How reading and writing saved me?

Dusty air floated around me while I searched for books amongst the old newspapers and discarded books. I was never given first hand books as a child. Owing to poor financial conditions, my mother used took me to a scrap dealer’s shop near our house. The illiterate dealer was our friend who collected colourful magazines for us every week. From his pile of colourful magazines, I used to handpick books of my choice. There was no choice really. Tattered books with colourful pictures became my companions.

As a child, reading was a window to a millions of experiences I had never had. Reading fuelled my passion – writing and art. Reading helped me create ideas of my own. I wrote about ideas which mattered to me. I wrote small poems and stories on the back of my textbooks and flying pamplets. I wrote about everything I felt. I never hid what I felt with my journal – writing was my best friend. I went on to illustrate for Chandamama, a popular children’s magazine, as a child illustrator. I soon became part of college editorial teams and my words were published in popular. I went on to win state awards for my essays including one from President Kalam.

As an adolescent who used to fight a lot at home, writing my frustrations, anger and disappointments was a therapy for me. Reading my own words helped me realise my strengths and flaws and streamline my thoughts. When I first started to work, it did not turn up like what I had expected it to be.  I felt like my real world was sinking. I quit jobs which failed to capture my interest. I felt powerless and started to doubt my capabilities. Again I started writing, it gave me a direction to my raw ideas without any prejudice. It helped me calm my chaos. When I felt everything in the world was against me, it was writing which gave me the confidence to reflect on my own life with a clear mind. Later as life took over, the stress at grad school was intense. It was writing which was effective coping mechanism which saved me from dropping out.  I wrote my feelings – without any filter. Anger. Disappointment. Pain. Rejections. Little joys. I now write everything in a small notebook – my journal. Now when I look back and read my journal I feel so proud myself – I have grown so much an individual. It gave me hope when everything went wrong. So am I a writer? No, I do not earn my bread by writing. But writing and reading has helped me reach the place where I am.