The dilemma about autobiographies

What is this craze about writing autobiographies? Everyone from politicians to writers to activists to religious heads to anyone who’s been published in the newspaper just once want to tell the World their story. Why should I be left behind than, I thought ? I might not be as famous as the others but even I got an interesting story to tell (according to myself only). So, I set about writing and wondered where should I begin. Should I start with the day I was born or the day I became great in my head or the day I met the love of my life? Too many dilemmas. So, I decided to do some reading before the writing because I have never actually read an autobiography (who reads that stuff???). Mein Kampf, Joseph Anton,¬†My experiments with Truth, I thought about devouring. Started with a few, left most of them halfway and eventually put them aside and reached out for my keyboard to start typing the stuff in my head.

A funny thing about telling your story. How much do you exactly reveal, how much do you reveal that will make you look good? It’s a tough job, writing a book on your life (especially when you’re just 27), one that the whole World will read, everyone will know what you did and thought. I don’t know if I could do it. I can’t even let my hubby ready my silly daily journal! How would I be able to live knowing that strangers and family members and friends alike have read everything¬†about me, judged me and are probably thinking about abandoning me!! And unless you are Gandhi, it’s not possible for your book to not hurt some people’s feelings. Maybe I can get away with writing only the goodie good stuff, but then nobody wants to publish a two paged book.

Phew. I am already tired of all this thinking about my autobiography and writing nice stuff about people. Idea abandoned !!!


My Parents’s Library.

I remember looking at my parents’s library when I was a child, maybe 7-8 years old. I did not understand a single name or title in there, obviously. After a few years, I came back to those again and read the books by a few popular authors (Jeffrey Archer, John Grisham etc), the others still eluded me. Every few years I would come back and keep discovering new authors and titles that I had heard about somewhere else. Their collection of books was a kind of fantasy land for me and maybe for them too as they don’t really remember which all books they have in there. Sometimes I bought new books and would then find the same book in their Library. We never recorded or arranged their books. I found immense joy in stumbling upon different kinds of books in there. Today, whenever I buy a new book I always wonder whether they have it or not, whether I should first check with them or not. I see no point in doubling books in the same house. But at the same time I never go through their collection looking for something specific. I prefer to go through it with an empty mind, ready to pick up something I had never read before, some old book nobody ever referred to me, some sad tale even Ma doesn’t want me to read, some Indian author I am not aware of, some great first novel by a famous author whose all other new books I have read. It is my own Pandora’s Box, more proud of it then my own library.

P.S. It’s already papa’s 50th Birthday in India right now. Happy Birthday, papa.

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