Q: How did your journey as a writer begin? What inspired you to start writing?

I was raised in a home where service and education were quietly practiced as a way of life. My father served in the Indian Army, and my mother is a teacher. In such an environment, discipline was not enforced—it was understood, and learning was not limited to books—it was part of everyday living. Because of my father’s transfers, I spent parts of my childhood in cantonment environments, where there was a sense of order, simplicity, and a silent commitment to duty. Those spaces were not loud, but they were deeply formative. They taught me how to observe, how to listen, and how to understand people beyond what is spoken.

Writing did not begin for me as an ambition or a goal. It began quietly, almost unconsciously, as a response to these experiences. I found myself reflecting on what I saw and felt, and gradually, writing became a way to hold onto those reflections. Over time, I realised that some stories carry a certain weight—they are not meant to be forgotten or left behind. Writing became my way of preserving such stories with sincerity, without altering their essence.

Q: What genres, themes, or subjects do you prefer to write about, and why?

I am drawn to historical narratives and reflective writing that explore courage, moral conviction, resilience, and human dignity. I find myself deeply connected to stories where individuals make principled choices, often under pressure or in difficult circumstances.

For me, these are not just stories of the past. They are reminders of what it means to stand for something, even when it is not easy. Such narratives carry lessons that are subtle yet powerful—they influence how we think, how we respond, and how we understand responsibility in our own lives. Writing about them feels meaningful because it allows those values to remain relevant across time.

Q: Was there a particular book, author, or incident that influenced your decision to write?

There wasn’t a single moment that defined my decision to write. It was a gradual realisation shaped by what I read, what I observed, and what I experienced through serving and teaching. Over time, I began to feel that certain stories should not remain distant or confined to memory. They deserve to be understood with clarity and preserved with care.

Writing, for me, became less about expression and more about responsibility—about ensuring that meaningful stories are not lost, but carried forward with honesty.

Q: What challenges or obstacles have you faced in your writing journey, and how did you overcome them?

One of the most important challenges has been understanding the responsibility that comes with writing about history. I am not a born author—every page I write teaches me something, and I continue to see myself as a learner.

Writing about real lives requires more than narration; it demands accuracy, patience, and integrity. There were moments of doubt—whether I was doing justice to the subject, whether my understanding was complete. Instead of avoiding those questions, I chose to sit with them. I revisited my manuscript multiple times, rechecked details, and refined my understanding step by step.

I was also guided by Col. Rajeev Bagga, whose emphasis on discipline, clarity, and integrity shaped the way I approached my writing. His guidance reminded me that writing, especially about history, is not just about telling a story—it is about being accountable to the truth behind it. That perspective helped me remain grounded and careful throughout the process.

Q: What message, thought, or emotion do you try to convey through your books or poems?

I try to convey that courage is often quiet and deeply personal. It does not always appear in grand or visible forms. Sometimes, it exists in the simple act of standing firm, of choosing what is right even when it is difficult, or of remaining true to one’s values without recognition.

Through my writing, I hope readers come to see integrity not as something distant, but as something that can be practiced in everyday life. If even a small reflection stays with the reader, I feel the purpose is served.

Q: Which of your writings is closest to your heart, and why?

Daughter of Fire is closest to my heart because it represents my sincere attempt to understand and preserve a life defined by courage and dignity. I approached it not with certainty, but with humility—as a learner trying to do justice to a story that deserved care and respect.

That process made the work deeply personal. It taught me not just about the subject, but about the responsibility of writing itself.

Q: If you had to describe your identity as a writer in one line or belief, what would it be?

I see myself as a learner who writes with purpose—someone who believes that every word carries responsibility, and every story deserves sincerity.

Q: How do you see yourself evolving as a writer in the future? Are there any upcoming projects or genres you wish to explore?

I hope to continue growing steadily by deepening both my understanding and my discipline as a writer. I want to explore narratives that bring together careful research and meaningful storytelling, while remaining grounded in purpose.

More than expanding in scale, I wish to grow in depth. I want my work to remain thoughtful, responsible, and sincere, regardless of where it reaches.

Q: What advice or message would you like to give to aspiring writers or readers?

Write with honesty, and give yourself the time to grow. It is not necessary to begin with certainty. Every page you write teaches you something, if you are willing to learn from it. Focus on what your writing stands for, rather than how it is received.

And for readers, I would humbly say—take time to read physical books. In a world filled with constant movement and distraction, holding a book and reading it page by page offers a different kind of connection. It allows you to pause, reflect, and engage deeply. That quiet engagement has the power to shape thought, perspective, and understanding in a lasting way.

When intention is genuine—whether in writing or reading—it always finds its place.