Because I like scribbling!

The diary and my dolls were my ‘assets’ to me when I was five. I took great care of both, devoting a lot of time teaching what I learnt in school to my dolls and sharing all that I had to say to my diary. My English vocabulary was limited and hence my thoughts often found vent in the form of small and inky illustrations, which too was difficult to decipher for others. My first diary was gifted to me by my uncle, who was a lawyer and his stories of around the world and his own personal adventures fascinated me. He had a big library, the books of which has now been donated to a public library after his death. But if I have to find the point of beginning, it must have been my uncle.

The first poem I had managed to write was ‘My Dream’, a short collection of few sentences of a nine year old and was published in the school magazine. ‘My Dream’ was followed by many more for the next decade until I ran short of words and time.

My thoughts and sentences have grown over time; some manifest into concrete meaning, some wander about awaiting to find their own direction and some remain as scribbles. The scribbles however are most interesting to me because I find them characteristically non-judgemental. They are free and innocent, worldly and wise, unbounded and infinite.