I Am Not a Writer.

My Parents who have struggled so much and are still struggling, chose to provide me and my sister the best education they can. And this education has become the building block for sharpening and recognizing the child’s best of the abilities, according to me. I have always been drawn to literature,  no matter what the language is and as an introvert, I think writing has always been the best way for me to express myself. But from my parents, to my school, to the education and the ideas and the ability to write? Were all these programmed by me? No, but by the divine programmer himself.

All the faces of the teachers are flashing in my head, who blessed and encouraged me at every step to write more. I would love to mention the names of these beautiful mentors.  Aarti Ma’am, my 10 th standard English teacher, who always loved to make me read all the chapters in her class, no matter how dreadful English I spoke.

Ritu Pandeya Ma’am and  Anita Chawla ma’am- my high school teachers, I am so grateful to them for believing in me even when I didn’t believe in myself. 

 And the another such teacher is Gurjinder ma’am, although she is not my English teacher but she ignited the spark in me which I thought has diminished with time. After completing the school, I opted for B.A.LL.B which is a five years Law course, it is far more boring than it sounds. No art, no literature, no fun, just politics, Law and order. I thought I could never paint again, write again, and dance again. But one day, just few months before Mr. Corona visited India( and stayed here longer than imagined), CAA- NRC was the burning topic in the news and as Law students, we are asked to discuss and put our opinions on every issue related to Law and politics, in the class. So as my Constitution subject teacher, Mrs. Gurjinder as mentioned earlier, asked me about my opinion. Although I am not really fond of news and politics, as a Law student I have to keep myself updated so I know all the necessary information. However,  I am not a good speaker, even in my own class which is like family to me. I always hesitate to speak, but fortunately that day, there were only a few children sitting in the class. So I narrated a story on how India has a diverse history with diverse religions and thus India is a birthplace of several religions and communities and not just one. 

After the discussion ended, my teacher beckoned me and said that you must write. “Will you like to write an article for a journal?”, she asked. I was thinking how can I,  I can’t!…What excuse should I make…I have to read and listen to the news if I say yes…what to do…I didn’t know…but out of respect I said yes, moreover one part of my heart was saying that it is a good way to explore my old writing skills which have faded away. After some days she said just write the article for an international journal which I was not at all ready for…I said to ma’am I don’t have that caliber and skill. It is immaterial whether I wrote for an international journal or not but the way she was infusing confidence in me and her convincing power was so good that it brought back my lost belief in my skill. What matters the most is…who was behind this master plan? Who was behind the teachers’ blessings and their love and encouragement? Who was behind the eyes that saw something in me? Who gave me the courage to speak in the class? Who was bringing ideas to my mind? The almighty himself, ofcourse. 

After Corona creeped in, I decided to do an internship. Before this I never knew about internship actually, but a mutual friend of mine and my sister told us that she is doing an article writing internship in a law journal. I was really inspired by her idea and again my search for article writing internships started. After I finished my two internships, internshala, a website for finding employees, offered 6 weeks long creative writing training. My mind already  possessed by the power unknown to me pushed me to take up this training. However, even after completing  the training,  I was not confident enough to write because honestly I have not been reading for the last 3-4 years as tough times took me over, so to become a voracious reader was a far away dream. 

Moreover I had no platform to write. I kept on searching for writing jobs for a whole year, sent my resumes, all the assignments they asked for but never got back the reply, lowering down my confidence even more. I thought I should give up writing although at some point of time I dreamt of writing a book with a whole story plot in my head, but there was no motivation. Then, my masi introduced me to os.me. But then again, I had no savings to take the membership,  and asking from parents for payment is what I usually don’t like, because I don’t like to ask for money from anyone even if they’re my parents and moreover they are facing hard times due to the pandemic. So what can I do? My masi again became my light in the darkness, telling me to write an email to os.me, I wrote and requested for a discount but not just the discount I got the complete membership for free. And it is so foolish and ignorant of me that I didn’t know about this compassion dawned upon me by the divine grace of Swamiji and his family for a month. To describe my gratitude for this family of great writers and blessings of Swamiji in words is a very hard thing. I am extremely extremely extremely grateful for it. 

Now what? Now I am writing, I am reading, not the books but atleast the articles beautifully written by you all and this platform is working as an appetizer for me in increasing my hunger for reading and writing, everyday, brick by brick. And thanks for #TheWriteChoice competition,  I don’t really wish to win because here everyone is the winner, we are a family pushing others to grow. But I have never thought to write with such flow and speed ever. I have learnt several new words in the last 48 hours. 

All I want to convey through this post is…I am not a writer. Then who is? The one who has become my parent to provide me education, the one who resides in the eyes of my teachers, the one who gives me confidence through friends, family and divine souls. The one who is operating my brain, the one who becomes my ideas, thoughts and words, the one who can see through my eyes, the one who designed my hands to write. The one who writes the script for my articles and my life. The one who is writing right now. Then who am I?

Just a tool, designed by someone for the use of some master plan, I am lost, unknown, poor drop in his vast ocean.

Lots of love and laughter by him to himself.