Revolution

I think I was eight-years-old the first time I told my mom that I was going to be a writer. Books and music were a significant part of my world growing up, and as soon as I learned how to read, my nose became stuck in and on everything with words — chapter books, encyclopedias, the backs of ketchup bottles. Liner notes of my favorite albums so I could quickly memorize the lyrics to my favorite songs. I was re-reading the Harry Potter books so frequently that my parents eventually had to take them away from me (ha).

With my mind stuffed with adventures, writing became the inevitable outlet for my overactive imagination. I would spend hours every day scrawling in notebooks, creating half-finished tales that were way more dramatic than they needed to be. Eventually, my writing calmed down as I learned how to draw from my reality to create stories that were more down-to-earth; the more and more I wrote, the more I became fascinated by how even the simplest of words could be strung together to form an impactful sentence, or a resonate song lyric. It became the way I could tell someone I was happy or angry or in love or just saying hi. It became my coping mechanism as I filled journals with thoughts about school and life and crushes and confusions. It became the projects I was most excited about in school, whether I was writing creatively for English class or penning yet another boring lab report for Biology. As I got older, I had colorful visions of traveling the world to meet new people and write their stories, and to share more of my own.

Somewhere along the way, however, I got caught up in the practical, in what was expected of me, and in my own self-set standards; creating words on a paper was not as secure as working in a hospital or planning for a Master’s. Gradually, writing lost its place as a journey, and became a hobby that I so often had to dust off because of the amount of lost time and missed opportunities I let it collect.

A lot has happened over the last few years, and especially in the last few months, to make me realize that I have spent way too much time doing the things I thought I had to do to, and not enough of what I actually want to do. It took me a long time to understand that my passions could drive my success, and that it didn’t make me a failure to step off of the linear trail and jump on to the road less traveled, no matter how terrifying that might be. When that realization hit, the voice of my eight-year-old self started to make a reappearance in my head and heart, encouraging me to follow my dreams and to do what I have always wanted to do.

I still have a lot in common with my eight-year-old self. I still read the liner notes of my favorite albums (and yes, I still buy CDs — even though the only place I can play them now is in my car). I still love ketchup. I’m unhealthily obsessed with Harry Potter (#HufflepuffForlife). I will still eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch every day without getting bored. I watch Full House reruns when I’m having a bad day.

But other things, of course, are a lot different: Suddenly, I’m an adult, with a real adult job and real adult problems to consistently commiserate about. I live in New York City, the place I’ve wanted to be since I was seventeen. It’s even more magical than I imagined it. Meditation has become the core focus of my world: I am now teaching the same meditation that I watched my dad teach to others when I was little, something I never thought would happen. I have loved deeply; I have experienced overwhelming grief. I have made and lost friends, and have learned that both blood and water can run equally as thick. I have finally learned how to not take myself so seriously, and to not care so much about what other people think. Above all, I have learned to follow my heart, to trust my voice, and to have faith that my own intuition is strong enough to lead me in the right direction.

I started this website as a Revolution of sorts, a farewell to the old me who had allowed the expectations of others and the desire to be perfect to run her life for too long. It’s a space for me to take back my power, reflect, be vulnerable, and perhaps inspire as I dive head first into this new phase in my life, all through my lifelong passion of writing.

I hope that you find humor, reliability, and a sense of friendship here. Thanks for following along!

With Love.,

Mamata

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