Hi everybody, I”m happy to have a lovely guest post by Dilruba Ara today. I hope you’ll check it out.
My father was a well-known writer, and from the time we were very young he would read us popular stories. I was always listening to him, and as soon as I had learned to read I would make him buy me books. Not just any books. Fat books. I wanted the stories to last forever. You can imagine how difficult it was for him to get suitable books for me! It started from there. I would be reading the books, but when I was asked what they were about, I would respond by making up my own stories.
The turning point came when, as students of grade three, my class-mates and I were assigned to paraphrase a famous Bengali poem into a narrative. We worked and handed in our pieces. On the following day, our Miss asked me to come forward. There were more than 45 students in the classroom, and I was the youngest and the smallest. Hence, she asked me to get up on her table and read my piece aloud. When I had finished, she put her arm around my waist and told the class that they had a future writer standing before them. That was it. My destiny was sealed. I will never forget the happiness and pride I felt at that moment.
My first story was published later same year, when I was eight. Later, when I was sixteen, somehow I got involved in writing love-letters for my friends (girls). In those days it was the only way to communicate between two lovers, even if you lived next door. I had to force myself to get into the mind of my friends and also try to understand the boys who were writing to them…and it was always as exhilarating when the boys wrote back complimenting my friends on the beauty of their writing. I believe it was at that time that I matured as a writer and also understood how the pen could be used to serve different purposes.
Visit her website at www.dilrubazara.com.