Prose, Writing

Why I write

Nandika Bansal

I love this text on a brand new draft.

It welcomes the countless possibilities that could fill this page. Talking about writing, I have realized that I have never really told you how I came to love writing.

I never intended to write. I loved to read. Well, I think I inherited my love for literature from my mom who is a writer too. (Wait, is writing love an inherited trait? Not sure. Wait, it’s an acquired trait. My biology teacher who just took a dozen lectures on heredity is gonna be mad.)

Acquired or inherited, I can positively say that she’s the one responsible for creating an atmosphere that made me take up this noble mode of expression.

When my mom was pursuing her Masters in English, I would see books on literature scattered around her desk. So my curious self went ahead to peek into them. I was quite young and still unacquainted with the ingredients of prose and poetry. But these experiences were the building blocks for the creation of this deep passion. I remember reading Daffodils from Mom’s book and I still remembered the verses when I chanced upon it in my own book, some years ago.

I still had not started writing for the love of it. My writing was limited to the few compositions I wrote for school tests. (I never bothered to practice even though I got second-rate grades at writing.) But I never minded.

When I was in Grade 5, we had to study a poem for a class assignment. During one of the free periods, I saw my classmate writing down the pairs of rhyming words in the poem. Then I saw her using the same words, altering the lines of the existing poem and writing a new poem. When I confronted the person, she said it was alright to draw inspiration from other writers.

Somehow I did not feel good about it. I don’t know if that counted as plagiarism, but I felt uneasy about seeing someone copying off a poet’s work with minor changes and then calling it their own. That’s when I thought, hey why not? Why don’t I write my own poem? I wanted it to genuinely be my own.

I wanted to start from scratch. I wanted to start something new! I wanted to discover how it felt to have something to claim as your creation, even if it wasn’t up to the mark. I didn’t mind if it did not live up my own or anyone else’s expectations.

I managed to write the poem:) I was so thrilled at its completion! I had decided that the theme of my poem would be the same as the one we had studied but the content would be purely mine. I did not care whether it was meaningful or beautiful (though I was slightly disappointed when I unabashedly showed it to my English teacher and she wasn’t blown away by the forcefully rhymed lines. Years later I did realize how ordinary it was, hehe:) I was just happy that it was original and my own. I had created a new possession and did not forget to read my poem to myself everyday until I got tired of it and decided to write a new one:)

And so here I am, trying to recreate the magic of my ‘first time’. I want to write a poem for the first time again:) The first time brings so much passion- the first paycheck, the first day at school, first love. I believe that every passion springs out of the first time and our subsequent efforts to replicate it. These efforts are desperate and vain, and that’s why they are strangely, poetically beautiful. ❤

This brings me to choosing the last block on this now filled draft, which moments ago showed me a million possibilities.

I have chosen a block…Thankfully ‘writer’s block’ isn’t a choice. (Sorry for the pun, hehe)

It all starts with the black sheep. Everything refreshingly different.

Published by Nandika Bansal

42 thoughts on “Why I write”

  1. Lol, the way you describe it is like an addict trying to recreate their first high. But that’s what it is sometimes, isn’t it? The thrill of creation. Anyway, thanks for this post! Wishing you all the best with your writing journey.

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    1. Haha, that’s a hilarious way to put it. But that is kinda what I am trying to do 😁 Yes, it is the thrill of creation, you said it right 😊 Thank you for appreciating my post. Wish you the same!

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  3. This is so beautiful, Nandika! I started reading when I was 2, and I was always fascinated by the largest books in the library. Reading and encouragement by my parents and teachers is what inspired my love of writing. And you’ve written this post quite late, get some sleep my dude.

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    2. Cool! So you and writing go a long way back 😊You can now proudly tell your two-year old self how happy you are now to read those thick books✌😁
      Hehe funny you noticed the time. Thanks for your concern dude.🙌 I’ve gotta write when inspiration strikes, even if its past midnight. But it always strikes when I am preoccupied (trying to sleep, listening to a lecture or in the shower😁)

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      1. Yas! I shall tell my 2 year old self that it was a good idea to read those thin ‘bob books’.

        I totally get that dude. Except when I get ideas at night. I like to sleep, and when I get ideas, I just use a marker and scribble it down on my hand so I can get to it in the morning.

