I grew up in a home where stories were passed down like heirlooms. My dadi would narrate tales from our epics, my parents filled the house with bhajans and old Hindi songs, and I would listen to her with wide eyes and a full heart. Every moment was a melody, every silence a story waiting to be told.

As a child, I found companionship in Kabir’s dohas, Premchand’s characters, and the rasas of classical music. My weekends were often spent attending soulful concerts and soaking in the wisdom of lyrics I didn’t fully understand then, but I felt them. They stayed with me, quietly shaping how I saw the world.

Literature came into my life like an old friend. Shakespeare, Harivansh Rai Bachchan, Oscar Wilde, they all taught me different languages of feeling. And then there was Gulzar saab. His words felt like home. He didn’t just write poetry, he taught me how to feel it.

Over the decades, I’ve lived many lives, as a mother, a wife, a woman navigating time and change. Through all of them, writing remained my anchor. Music remained my comfort. Stories remained my way of understanding the world. Now, in this beautiful phase of life, I find myself returning to the things that have always held me. I write what I feel. I sing when I can’t explain. I reflect because I must.

This is who I am, a seeker, a lover of words, a quiet observer, and someone who still believes in the magic of an old poem, a familiar tune, or a well-told story.