Few days ago, I finished reading the book ‘In Other Words’ by Jhumpa Lahiri. I loved the book simply because I completely share her sentiment regarding the magic of words. Something about it which has always appealed to me since childhood. I always loved writing, I could write endlessly about anything and everything. Sometimes I would just write for the sake of writing, because my world in words was always filled with excitement. I have filled pages of diaries religiously. I would sometimes wait to finish my homework, so that I could just pick up my pen and diary and sit in one corner and write whatever came to my mind. It was my world, a world I didn’t allow anyone to peek into. I could be whoever I wanted to be, and I always chose to be me. It was my thoughts, my feelings, my opinions, my anger, my love, all poured in words. Any page I would find anywhere would become my canvas. Even now I like writing on random bits of paper, it’s like they are waiting to be written on, waiting for a new world to be born, waiting for their purpose in life.
Sometimes I open my old diaries and read them. I can see me in it, I can see the child I was, I can see the changes, I can see me growing slowly, I can see hidden tears and I can see love.
Because I was so close to words, I developed a love for poetry. As a child, it was always poetry with rhyming words. Anyone or anything that influenced me, got the privilege to be part of my poetry, my world. My favourite teacher, My best friend, Elephant, Butterfly…. these were some of my poems.
Adolescence saw a different kind of poetry. It was about first crush, first love, unreciprocated love, anger, confusion, wondering who I want to be, etc. I always spoke my mind there, I shared everything there, which I didn’t do otherwise. I was comfortable within the pages of my diary. That world seemed so secure, that world was always ready to listen, the world without prejudices, the world full of magic, the world I loved.
I have many hidden secrets tucked away in those pages. Secrets which will always be secrets.
Nowadays I don’t write as often as I used to. But when I do, there is still that sense of comfort, a sense of familiarity, a sense of belonging. I feel whatever happens in life, words have a way of comforting me, I write about it, I bring out all my angst and then it lies there, out in the open, out for it to heal.
I think this relationship is one of the most meaningful one I have had. I am glad I find myself in words, I am glad that words are my best friends. Nobody knows me the way they do.