If any of you ever wondered why I was suddenly writing so
much (or at least, more than usual), it’s actually because my mom and I made a
deal. She promised she would make an Indian breakfast for us; something she
barely ever did. And in return for the dosas, and idlis, and akki rotis, I had
to write a blog. Let me tell you, the system was good. Amma kept her side of
the deal, and though it would never be a ‘Priya, go and write!’ exclaimed in a
harsh voice, I would still get a guilty feeling every time I didn’t write a
blog for a breakfast. So my mom’s silent way of pressurizing me paid off. I
started to scramble and write to make up for the breakfasts. Actually, I’m
still a little short. I think I have to write one or two more articles. To make
things easier for me, Amma agreed to let a story be equal to TWO blog-posts.
And now I realize I’ve never written about, well, writing, how I feel about it, and all that stuff. So here goes:
I started to write poems when I was six. Astronomy was my
favorite topic back then. I still remember my mom used to read to me from this
large book about space which I still have. And my brother, though he was only
two back then, picked some things from the read-alouds too. And so, that’s what
my first poem was all about… the solar system.
Planets of our
Solar System
Without a Sun,
We won’t have any fun,
Mercury is the fastest one,
Venus is very hot,
Earth has life a lot,
Mars is a red ball,
Jupiter is the largest of all,
Saturn has rings that are wide,
Uranus rotates on its side,
Neptune is a blue gas ball,
Pluto is the farthest of all.
I can still somewhat recall the excitement I felt at the first
line I made all by myself: ‘Without a Sun/We won’t have any fun.’ My mom helped
me with ‘Planets of our Solar System.’ I distinctly remember that she gave the
line ‘Earth has life a lot.’
That was one of the biggest turning points of my life.
For a long time, I aspired to be writer. I was hugely
inspired by J.K Rowling, and at that time I used to live in that fantasy world
of Harry Potter, a place I still like to visit sometimes. If anyone ever asked
what I would be, “a writer”, I’d say. There was no other answer. Actually, it
was kind of surprising considering how when I first started going to school in
U.S, I had to learn English as a Second Language (ESL). But after I picked up
with my writing, I started to do better and better in English, at one point
being in the enrichment program.
It was, however, at the Heritage school in Gurgaon, that my interest was recognized, something I’m really glad they did. On my first
Children’s Day there, I was named Ms. Poet. And because of that, I started to
write more and more poems, for my projects, birthday parties, and for myself.
At that time I was still sure, I would be a writer.
After the move to Bangalore,
my interest dropped. My parents let it be, blaming the schoolwork and studies,
but at one point I think we all realised I just didn’t want to write anymore.
On the other hand, I started to pick up an interest in swimming again; an
interest that still drives me to swim whenever I can. But being into swimming
didn’t really compensate for my-not-writing, or what I called (wrongly, I
guess) my writer’s block. Writing was the one thing I could do pretty
effortlessly, the only thing I could do well. Why give it up? I didn’t know. I
would always uneasily shrug it off, whenever my parents attacked that topic. I
would write sometimes, but it became very, very,
rare. Even my diary writing went down, and my poem-writing would’ve almost
stopped if it weren’t for the many birthday and anniversary cards I had to
make.
I don’t think I’m going to be a writer. I really don’t. But
I don’t think I’ll actually give it up again (so long as Amma keeps making her
delicious breakfasts)!!! Writing is a really great way of expressing your
feelings. And there’s some honesty in it too. Amma is somehow always able to
tell when my writing comes from the heart and when it’s just seeming kind of
fake. And truth be told, I like expressing my feelings, I just can’t keep anything
bottled up inside. And so no matter what I become, or what I do, I’ll have
writing with me. It’s my tool, my way,
of telling the world what I think, and how I feel. Someday, it might make a
handy weapon, honed by all the good breakfasts made by my mom.
