Prologue — The Quiet Nod
The past few weeks from late September to mid-October had been a whirlwind of creating the newsletter — drafts, edits, and those midnight flashes of inspiration. My supervisors, Dr. Ambika and Dr. Poorna, kept the spirit of creation alive, and our small editorial team moved like one heartbeat. By Friday, the issue was ready to take flight on Substack.
But life, as always, had a twist waiting. RASA’s Director had another idea — there was to be an event on Monday, a Music Launch and Newsletter Relaunch celebration with cultural programmes. I smiled, thinking I’d finally sit back, sip my imaginary chai, and simply be part of the audience. I didn’t know then that the moment would ask me to stand, not just witness.
Ambika ma’am called me softly. Even though the hall was full of people and cameras, I moved toward her. I didn’t want to go up front — all the people, all the lights — so I hid behind a printed copy of the newsletter. One of the staff noticed and laughed, asking me to show my face. I was a nervous pot about to boil over. The real climax came when Ambika ma’am introduced me and asked me to say a few words.
All that came out was a shy nod of refusal. She smiled, hugged me, and let me off the hook. That simple gesture reminded me of my eighth-grade days — my secret journals, my sister running around gleefully threatening to read them aloud. Siblings, I tell you… you can’t live with them, and you can’t live without them!
I’ve always been shy about what I write. Yet, it’s also the only thing that makes me feel most myself. When I write, I don’t expect many readers. If even one or two people read and connect, I’m content. The joy lies in the act of creation itself — each piece carries a bit of my heart, and that tug-of-war between expression and emotion is what keeps me alive inside.
From “Reconciliation” to “Self-Portrait”
That shy nod reminded me of where it all began — with Reconciliation, the poem that found its way into Tattoo, our college magazine in 1993. I remember how hesitant I was to even submit it, unsure if what I felt on paper was worthy of print. But that poem — with all its quiet vulnerability — became my first whisper to the world.
Years later, I wrote my first creative nonfiction piece for Sulekha, titled Self-Portrait. It was inspired by a morning moment — Sylvia Plath’s journal lying on the table, sunlight falling on its plastic-covered surface borrowed from the American Consulate Library. That light bounced onto my face in the mirror, tracing my jawline as if Plath herself had reached out through time. Yet the mirror showed only half my reflection — the stabiliser beneath it replacing my lower half — as if to remind me I was still learning to complete my own voice.
I realise now that my works were never loud declarations, but soft negotiations between silence and speech.
Finding Balance: Journalism and Discovery
In 2000, I joined a writing mailing list run by MIT. Those few months sealed my belief that I was meant to write — but they also revealed a truth I wasn’t ready for. I wrote from emotion, and being critiqued on my emotions felt almost like someone was dissecting my pulse.
So I stepped away and found a job in proofreading, archiving old issues of American newspapers. That steady, factual rhythm grounded me. Around that time, I discovered Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan’s part-time course in Journalism and Corporate Communication.
I’d finish work head home in West Mambalam and then from home I travel to Mylapore for evening classes. One of our assignments — writing about Chitrakulam — turned into an eye-opener. My article drew the attention of Vincent D’Souza, the editor of Mylapore Times. His critique was sharp yet kind — my first real lesson that critique can refine emotion rather than erase it.
Children’s Magazine and Me
While my friends chose internships with newspapers covering current affairs, I felt an instinctive pull toward children’s magazines. It felt like a hope for the future — a small, tender space where one story could change the world. After my first episode in 2000, children’s writing became my way back to hope.
At Chandamama, I loved sitting in the dusty library, researching cover stories, folktales, and comic strips. I truly felt I had found my calling. But after a relapse in 2003, my health faltered and I had to step down. Still, those few months taught me the value of patience and perfection.
Later, in Singapore, with a small PC bought from saved SingDollars, I started a personal family newsletter called The Paper Lantern. I wrote stories of Singapore and retold folktales — a residue of my Chandamama days. My first published folktale, The Mystery of the Laughing Fish, was guided by my editor, Mr. K. Ramakrishnan — a mentor whose steady guidance shaped both my discipline and my imagination.
Precursor to Bookworms Corner Blog Site
There were so many changes during those years. I had been eyeing WordPress for a while but was intimidated by its serious-looking login page. In 2015, I finally launched Vidya’s Journal — my first real online home. I wrote freely — whatever caught my fancy.
Eventually, I moved to a paid version and wrote more earnestly. But by 2017, I felt I had shared too much, so I closed the blog. The urge to write never left me, though — it transformed instead. I created a book blog, then one about drama series, both of which came and went.
In 2021, I revived my space as Itinerant Storyteller. It felt right — this time, I was no longer afraid of impermanence. If I wrote something personal, I let it stay. I learned to move forward without deleting, without erasing.
The Poetry Challenge – July 2024
In July 2024, I joined a Poetry Challenge almost on a whim. Until then, the idea of being a published poet had always been a stray dream. But that challenge reawakened something in me — the rhythm, the pause, the quiet conviction of words.
I realised that collection wasn’t my swan song — it was a doorway. The beginning of something special. I wasn’t writing to prove or to arrive anymore. I was simply coming home — to poetry, to words, to myself.
US Visit and My Family’s Support
I travelled to the U.S. for my sister’s son’s vocal recital — a big family event. Post-COVID, my health and rhythm had faltered. My family wanted me to find structure and community again.
My cousin Jo and her friend Kamala aunty introduced me to Dr. Ambika, RASA’s Director. That meeting marked a quiet turning point — a new beginning that would bring balance, belonging, and a renewed sense of purpose.
Journey of the Nun’s Discovery
Every phase of my employment journey has been a search — not only for livelihood, but for a lifestyle that nourishes both purpose and peace. With each role, I’ve been learning to listen more deeply to the voice that speaks from the quiet depth of my soul.
This present chapter feels less like coincidence and more like destiny — a coming together of all the fragments I’ve gathered along the way. To be part of a space that celebrates universal bliss, self-knowledge, and self-awareness feels like standing at the confluence of all my paths.
Perhaps this is what life had been preparing me for — to find meaning not through words alone, but through the silences between them. My lesson for life begins with such a bang that I find myself, for once, speechless — yet completely, beautifully at peace.
PS: Author’s Note
This piece traces the evolution of my relationship with words — from shy beginnings to soulful rediscoveries. Every pause, every silence, every “shy nod” has taught me that expression doesn’t always need to be loud. Sometimes, it’s enough to simply be — to write, to listen, and to trust that the next chapter will reveal itself in time.
Credit: Polished with Mira (AI Powered ChatGPT)
Itinerant Storyteller 