It was many years ago when as a 10 year kid, I secretly dreamed of becoming a writer. At Varandhiappilly, I found interesting books, texts prescribed for college, and devoured then enthusiastically cooped up in a corner some place. That of course, when I was probably playing hide and seek or not being told a story, which were my favourite past times apart from dreaming and loads and loads of sleeping.

I did manage to translate a small part or two of a big Malayalam compendium on great minds into English, which brought some attention to my writing but surely, it was not taken seriously by anyone, neither my parents nor me.

I continued fantasizing about my columns in the newspaper and books that were written by me being read around the world, a la Jane Austen or a Charlotte Brontee or more.

Then I am thrilled when someone tells me, ‘write that will you’, when a certain faith is placed in my writing, and I am in raptures, thrilled that someone could be kind enough to think of me as being capable of writing, yes, putting thoughts into words and words on to pages.

So, I write on my blog, on linkedin and now on instagram and on facebook and quora and more, as someone obsessed with the idea of being called a writer, and when they do, the joy is pure, so great is experienced as to bring tears to my eyes!!!

Small joys, great hopes, dreams and wishes, and the many challenges of being a writer…still worth it, any day, any where.