Writing has been a part of my regular activities since I could remember anything about myself. The habit of writing, I would attribute to the hippie culture which I vaguely remember as a child. The hippies came, saw and conquered the cold and dull city of Kodaikanal. Streets were full of hippies on their skate-boards, enjoying the cordial evenings as the guitar-playing hippies attained ecstasy by using local cheap drugs. The rains in Kodaikanal at the end of summer in 1978, forced some hippies to leave the beautiful town and head back home. As a parting ritual, they held a yard sale and my mother bought a few spell-well books for us, the last two children out of the five. I had to copy down some words every day and my mother used to test my knowledge of those words at the end of the day by giving me a test. I wished I could tear the book one day, but the book was always under the safe custody of my mother. Looking back, I have no doubts that those books helped me tremendously to understand a language which was introduced to our class way after these books were studied well through.
There was no drought for ideas, no lack of desire to write. Imagination was supplemented by experience in life, enriched by the extensive travels cruise ships provided. The realization of my limited capacity to express certain ideas forced me to keep my writings either in my diaries or in notebooks which I have never seen since. My friends have heard me say many times that I was pregnant, pregnant with ideas for a book. Well, the efforts to deliver have started. It is not at all about who reads it and who doesn't, but I have to write, all for myself. My views on various points may be different or indifferent regardless of whether anyone agrees or not.
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Hope you have a good time reading my lines.
