Hello

I had a glorious dream that I’d carried in my heart for a minimum of two decades, or if I’m honest with myself, almost 3 although admitting that makes me feel mighty old. I had a dream to one day write a novel, have it published, and hold it in my hands the way other women hold their first born child and think to myself, much like they possibly do, “Mine. You’re mine. I made you, and here you are. My miracle.” Life, I had thought to myself, would never be the same. If you know anything about me, you probably know this- a few months ago, my dream came true.

My dream, I had figured years ago, would make me my own person, and whether its reception into this world would be good, bad or ugly, its tiny littleexistence would be wholly thanks to me, and that in itself would have to count for something I figured. Its life is what I would be known for. All my life I’d been known for whose daughter I was or what companies my family owned, but now I’d finally be Kiran Chhabria- Author. (Let me add here that I now realise the irony of my desperately wanting to be different and my own person while falling squarely into a cliche of wanting to step out of my parents shadow, but it is what it is, and not quite the point to this story!)

The problem with romanticising dreams coming true is that they rarely pan out the way you intend them to. For one, I always thought my novel would be an epic tale of carefully worded prose that quite possibly would be studied in schools and perhaps even universities one day. Even if you are only aware of the title of my book, you will know that “Kitty in the City” isn’t about to win any Pulitzers anytime soon. Two years ago, angry and upset after a romantic tryst, a friend of mine suggested I focus my mind away from my tub of Nutella that lay before me, and instead use my anger (exploding at that moment with the choicest of expletives aimed at a certain gentleman who had caused my momentary anguish) in a creative fashion and that I try my hand at fiction. It was in my trying to cheer myself up that I spun a story around a single girl who, at 35, was also like me, hoping for love to find her. A month later, my novel was complete, my mind distracted, and my heart healed. Project Dream Come True was successfully underway. 

I won’t bore you with the details of what happened in the middle but allow me to fast forward the story to two years later. I held my little baby in my hands and had that moment of happiness, and it was truly as joyful as I had played it out in my head countless times over. My baby! I was FINALLY what I’d always wanted to be- a published author. This is where I should technically end this post- on a high note, having made a happy point and narrating how my dream came true much like they do in movies or books. My story is over and my life is now complete with an amazing tale of triumph, gift wrapped with a ribbon on it. Funny thing about dreams though- they’re always interrupted by real life. “What’s the next one about?” is the inevitable question that gets posed to me after a round on congratulations. “No clue,” I sort of mumble and panic sets in. I have no clue how to actually BE a writer you see. Kitty in the City sort of happened by accident one hot and lonely summer in Dubai amidst humidity and heartache. The happiest accident ever known to mankind (IMHO) but very much an accident. How do I possibly even begin to recreate the process when I don’t quite know what the process is? And here’s the kicker- since the completion of my novel two years ago, apart from a few poems here and there and a tribute to my Mother written a few weeks ago, I haven’t written a word. 

I used to have a blog, Kiran’s Corner, that I stopped posting on around the same time I wrote my novel. I always tell people I stopped to focus on my writing, which truth be told, is a whole load of BS. The real reason behind why i stopped is simply because not enough people read my work. People read an article here and a post there, but very often I have people even now coming up to me and telling me how they follow my blog. Follow. Present tense. “I haven’t written in two years and my blog doesn’t exist anymore,” I say bursting their illusion, partly feeling happy that they noticed it, and partly feeling sucky that they didn’t notice it enough to tell that it went away. Elvis has left the building folks. In fact he left 2 years ago. In hindsight I quite understood why my blog never worked. It was haphazard, with posts about handbags and fashion one day, gadgets and cars another, with bits of book, restaurant and hotel reviews thrown in for good measure. And when I felt like it, just random rambling posts about life that had no point at all, and sometimes some random rambling posts that shone with perfect clarity. It was confused, all over the place, creative, smart (even if I do say so myself) and wholly and completely ME. I shut it down because nobody noticed it, and I’ve missed it ever since. 

A lot of people say that my writing is honest, and it is. My writing is always where I’ve had AHA moments in my life and if you know me well, you will know I express myself best through the written word. For two years I’ve driven myself crazy trying to zero in on an idea for a blog that is more focussed on one topic, and that has a fixed target audience. High end fashion? Beauty and make up? A gadget blog written by a woman? The ideas were all there and I could do any of these in my sleep. I could be successful and marketed correctly, people would take notice. But Project Dream Come True done and dusted, changed that a little bit. A few days ago it hit me, that all I wanted to do was get back to writing for the joy that it gave me. As haphazard as my thoughts and wide and varied my interests, I want to get back to having a space that I can freely express myself without worrying about target audiences and how I come across. I want to write again.

So I hope you will come back hereand often, and I hope to post/write stuff that is either informative/thought provoking/interesting/funny or simply just helps you kill time when you have nothing else to read. I hope to be able to entertain you, move you and if nothing else, bombard you with pictures of handbags. I hope to make you laugh, perhaps even make you cry, tell you about different gadgets that are out, books that I’ve read, make up I’ve tried, food I’ve devoured, and hopefully you will keep coming back for more, and unlike what happened to my previous blog, I hope you’ll notice my absence if and when it occurs. But you know what? If you never read another word I ever write again, that’s ok too. I reached the end of my dream, and all I want to do now, is go back to enjoying its journey. And this right here, is its first step.