I was first introduced to writing personal essays by
two years ago - soon after my father passed away.July 13, 2022. Mumbai. Belle Vue Hospital.
On my flight back to Abu-Dhabi from his funeral in Mumbai, I impulsively responded to a post by
about her memoir-writing workshops.A childhood episode of shame, involving a friend read aloud my diary entry about a crush in front of a mixed group of friends, had forever convinced me never to leave traces of my personal life anywhere. Or so I thought.
Losing a parent when you’re middle-aged leaves you dealing with countless unanswered questions. However, as an adult with a lot of adulting on your hands, you cannot afford to grieve much - who has the time?! Add to that the social pressure to move on soon, to be brave. Your typical midlife existential crisis doesn’t help either.
I still can’t pinpoint the connection between my father’s demise and my urge to join the memoir-writing workshop. Maybe I sought a less judgemental space to grieve - maybe trusting strangers in that moment felt easier.
A year later, Ochre Sky published my essay about me fighting the establishment for my right to visit my father’s grave - a piece inspired by a prompt during one of their workshops.
This was my first step towards unmasking.
To honor the unwitting connection I’ve created between my father’s passing and, the start of my writing journey, I signed up for yet another Ochre Sky workshop last month.
The following is a blend of two speed-writing prompts: Things that happened to you since you started writing with Ochre Sky and, why do you write?
I loved my father to bits and the best thing was, I knew he loved me to bits too. I hope he remembered that as he left me behind for the other world.
Since his death and my beginning to write personal essays, I have been to multiple therapies.
I’ve come back home - to a place I’ve been running away from, for years.
I’m more comfortable writing in my diary now - I’ve started drawing, unafraid to leave my mark on paper - unafraid of being read aloud by a friend. Or, family.
I’ve come home to my body, to my desires; I’ve said goodbye to shame and dropped a thousand masks.
I write because writing is the only thing I can do when I can’t do anything else. I write so my hurt can make sense.
It's funny how the more I write about my loved ones hurting me, the more I tend to love them a little more, forgive them a little more. I write so I can make room for my forgiveness too.
I write so my children can find me someday - when I'm lost. When they're lost.
I now write for pleasure. Writing is my stimulant, my therapy. It is the love affair I never had, the parent I always needed, the parent I couldn’t be…
I’m now showing the same kindness to myself that I show to my family and friends. I no longer cringe at my aging body; I actually smile seeing my reflection in the mirror - clothed or unclothed - scars, bulges, sags, and the works!
Writing is me showing my kids how self-love is done right.
I write to take up space.
I write because I have a heart that feels and a mind that thinks.
I write because I am.
Sometimes, I worry I might forget how to write. That I’ll run out of things to write about. Then I remind myself: I write because I feel. And as long as I have the capacity to feel, I will always write.
My dear father always encouraged me to write a book. While I don’t see myself as an author, I’m certain he would’ve cherished reading my published pieces. He would’ve enjoyed listening to me chat about my writer-friends, asking about their professions, families, and backgrounds….my father was a storyteller at heart and someone who enjoyed reading people.
Writing is my way of gathering stories for him, so I’ll have plenty to share whenever I see him next.
Here is my rendition of a little heart-wrenching poem by Nikita Gill for every person grieving their father’s demise:
May we keep telling our stories; may our stories keep being told…
Thank you, dil se
, , , and my beloved OSS tribe!
Thank you for this beautiful heart- led Saturday read. It's been an honour to be a co traveller in your writing journey
Sanobar - everything you write is warm yet has this power coursing through it. Thank you for sharing this . That poem reading at the end was …