News

My whole life as a writer and journalist has been in purgatory. At one end of this life lies heaven: comprising of creation, poetry, story, cinema and music and as a journalist I live by news, reports, and interviews.

All of these directly relate to the essence of life. They relate to man, love, relationships, society and politics. But these are possible only if and when there is freedom.

Just one step away from this heaven lies hell. The screeching sound of car breaks at midnight when you are busy peacefully writing something can be the signal that security agents have arrived at your doorstep. They may ring the doorbell, or they may not. They may break the door to get in for you. They may even take you away. But worse than that is if they confiscate all your writings.

I experienced fear for the first time after I wrote a short piece at a small journalism college newspaper. At the time, I had a boasting friend who knew little but who saw himself as a major writer. The piece that I wrote was about him, a satire titled “I am Maxim Gorky.” But even something as this was enough to put me at peril and subject me to arrest. Because of this fear, I went into hiding for a while, until danger passed.