During my school days I was busy with either farming or sports (mainly hokey, food ball and kabaddi). But in college I turned to write what I liked but intended to do. All I wrote was in Tamil (my mother tongue). I wrote essays, poems both for competition and personal likings. I also won few awards for these works.
Two special things is worthy to mention here: one, for an essay I have received a journal every month in free of cost as a prize, second, for an poem which I wrote on ‘Pongal’ (Tamil Nadu’s harvesting festival) won a award called “Kavi Murasu”. These two things I considered as important in my life as it influenced to learn further on diverse topics. But I always questioned me writings and why I do and the purpose: a couple of questions that I was asking myself were also asked by a literature Nobel laureate Orhan Pamuk:
I wrote an essay which won a prize and the prize distribution function was organized in central Tamil Nadu (
Pamuk interesting questions are from his Nobel lecture:
“…..the favourite question, is; why do you write? I write because I have an innate need to write! I write because I can't do normal work like other people. I write because I want to read books like the ones I write. I write because I am angry at all of you, angry at everyone. I write because I love sitting in a room all day writing. I write because I can only partake in real life by changing it. I write because I want others, all of us, the whole world, to know what sort of life we lived, and continue to live, in
I write because I believe in literature, in the art of the novel, more than I believe in anything else. I write because it is a habit, a passion. I write because I am afraid of being forgotten. I write because I like the glory and interest that writing brings. I write to be alone. Perhaps I write because I hope to understand why I am so very, very angry at all of you, so very, very angry at everyone. I write because I like to be read. I write because once I have begun a novel, an essay, a page, I want to finish it. I write because everyone expects me to write. I write because I have a childish belief in the immortality of libraries, and in the way my books sit on the shelf.
I write because it is exciting to turn all of life's beauties and riches into words. I write not to tell a story, but to compose a story. I write because I wish to escape from the foreboding that there is a place I must go but – just as in a dream – I can't quite get there. I write because I have never managed to be happy. I write to be happy.”