The Beginning

When I was in my early teens I came across a diary in the bookshelf at home, it was a navy blue book with letters inscribed in gold, I liked the book so much and felt like taking it for myself and using it, so I quickly opened the book with excitement to see what it was like inside, my excitement was cut short by the letters that filled the pages of the book. I knew it was my mother's writing, I tried to make sense of what was written , it was all in telugu,  as I kept browsing through the pages I saw letters neatly arranged in paragraphs and it was endless, I tried to read one or two and began to realise these were poems that Amma wrote for Papa, it was one of the most romantic things I has seen. I felt a sudden admiration for the woman who put her love into these beautiful words, and suddenly saw her in a different light, the strict mother who I didn't think was capable of feeling so much had so much of emotion inside her, so much of love, I just wanted to run to my mother and hug her and tell her how happy it made me to see that she could write so beautifully. As a child I have adored my mother, I felt she was a woman of elegance and grace and intellect and I wanted to be like her in every aspect. It was when I encountered this book that the seeds of writing were sown in me. I wanted to write like her, I felt even thinking of such a feat was over ambitious, but I wanted to try, to someday be able to write like her.

In the past few weeks if there has been something that made me feel happy, it is being able to write, there is a sense of fulfillment within when I write something worthy and its appreciated by my those close to me. It has given me a bit of confidence to write further, at least to push myself to try.