Writing an autobiography is not an easy task. My existence is linked to many others. Do I have a right to reveal the role they played in my life?
I checked into a hotel for a couple of days to write peacefully. I luxuriated in the solitude, and the pleasure of being served breakfast in bed. But today is different.
A familiar voice floats through the balcony, and the sound of another person sobbing. I listen unashamedly. This conversation is giving me new insights – enough to change my story, and the mental script that I have lived with so far.