I still remember the day.
I wrote myself a letter, a three-page long letter. I promised myself that I would take the chance; I would swim against the current by ditching the engineering, for good or bad.
After my catastrophic break-up , I finally felt good after starting blogging. I felt at least I was doing something worthwhile. Not many of bright students of my class were good with language ; so it felt good that I knew something they were not very good with. I felt I was at par with them. And during four long years, except for one or two public speaking opportunities , I never felt that way.
So, when it came to choosing something to replace engineering , I chose writing.
After close to one year of writing; I guess it is the right time to fire the question. Do I consider myself as a writer? Odd enough, but I do. There are days when I want to run away from that blank doc. Some days I feel lazy. Still, my smile widens with the flow of the words, sentences. Heck,what do you think why I am writing this even, at 4 am, in a sleep-deprived state ?
I do feel like an outsider sometimes.
I never wrote “Kobita” or “Golpo” like intellectual people. Or, I still lack the sophistication of convent-educated “smart” writing. I don’t read Bengali poets or trendy fictions ( written in English). Probably I couldn’t contribute to any literary discussion.
Does it make me any less of a writer? I searched for the answer for a prolonged period and finally found it.
I am indeed a writer , probably more than those “stamped” writers and intellectuals. I trusted my inner writer so much, that I took a leap of faith and left promising engineering career.How many of those “stamped” writers have done something like that? I love enticing my readers with my words. I don’t write just for myself like a sophisticated selfish. I love copywriting and non-fiction writing; fictional stories and poems just don’t strike a cord with me very much.
I know I still have to go a long way but I am in love with the journey itself. So, until the life throws me on the dust and sucks away all my love for writing; I will never seize to lovingly call myself a “half-pint Writer”.