This Pen Knows Why!

Every once in a while, a question doesn’t just pop up—it parachutes straight into your brain, uninvited, and sets up camp. Someone recently asked me, “Why do you write? What purpose does it serve?” Fair enough. But before I could launch into an impassioned monologue about creativity, healing, and the human condition, they casually tossed in, “Anyway, people only understand things based on their own perspective and reception power. Your writing’s not going to transform the world overnight, you know.”

Ouch! That escalated quickly.

The question stuck with me—not like a gentle whisper, but more like a mosquito buzzing at 2 a.m., impossible to ignore. It followed me around, muttering, “Well? Got an answer yet?” And so, I sat with it—not to change the world, not to impress the skeptics, but to finally ask myself: why do I really write? And what if the purpose isn’t to flip the planet on its axis... but just to make one person pause, smile, or feel a little less alone?

And that’s when the real answer began to unfold. Not with fireworks, but with quiet certainty.

I write because words help me make sense of a world that often feels fragmented. I write to translate emotions into language, to preserve moments that would otherwise dissolve into the blur of everyday life. My pen moves when logic fails, when hearts are bruised, when silence screams for expression. I write because children deserve a voice, adults deserve a mirror, and all of us deserve a space to feel seen, understood, and heard. It is in storytelling that I find truth—unfiltered, unforced, and unapologetic.

Over time, my writings have found their own gravitational pull. Stories like Panav – The Sparrow Boy, Naira to the Rescue and The Art of Anger explore emotional landscapes that often remain untouched. The grief, rage, longing, inner conflict, and fragile hope. All that needs more attention than ever. They aren't written to preach but to awaken an awareness that healing begins when we start listening inward. Then there are stories like Tiger Factory, Brain Drain 2.0, and Would Sita Marry Raam?—pieces that question the systems we've normalized, challenge societal expectations, and encourage reflection. These stories don’t always offer solutions, but they whisper reminders to look deeper and think harder.

My work also stems from my deep connection with children and education. Let Them Touch, Talk, and Tinker, Teen Tantrums, and Cheeks, Cribs & Conspiracies reflect the learning journeys of young minds. Stories like Cloud Horses and the Imli Chocolates weave imagination with real emotions to gently teach courage to feel, resilience, cooperation, mindfulness, empathy, friendship, creativity, and grief acceptance. Through playful, relatable tales, children are invited to explore complex feelings in a safe space, allowing these lessons to settle deep within.

They are written with the hope that parents, teachers, and policymakers pause long enough to feel what it means to raise a thinking, feeling human.

And sometimes, I escape into fables and myths, like in The Esther Trilogy or The Avengers of the Jungle, where alternate realities become metaphors for real-world dilemmas. These stories bring out the dreamer in me, the part that believes that sometimes, to understand the real, we must wander through the magical.

Through Goan Diaries, When the Lake Stilled, or The Forgotten Photo, I write to preserve the quiet—the reflections, memories, the moments that wrap around our ordinary days and make them quietly unforgettable. Even in simple musings, I look for the extraordinary—the kind that lives in a child’s laughter, a farewell hug, or a scoop of melting dreams.

So, what’s in it for my readers?

Perhaps a pause,

A realization.

A tiny shift!

I don’t write to entertain or to simply unburden my thoughts. I'm not here to preach or offer any ready-made wisdom. I write to hold up a mirror—so you can see a part of yourself reflected back. I write for resonance. My stories may not change the world, but they might change how you look at your world. Or just remind you of something you’d forgotten—your own story, your own strength and your own stillness.

This is why I write. Because for me, storytelling is not just an art—it is resistance, reflection, rebellion, and recovery. It is the softest way to say the hardest truths. And if a single sentence lives within you long after you’ve read it, then perhaps, I’ve done what I came here to do. “To Write as I Think and to Feel as I Ink”.

—MM
Writer | Educator | Weaver of Emotions that Matter the Most!