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      2. Yes! I do that too! I always keep a diary and a pencil next to my pillow so that I can not down any epiphanies that come my way! But if I think I can finish writing in about fifteen minutes or so I’d go ahead and start writing 😉 Usually I’d lose my excitement by the morning if I realise it was a mediocre idea.

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  6. I owe a lot of my love for ready and writing to my mother as well! She used to be an avid reader and when I was younger like very very little, I used to annoy her while she read a book. I don’t remember all these…of course, my mom told me. So to keep me preoccupied she would buy picture books and I would sit beside her reading them….and so it all started. This was an incredibly nostalgic post. 🥺

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    1. Thanks for your lovely comment Ashmita! I am so glad that you can relate to my post and found it nostalgic.😊 Good old memories! You share a really sweet memory with your mother 😊

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  7. Wow this is a beautiful post ❤❤❤❤
    I guess I used to love reading too, I have read all of the books (English hindi) of all my cousins which were elder than me , when I get promoted to next class the day I used to receive my new books , I used to read all the stories from my English and hinds textbook within a day !!!,
    I love reading your experiences ❤

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  8. What a lovely blog! 😊You have quite a fascinating journey towards your love for reading. It’s funny how neither of my parents ever had any special interest in reading, it’s only math for them…meh, guess I was born weird😝

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  10. I owe my habit of writing to a murderer. When I was four, I was kidnapped by a man in a black cloak who sold me to a keeper of pigeons for thirty iron nails. The pigeon-keeper had a son of twenty-six who was mad, and he used to put me on a wooden stool and place an empty slate and some chalks before me, and he used to point a loaded gun at my head and say, “Chengkai.” I did not understand and sat still, and he put me in a sack and hung the sack over the river throughout the day. It took me a week to understand that he wanted me to write on the slate. I wrote on the slate every day, for hours, and he stood beside me with the gun pointed at me. Three months later, the pigeon-keeper bought his son a brass bell, and from then onwards he kept himself busy with the bell and ignored me. The pigeon-keeper saw that I was no use to him anymore, and in exchange for my bootlaces, he let me go. I ran all the way back home, but to this day, I still carry the habit of writing within me.

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    1. That was a very sad story. It’s a miracle that you escaped alive.
      This story of yours gives me a feeling of déjà vu. Once my paternal grandmother told me a story that I simply laughed off. But coming to think about it again, it does seem probable now. She told me that when she was in her mid- thirties, she came across a man carrying a dozen pigeons and followed him in her curiosity. It led to a house with a small boy writing on a slate at gunpoint. The man holding the gun then took the slate away at night and copied the writings in a small purple diary. When he noticed my grandma watching he chased after her but she slipped away in the nick of time and alerted the police. Two days later, she returned after having commissioned the police but the little 4 year old was gone. It turned out that the pigeon keeper let him go after learning that his son had been caught red-handed. The police were not able to find any evidence against him even though she showed them the purple diary. Turns out, that man wanted to copy the young boy’s brilliant ideas and get them published under his own name. My grandma then took the diary away and published it under the name ‘Humpty Dumpty’ hoping that the young boy would show up some day and claim his book. But that hasn’t happened.
      If this was your story too, then I believe my grandma practically saved your life!

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  12. Great post, Nandika. I feel the same way about plagiarism. There’s a certain joy to be found from creating something from scratch. It’s amazing that your mom is a writer too!

    I never thought I would be a writer. All through my school days, I was an ardent reader. I devoured books but I couldn’t write. When I entered college, I was hit by this sudden urge to write and that’s how I started by blog. Somewhere along the way, I discovered that I could write fiction too. These days, I’m experimenting with poetry.
    Reading this list brought back many memories.

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    1. Aww, I am so glad you can relate to this 😊 It’s writer to writer 😊🙌 Thanks for your comment di!! I really appreciate it!! Keep writing! I really look forward to reading your work 😊✌ Thanks for sharing your journey with me! I love it when people reach out with their own stories ❤

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      1. Writer to writer indeed. Thank you so much, Nandika. I will keep writing. Thanks for your support and encouraging words. It felt great to share my story. Thanks for the opportunity 😊

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