pen down my first Poem, I realised he was never gone. He was always there. He was there in my dislike for sweets. He was there in my fascination for Angels and Tooth Fairies. He was there in my ability to speak perfectly without stammer. He is there in my love for my Parents. He is there every-time I smile when I am breaking inside. And above all, He is Still there in my Love for my Writing.


P.S. My next post would be the Poem that I first penned down in the memory of the above..





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