Twenty years ago, my literature teacher told the class that I am one of the prettiest people he has ever met. I was confused and so was the class. He clarified, “What you write is a mirror to your thoughts, your inner self, and your character.” And that day the universe decided, writing would be what I do the best.
Today, my therapist asked me, “why do you speak so less?” Is it because you don’t like sharing your life with us or you don’t feel the need to communicate with anyone? And I recall how my tongue was tied, not once, not twice, but several times.
- I was six when kids in my school asked me to shut up because I couldn’t speak their language fluently.
- I was ten when my mother asked me not to argue with men even though they are wrong.
- I was fourteen when my parents asked me not to speak up when a boy was stalking me because—what would the society say!
- I was sixteen when I could not say a word in a scholarship interview because everyone judged my blingy salwar kurta even though I qualified on the basis of my hard work.
- I was eighteen when aunties and uncles fat-shamed me and asked who would marry me. I had no answer.
- I was twenty-two when a recruiter told me that I should return to my small town because people like me won’t be able to survive in a big city.
- Three years ago, a consultant asked me never to mention my mental health to any of my recruiters.
But what about the soul that lies just beneath these shackles? Every time a new weight was placed on the mind, a rebel voice was born within the heart. Like a volcano, it grew, and there was hot lava boiling and bubbling inside.
And one day, it erupted. Not like an earthquake but like a small tremor—in the form of hidden blogs, neglected Quora questions, in the comment sections of posts. Until a few people noticed, encouraged, supported and reminded me of the beauty of the soul, the power of indomitable spirit—one that my teacher spoke of, twenty years ago.
That’s how I found writing again. I started writing because it released me from the burden that society has placed on me. I write because when I write, people only see my words and not my face or my name. I would continue writing because through platforms like Youth Ki Awaaz, I feel I contribute to a collective voice that wants to bring a difference in the society, something I wouldn’t have been able to do alone.
PS: I love to end my posts with a video, and this question made me think of this video which has inspired me for years to write.
