I was surfing the net when I stumbled upon a recent New York Times report that analysed a scientific survey that was conducted among university graduates that established that writing about oneself and then self-editing it leads to an optimistic change in human behaviour. It went on to elaborate that it made one more contented, improved one’s communiqué and interestingly may even result in augmenting longevity. Amazing, isn’t it? Not because I lack self-belief in my capabilities or skill-set. The report fascinated me because I too write mostly about myself and folks who matter to me and then edit it myself. Okay! I agree sometimes my editor complains my articles are way too long and I suck at snipping them off. Cut to chase, while I’m not sure if it has made me more cheerful and healthy (?), I can see that it has certainly caused changes in the behavioural patterns of my readers.
The writing bug bit me quite early in my life – when I was as young as six or seven. Celebrated novelist and columnist Khushwant Singh said that the first work of any author is predominantly autobiographical. I believe it is easy to write about the characters one is most familiar with –family, friends, mentors, idols and acquaintances- and then build a story around it.
While some of my readers- are most excited to read about their references in print others unabashedly solicit it, but I never oblige! Some good-souls call me up or drop in an SMS or email while others’ evident abhorrence to acknowledge is stimulating, nonetheless. My old teachers whom I often take a dig at are enraged to see their names and boisterous antics involved. Some allege that the poetic licence has been abused while some deeply appreciate the cosmopolitan points of view. For me, bricks, bats and rainbows- all are welcome.
By the time I started writing, it was my father, a civil servant and an eminent Sikh historian, in his own right, who encouraged me the most. My maternal grandmother, a fine writer herself, read all my writings and indulged me with pleasing, rosy reviews when even I knew my writings were nothing short of trash. She promised she would finance all my publishing ventures and fancy book launches when I grew up. That was that. But my pragmatic mother – insisted that my blank verses and amateur haikus were only a “passing phase” and she’d rather see me do something more constructive than waste paper and ink. My sister has always enthusiastically encouraged me. Thank god for the social media, I have been able to build a wide and far network of like-minded readers whom I consider ‘friends’, cutting across age groups, classes, professions and even nationalities who follow my writings loyally. I feel extra blessed when they endorse my writings to their friends and relatives after they have read it.
I reckon my hobby has kept me contented, jolly, confident and I may live long, too! But, I cannot promise the same for my dear readers. Hey! Do I see you clench your fists? Relax! It’s over.
filmbuff100 