My journey as a writer has taught me to respect the force that drove me towards this path but to accept the fact that I am solely responsible for what I make of it.
For days Anamika looked inside the postbox. It was to form into a habit. She hadn’t cried since Rajbir left. She didn’t cry when her letter didn’t receive a reply, when the telephone didn’t ring or when the clouds returned and brought memories of childhood’s first rain showers.
And what was destiny? An unknown path taken after making a conscious choice? And if I had decided to paint, then why not one person, not two but the world became collectively responsible for my choice as they got to decide whether or not I could paint?