My inspiration to write was that women in metro coach, who was pondering too much. And, that guy who smiled at me in the hallway. Also, the boyfriend who kissed not just my lips but my soul. The girl who wanted to find her goals. The transgender who was already a wanderer searching through her bits and pieces trying to find her hint of success. The old lady determined to create a company. Also, the Men, the proud misogynists, who pushed me to write for my gender. Especially, The Men who made me an un-Feministic Girl i.e. not just in favour of my gender but strongly against the biased women-haters. The Stereotypes that expected women to keep her eyes at the ground in front of her husband. The stranger who saw through my eyes. The stranger who asked my reason of existence in my commute to work one day.
My inspiration was in the love that defined happiness for me and in the love that wreck me. It was in the solitude when I was alone, locked up with books. It was in that book which inspired me to stand up for right and never settle. It was in the disappointments and the satisfactions. It was in the 10 kilometres trek to that beautiful hill that made me want to believe in god all over again. It was in the clarity of thoughts and in the conundrum alike.
It was in my want to love and be loved alike. It was in the birthday gift that I never got. It was in the friend that left me for no reason without caring to tell me. It was in the stubborn lover who could not accept the fact that I was leaving. It was in the crowd which made me wonder we all have a vivacious life.
Although, I’m stopping here but my list of inspiration does not end here. It has more subtleties than I can ever possibly talk of. These inspirations have forced me to write something so meaningful that impacts someone else’s life in a beautiful way. Something that fires their courage again to hit the wrong in its face, to take their life’s steering-wheel in their own hands. I want to write something powerful that urges someone to speak for them.