I, me, myself.
Every time I appeared for an interview I dreaded one question most. “Tell me something about yourself.” Now here was a question whose answer was nothing less than a tight rope walk. Anything more and you end up sounding narcissist. Anything less and you are a nobody. Being an author doesn’t simplify the answer to this question in any manner. It just gets a bit more complicated, if I can say so, because here you are trying to tell who you are to an invisible audience who doesn’t care if you are honest and hardworking. They want to know the real you. So today I will keep aside my fears and try to share the real me with you.
I am a lost wanderer. Having lived in various cities throughout my childhood I got infected with the wanderlust bug very early in life. I am a heart who keeps falling in love every day. One day it is a song, the other day a new book, someday it’s a painting, a dress, a movie, perhaps a letter on one, a cup of coffee on the other… the list is endless because I don’t know what I will fall in love with tomorrow. I am an eternal dreamer who dreams and believes in the power of dreaming; someone who makes wishes on falling stars and knows that they do come true. I am an alien who exists on a planet of her own. It has only one rule – Listen to your heart. Nothing else matters. I am a photographer who captures memories in tiny frames to keep revisiting whenever nostalgia strikes. I am a writer who thrives on words. They are food to my soul. I am a soul who wants to live rather than just exist.
Now that I have bored you enough with the “real” me, let me add some random things about the unreal me. Unreal because I never believed that someday I would have the word “writer” associated with me. For me it still feels like a dream. I have been reading since I was 4 and writing since I was 10. I wrote my first novel at the age of 14 which was a typical candy floss love story. Privy Trifles was the name I had given to my diary as a teenager. I wanted something quirky that’s all I remember. And so when years later I started my blog it was a very lateral decision to consider the same. I suffer from OCD. I need to make beds even in a hotel! I know 10 forms of dancing and I still have a pending list of to-be learnt. My only priciest possession has to be my collection of books. I am a hoarder – postcards, letters, trinkets, greeting cards … I have boxes full of them. Apart from words if there is anything else that gives me a high then it has to be numbers. (Blame my investment banking background for it!)
There could be a lot more to me, or a bit less as this is not the complete introduction. It can never be. No one defines you better than your loved ones. So, tell who do you think am I?